#flufftober

The main problem was, Johnny Storm was nothing and everything all at once. He was the spark that lit every room, the one who made you laugh when you didn’t want to, the one who winked across the lab when Reed was being too serious, the one who leaned just a little too close when you were working on something. 

But Johnny was just a friend, and that was it.

A friend who flirted too much, but never went past that, no matter how much you wished him to. It was the kind of will-they won’t-they thing that made Sue smile knowingly, Ben shake his head, and Reed mutter under his breath about unresolved tension in his lab. 

And the kind of thing that made you want to jump from a high place just for him to come and catch you. 

And then kiss you. 

Yes…you were down bad. 

And then came the gala. The kind of night where champagne tasted like water at some point and the city blurred behind the tall glass windows of the building. You shouldn’t have let Johnny keep pouring into your glass, shouldn’t have let yourself get swept into his orbit more than usual, but you did. 

His warm hand fit perfectly against your waist when he pulled you into a spin on the empty dance floor, your laugh echoing on the walls as he twirled you around. You two looked like a mess. His shirt untucked, hair tousled, your shoes off, dress loosened up on the back where his hands inevitably began drifting lower and lower. 

Everything felt so funny, yet so right. His laugh was loud and golden, his lips too close when he whispered a joke meant only for you, even when there was no one else around. 

You told yourself it was just the alcohol, the dizzy haze of his scent and the music he’d played on the turntable. But his warm hands kept roaming freely, and you couldn’t help yours from feeling every ridge of his muscles either. The night faded into sloppy kisses, his hips snapping against yours as you finally turned that ‘unresolved tension’ into a melody of midnight gasps and your headboard banging the wall, knowing Sue would probably give you hell about it the next day. 

But the night was just like him. Everything and nothing all at once.

Everything because all you’d ever wanted was his body on yours, his groans against your skin, his undivided attention on making sure you were having as good of a time as he was. But it was supposed to mean nothing because that’s what you were. Even when he was buried deep inside you. 

Next morning, you woke up to his warmth. Your legs tangled on your satin bedsheets, his arm slung heavy around your waist. We shouldn’t have, was your first thought. But when you saw his face just inches away from yours, soft and peaceful in sleep, and his golden hair on your pillow…you could picture yourself waking up to that everyday. 

It wasn’t just the alcohol. You knew it. 

And he knew it, but “we shouldn’t have” was his first thought too, and unfortunately he let that be the only one he said out loud. Johnny cracked a joke, like he always did, and you forced a laugh, because for the first time you didn’t find him funny. 

The two of you ruled it out as a mistake. Too much champagne. Too little sense. 

When it was too much stupidity, actually. 

Because it didn’t feel like a mistake, not to you. Never to you. Not when the warmth of his touch still lingered on your body, not when his cologne clung to your pillow even days later. And most certainly not to him, either. When he could still hear your moans, when he could still feel your nails on his back, when he could still remember every thrust he buried his love with. 

But when people said ‘idiots in love’, you two surely loved to focus on the ‘idiots’ part of it. 

Because you let fear rule over your love, because you were nothing, just friends, and friends weren’t supposed to wake up in each other’s beds with their hearts racing. You couldn’t afford to ruin a friendship over what you both thought was a one sided infatuation. 

And the heart I know I’m breaking it’s my own 

To leave the warmest bed I’ve ever known

You thought staying friends was safe…until it wasn’t. 

A month and a half later, you were holding a test that changed everything. Staring in shock at a blue + sign that pulsed on the tiny screen. You felt lightheaded, your pulse skyrocketing  as the world tilted under your feet. Terrified wasn’t even enough to describe it. 

Because you loved Johnny Storm, stupidly, deeply, recklessly. But to him, you weren’t his. You were just…you. A friend. How you came to despise that word. 

Now every day felt like waiting for the inevitable, for the moment you’d have to tell him. For the moment your almost thing would turn into something you couldn’t go back from. 

You thought you could hide it. But then the mornings started hitting harder. The nausea, the way your head gaslighted you into thinking you suddenly hated the smell of coffee. You brushed it off as a stomach bug, as stress, as anything other than what you knew it was. It worked for a while; you became an expert at dodging the family’s concern behind excuses of exhaustion. 

But Johnny…Johnny was trickier. He wasn’t oblivious, not when it came to you. If anything, he watched too closely. He could see when your laugh didn’t reach your eyes, when your smile was more of a mask. He thought it was because of that night. He thought he’d ruined something that didn’t even exist in the first place. So he asked one night, casually, leaning against the doorframe of your room with a bowl of popcorn. 

“Are you waking up earlier? I haven’t seen you around breakfast lately.” He said, a cocky grin on his face to hide the true worry behind his words. “One would think you got tired of my face.” He joked, like always. 

“Got tired of the same cereal.” You joked back, and he feigned offense by putting a hand on his chest. 

He didn’t press further, because the truth was he didn’t want to know if it really was that night, and it was easier to deflect reality with stupid jokes. So that night you ended up watching a movie. His shoulder grazing yours as you shared the popcorn, sat on the same bed he’d made love to you. Your head inevitably leaned on him. And he let you, of course he did. 

You hated that you didn’t mind it. 

As months kept going, your clothes became tighter, so you stole Johnny’s sweaters with the excuse of the weather getting colder, even when it was the middle of August and autumn was still yet to come. But he didn’t mind, how could he when you looked so cute wearing his clothes? 

How naive he was. 

You told yourself you were buying time. That you needed to be sure before you said anything, that you had to pick the right moment. But really, you were scared of the look on his face, scared of turning something unspoken into something real. 

For now, it was enough to live for the hope of it all. 

August slipped away into a moment in time

‘Cause you were never mine

September.

On the day you turned three months pregnant, you left early in the morning for an ultrasound appointment. Your only company was the chilly September air. It was just supposed to be that, a normal day. But as you lay on a medical bed and saw the life growing inside you through a screen, something terrible was happening back in the tower.

A planned attack. 

It wasn’t dramatic in the sense of fire everywhere, or the use of brute force. No, the Fantastic Four were more than capable of dealing with that sort of stuff. In this case, information was more valuable, and unfortunately, more vulnerable. 

The Baxter Building was supposed to be untouchable, layers of firewalls, Reed’s tech securing every inch of the place. But today, someone managed to hack every single file. And what better way to create a distraction than by targeting the innocent little droid first. All they had to do was program H.E.R.B.I.E into thinking his family was the enemy, starting with the two year old that was left in his care. 

Franklin. 

And for a few terrifying hours, the Fantastic Four had to fight an invisible enemy. Franklin had barely left unscathed, H.E.R.B.I.E was shut down until he could be repaired, but the damage was done. Their entire database got transferred to some location Reed kept desperately trying to track. 

Some screens still flickered, the alarms were muted but still ringing in everyone’s heads. Reed’s lab was suffocatingly tense, his quick typing and occasional scribble on the chalkboard were the only sounds. 

Sue rocked Franklin on her hip, she had twice survived someone wanting to harm her child; her bloodshot eyes showing she wasn’t sure she could ever take a third. Ben sat on the yellow couch, occasionally offering reassuring smiles to little Franklin. 

Johnny had been trying to contact you as soon as the hellish situation was over. But tracking you was useless, because you’d left the watch he’d given you in your room that day, since you noticed it messed with the ultrasound machine every time. 

But the worst part wasn’t that he couldn’t find you, no. The worst part was that every single trail of what happened that morning in the building was traced back to you. To that watch Johnny found on your nightstand, and which Reed now held next to his screen. 

And you weren’t even there to defend yourself. 

“Tell me this is a mistake.” Sue’s voice cut through the tension, still bouncing Franklin desperately. She walked toward Reed, leaning over his shoulder. 

He didn’t look at her, his eyes still darting over the evidence scrolling down his screen. “I’ve checked it four times. The data breach is always traced back to an internal device.” His tone was even, but his hands hesitated when holding the watch. Your watch. “Not just internal…hers.”

Ben shifted uneasily on his seat. “Come on, Reed. We’re talking about the kid here…there’s no way she’d pull something like that.”

Reed went through the decryption for the fifth time, and all the incriminating details. Log-ins with your name, encrypted messages sharing information only you would know. It was too calculated, almost like the perfect crime, but they couldn’t see past the fear that morning caused. 

“This is bullshit.” Johnny snapped, walking around the lab shaking his head. “She wouldn’t–she couldn’t do this. Not her, and you all know it.” 

“Johnny, it’s all right here.” Reed looked at him. He didn’t want to believe it either, but he was a man of facts, and they were right in front of him. 

Johnny shook his head violently, pacing like he was going to burst into flames to burn the adrenaline off. “No, I don’t care what your computers say. She’s not like that– you know she’s not.” He defended fiercely. “She loves this family. She loves Franklin. She loves–” He cut himself off, like he still couldn’t say it out loud. “She loves us, okay–Sue? Help me a little bit here.” He looked at his sister, still clutching his nephew for dear life. 

“Johnny, I really wanna believe you.” She said, soft and honest. “But we’re talking about my son’s safety. Your nephew. What if…what if she isn’t who we thought?”

Reed sighed, exhausted. He wasn't an emotional person, but he wasn’t immune either. Pushing past all the logic, all the damning proof on his screens, his eyes reflected his heart trying to cloud his judgment. 

He’d grown fond of you too. You were brilliant, a true delight to work with. And you had always been so caring to the children of the place. Franklin and Johnny. Well, at least that's how it played in Reed’s eyes. The point was, he didn’t see you as just an intern, but as family. 

“I wish it wasn’t this way, Johnny. But we can’t ignore the facts, the evidence–strong evidence. Whoever did this had access to information only available to us…and the trail points to her being the leak.”

Johnny lifted his hands in the air, closing his fists like he wanted to choke the words that came out of Reed’s mouth. “If you think for one second I’m gonna stand here and believe she betrayed us, then you don’t know her like I do.” He tried to sound firm, confident, but his voice cracked. “I just know she…she wouldn’t do this to me.”

“Johnny…” Sue sighed. “This is not just about you…this is Franklin we’re talking about.” 

That set him off. The argument kept going in circles. Reed insisting on facts, Johnny yelling at him, Sue trying to reason with her brother, and Ben caught in the middle, taking Franklin from Sue’s arms to move him away from the confrontation. 

But then Reed’s screen chimed, with the results of the last decryption of information he got from your watch. He froze, making Johnny stop bickering with Sue.

“What?” He asked, leaning over Reed’s shoulder. 

Reed’s hands hovered over the keys as he took in the information. He saw dozens of image files, schematics, and hand drawn maps of the Baxter Building. 

And not just that, but the personal notes you’d made on them. 

At first he tried to find the logic, like he always did. And there was actually a reason behind it. It had been a project you’d worked along with Reed to set up a new security system when Franklin was born. He could see all the key points that he had explained to you alone. Okay, acceptable. But it had extra annotations around Franklin’s nursery, weak points, blind spots, stuff only you had observed and noted. 

But he didn’t know it had been from a place of good. The extra time you took to analyze everything to make sure the new systems would secure the child’s safety. And of course, they couldn’t see past that, because the thing you had used to protect him, was the very same that was used against him. 

And this time, in their eyes, there was no more room for the benefit of the doubt. Not when you weren’t there to explain it to them. Not when Sue couldn’t keep her eyes off Franklin in Ben’s arms as if something would happen to him the second she blinked. 

Johnny just stared in silence, he recognized the notes instantly. He remembered you perched at Reed’s side, stylus scribbling on your tablet as you tried to follow his explanations. He remembered laughing when you drew a tiny flame by his room. “So you don’t get lost, blondie.” 

It was yours, that was undeniable. And the decryption showed those notes had been shared outside the tower a few weeks ago. Far away from the family it belonged to. 

“Tell me someone forged this,” Ben said roughly, as the last thread of hope he had on you had snapped. 

Reed shook his head. “It’s not forged. These are her annotations, this was information I confided in her with…her own observations on the Tower’s weak points.”

“That’s yeah…that’s hers.” Johnny breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s–god, that’s her handwriting.”

Sue pressed a hand to her mouth, tears already spilling. She adored you like a sister, trusted you with Franklin more than anyone. 

Johnny staggered back a step, like the air had been punched from his lungs. His eyes still locked on the little flame doodle. Was that why he couldn’t reach you all morning? Had you ran away and left them to pick up the pieces of everything you broke? 

For the first time, Johnny had no defense, no fiery protest. Just the crushing weight of evidence that seemed to confirm what he feared the most. The girl he loved had been betraying him–no…all of them all along.

And I fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole

Long story short, it was a bad time

You carried the folded black and white print in your bag. Proof that everything inside you was still very real. But for the first time in weeks, you didn't feel afraid, instead you felt a strange kind of calm. 

That’s when you decided you’d tell Johnny. 

Whatever happened after, he deserved to know. He deserved to know you didn't really see him as nothing, that he was actually everything. And that everything, that love, was turning into something beautiful. You’d seen it through a screen today, and you wanted nothing more but to share it with him. Maybe next appointment he’d be there to hold your hand through it too. 

You just hoped he’d be able to forgive you from keeping it a secret for so long. 

When you walked back into the Baxter Building, you couldn’t find anyone. The place was quiet, as if the multiple floors of offices had been evacuated. Your heart raced as you went up the elevator, and walked around the empty halls of the family’s floors with not even a sign of Herbert. You rushed to the lab, the last place you needed to check. The elevator’s door opened, and you sighed in relief when you found your family inside. 

They all turned to you at once, and you were shocked to be met with red, puffy eyes. Sue rushed to stand in front of Franklin and Ben. Reed’s eyes darted between you and the screen, and Johnny…Johnny wouldn’t meet your gaze.

The relief didn’t last long. 

“What is going on? What happened?” You walked instinctively toward Johnny, but halted when you noticed he took a step back before you reached. “The whole building is empty, are you guys okay–“ 

“We didn’t think you’d actually show up here.” Sue’s harsh tone made your brows furrow. It didn’t sound like her, not like the woman who would put a blanket over you and Johnny when you fell asleep watching a movie in the living room. 

“What? Why wouldn’t I?” You asked, completely taken aback with the way she looked at you. “Johnny?” You called to him, but for some reason he refused to lift his gaze from the lab’s floor. 

“There was an attack today. On our…information.” Ben explained, softly. “And on F–“

“Franklin.” Sue finished for him, and your eyes went wide, but before you could ask, Reed rotated the sphere monitor so you could see what they’d discovered 

“The breach came from your device. And these…” He pointed to the screen. “These schematics were used to override our firewalls, and steal all of our information. Including all our safety protocols."

You walked a few steps closer, just enough to see your watch connected to the monitor, and all the information displayed on it. Your notes, your handwriting, your sketches, things you’d only ever shared with them.

“That’s–no, that’s impossible. I never shared that with anyone…I don’t–Reed, you know I never–“ You fumbled your words, nothing could’ve ever made you ready for this type of accusation. “My watch has been glitching lately, Johnny I told you that.” Your eyes darted to him, hoping he’d say something, that he’d defend you. But that wasn’t what came out of his lips.

“But that’s your handwriting.” He mumbled, arms crossed across his chest, but he still wouldn’t look at you. 

“On the plans that put my son in danger today.” 

“Yes, that’s my handwriting, those are my notes. But–” The words tore out of you, panicked. “I don’t know how they got that. I swear to you, it wasn’t me.”

Your eyes burned, your throat tight as you looked around the room at the family who once claimed you as their own, at Johnny, who didn't have it in him to meet your desperate gaze. 

“Johnny, please.”

Finally, Johnny’s head lifted. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red. It hurt you to see him like that, but it hurt you more that his mistrust of you was the reason behind those tears. Still, for one moment you let yourself believe he might leap to your defense like always. And as he looked right into your eyes, he wanted to. God, he really wanted to. 

To this day he could still remember the taste of the champagne from that night, the way your laugh had muffled against his neck, the feel of your fingers brushing his. He could still remember the way he brushed it off as nothing. But it wasn’t “nothing”. You weren’t “nothing”. 

You were supposed to be the one person who saw him, past all the cockiness, the one who always listened to him even when the family didn’t. You weren’t supposed to be the one who lied, who hurt him. He looked at Reed, hoping for a sign, hoping for that impossible “I was wrong”, but Reed only shook his head, because as always, he wasn’t. 

“The watch matches the breach exactly. There’s no evidence of tampering on it.”

“Then find it!” You snapped at Reed, making everyone flinch on their spots. “This is my home, I would never hurt any of you, much less Franklin.”

You couldn’t believe it. Had they really given up on you so easily?

“Johnny, come on,” you whispered. “You know me. Better than anyone.”

He did…or at least he thought he did. But the screen behind you glared back at him, your notes, your access codes, the coincidences. The smoking gun in your own handwriting.

“If this is some kind of mistake,” Johnny said quietly, “then give me something. Anything that makes this make sense.”

“I wasn’t even here, Johnny. I was–“ you cut yourself short, not exactly knowing how to explain you’d been hiding a baby when everything you said already sounded like a lie to them. “Can you just give me a second? I just need to–“

“There’s no time to spare, I need to track where this information has gone. You could at least tell us that.” Reed said, and you blinked in disbelief. 

“I can’t tell you something I don’t know.” You shook your head. “This is not about what you guys are seeing on that screen. This is about you trusting me for who you know me to be.” You fought one last time. 

Reed just sighed, finally daring to say what they’d all agreed on before you arrived. 

“We are shutting the building down. Everything will be changed to make sure the information that got leaked won’t be relevant. I’ll conduct a further investigation, but…I think it’s clear enough for now. You have broken our trust. And if you’re refusing to share information with us, that means we can’t…it’s not possible to have you here anymore.”

Johnny’s head snapped up, but this time it was you who couldn’t meet his eyes. All that was left was the quiet, the heartbreak, and the sound of your breath hitching as the family you loved looked at you like a stranger. You thought of the ultrasound picture in your bag, of the heartbeat no one here knew about. The one they were casting out alongside yours. 

The weight of it crashed down. The lab blurred as tears filled your eyes in disbelief. At this point you didn’t even care about their “further investigations”, because they had already decided it had been you. Their eyes didn’t lie, they didn’t believe you. 

You lost them. And in that moment they lost you.

So you just nodded, and whispered, “I understand.”

But in your chest, your heart screamed I don’t. That’s when you decided to turn to the last person who could give you saving grace. With what little steadiness you had left, you cleared your throat.

“Johnny,” you said softly, not daring to look at anyone else. “Can I…can I at least talk to you? Just once. Please.”

Johnny didn’t answer right away. His shoulders were stiff, his face turned away, but he exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah…okay.”

Sue looked at him, but with the unbearing love she still had for you somewhere inside, she decided you two deserved that moment. So she took Franklin from Ben’s arms and rushed out of the lab, Reed following her, Ben lingered just long enough to give you one last conflicted look before the elevator doors shut closed. 

You were left in the silence of the lab, standing across from Johnny. This was either your last chance, or…your last goodbye. The room felt too big now, like you didn’t belong there anymore, but still you gathered the strength to fight one last time. 

“I can’t change what you saw, and I don’t understand why you would believe that was me. You know how much your family means to me. How much you mean to me.” You started, your voice faltering with the tears you tried to keep from spilling. “Just…think about everything we’ve been through. Every night in this place. Every secret. Every laugh. Do you really think that wasn’t real?”

That got him. His eyes snapped to you, glassy and burning, like your words meant the opposite you wanted them to.

“It was real to me,” he said. “And maybe that’s the problem. Because now all I can think is, what if it was all just part of this? What if you were playing me the whole time?”

“Johnny…”

He raked a hand through his hair, pacing again. “Do you know what it feels like? To look at you and not know if anything you ever said to me was true? To wonder if every smile, every moment, was just you getting closer to what you wanted?” His voice cracked. “What did you even want to get from this? I don’t understand.”

The realization hit worse than ever. He wasn’t questioning the stuff he saw, he was questioning you. He didn’t understand why you’d done it, because he’d already decided in his head it had been you. 

“I–this is my family.” He continued. “Why would you want to do this to my family?” 

The words carved into you. To believe you had come into the building ready to finally confess, to tell him about the baby, to give him the one piece of truth that could not be forged. But the way he looked at you now, made your stomach twist.

“I can’t tell you something I don’t know.” You repeated the same thing you’d said to Reed, blinking back the tears that blurred him out. “But I don’t think it’d matter anyways…it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

This wasn’t about proving yourself anymore. Not when he’d already decided you didn’t even deserve the chance. 

He didn’t deny it, and that was the moment you knew. The same way Sue protected her child. You couldn’t give yours to someone who didn’t trust you, who doubted the very core of who you were for some made up evidence against you. 

“I will do as your family said, I won’t be a problem to you anymore.” You said. 

His lips parted one last time, like he wanted to speak, to backtrack, but nothing came, instead his eyes went back to the floor. That silence was enough to break the parts of you that once belonged to him.

It was clear to you, that no matter how much it broke your soul, you had lost everything. So it was time to go. You wiped your tears with your sleeves, and decided you wouldn’t spill any more for him. Or at least, not in front of him. You took one last look at Johnny, the coward who couldn't even look at you as he exiled you from his life, his home, his family. 

You didn’t say goodbye, he didn’t deserve it. So you just turned around, walked to the elevator, and didn’t look back as the doors closed. 

That’s when Johnny allowed himself to break. Breathless, broken sobs muffled by his hands soaking with the hot tears spilling. He didn’t know what hurt more, that he never got to confess he loved you, or the fact that everything that made him love you wasn’t even real. He was overwhelmed with emotions, the disbelief, the fear, the anger, that it was so hard to see clearly past all of that. 

All he had left was the facts, the damning evidence on Reed’s screen. Because he didn’t have you anymore. 

Believing that was the biggest mistake of his life. 

By the time the building settled into the darkness of the night, you were already gone. No goodbye note in your room, only your untouched belongings and your heart left behind. As the cab sped away, your mind was a whirl of grief and uncertainty. They had taken your home from you, but they could never take away the last part you had from Johnny. 

The only thing you had left. 

Johnny didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands and your watch on his nightstand. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. He went to your room that night, trying to find something, a clue, anything that would help him see further the haze of pain that wouldn’t leave him alone. The room was silent, cold, even when he was a walking furnace. 

You’d left the bed made, two drawers half open, but the rest was intact. Picture frames, gifts he’d given to you through the years, records he’d chosen himself still displayed on your shelves. Like you couldn’t bear to bring a single piece of him with you. Only the faintest trace of your perfume lingered, clinging to the air like a ghost. 

The room looked frozen in time, like you just stopped existing. Which, you kind of had. 

Johnny’s chest burned, but not with fire this time. With the void only loss could cause. He leaned on the doorframe, staring into the space that used to be yours, and in some unspoken way, his. He wanted to rage, to scream, to burn the whole damn world down if it meant changing what happened. But nothing would do. 

You were gone.

Because they’d asked you to. Because he didn’t fight for you to stay. The smoking gun was not in your hands, but in his own. 

That night he slept on your bed. Eyes crying acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head. He clung to your scent and the good old memories, grieving the fact that he would never get to make new ones. Not with you.

Haunted by the look in my eyes 

That would’ve loved you for a lifetime

Leave it all behind

November.

The city you once loved became unbearable quickly. Every corner of Manhattan screamed their names. Fantastic Four billboards on Times Square, interviews replaying on café TVs, merch stands at every store. You couldn’t buy milk without Johnny’s smile flashing at you from a cereal box. It wasn’t home anymore. It was a wound that wasn’t allowed to close.

So you left New York for good, all to end up in a small southern town in Georgia. 

No flashing billboards, no cameras, no whispers of superheroes. No Fantastic Four influence anymore.

Still, nights weren’t easy. 

You sat by the open window of your small rental, the autumn air freezing against your skin. You stared out at the trees of a world that felt foreign, while you replayed every step that had led you there. 

Some nights you wrote letters. Folded scraps of paper with words you couldn’t say to anyone. Questions, confessions, apologies. Letters to the fire, to him, to the life you used to have. To no one.

It was like standing at the edge of a cliff screaming ‘give me a reason’. 

There wasn’t a clear path set for you anymore. The internship you earned through your hard work had once been an impossible dream, one you got to live. 

You guessed this was the price you had to pay for those few years in heaven. 

And there was one feeling that remained with you through the fall of the leaves. That peculiar ache, the sense that this wasn’t just pain for now, this pain was for evermore.

Hey December

Guess I’m feeling unmoored

Can’t remember what I used to fight for

Tis’ the damn season.

The city became unbearable for Johnny in December. Three months after your departure. 

The Fantastic Four’s Christmas photos were everywhere. Sue smiling with Franklin on her hip, Reed stiff as always, Ben wearing a ridiculous Santa hat marketing forced him to wear but he secretly loved. And Johnny, always the center of attention, always grinning. 

Because he was miserable but nobody had to know. 

Because the world saw him as the spark of every season. 

Because he was Johnny Storm, and he could do it all with a broken heart. 

Even when he hated himself most of the time. For doubting you. For letting the proof shout louder than his heart. So he did what he was best at, and hid behind a smile and his muscles, carrying the weight of believing you’d betrayed them…and the heavier weight of still missing you anyway.

Winter was in all its glory. 

Johnny wasn’t very fond of the snow since he got his powers. It wasn’t enough to affect him, since the cold never bothered him anyway, but it felt different when flying. Different than in any other season. 

But now he liked to see it fall through the large windows of the tower. Because maybe, wherever you were, he hoped you were seeing snow too. He could at least share that with you. 

So that’s what he was doing tonight.  

Johnny stood by the large windows of your room, a place where he found himself often, and thought about you. He always thought about you. Lost in his head, entranced by the way the snow fell, he didn't notice the tiny socks dragging against the blue carpet, until a little hand tugged the fabric of his pants. 

“Uncle Johnny?”

He looked down to find Franklin, clutching the stuffed dinosaur you’d given him on his last birthday. He smiled at his nephew, crouching to his height. 

 “Yeah, buddy?”

“Where is she?” Franklin asked, tilting his head.

His question was innocent, it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but the words knocked the air out of Johnny’s chest. He stared at his nephew, and the dinosaur tucked under his arm, the same one he’d helped you pick, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Franklin tugged his arm this time, when Johnny didn’t answer right away.

“She was always with you,” Franklin said softly. He always liked to point stuff out. Facts. Just like his father. “But now she’s not here. Mommy said she had to leave…” His little brow furrowed, because he didn’t understand. “Do you know why? Did she stop liking us?”

Johnny shook his head, forcing a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No, buddy. She didn’t stop liking you. She…she just had to go away for a while.”

“But I miss her.”

That was it.

The final crack in Johnny’s mask. He wrapped his arms around him and hoisted him up, wrapping him tight in his arms as he walked towards your bed and sat there. He buried his face in Franklin’s blonde hair so he couldn't see his eyes burning. “Yeah, buddy…I miss her too.”

He didn’t notice Sue standing on the doorway. She just watched as Johnny clung to her son, both of them breaking with the absence of the same person.

Back in your little southern town, you stared out the window too, but there wasn’t snow there. You missed it. Missed teasing Johnny about it. Missed laughing until you cried when you tried to make snow angels and he melted the snow into water in a matter of seconds. 

You couldn’t share the snow anymore, but you were thinking about him too. All while in a city miles away, Johnny held a child who wasn’t his, whispering that he missed you too.

You’re not my homeland anymore

So what am I defending now? 

January.

It was the first day of the new year. 

Sue found him in your room again. It was late, hours after she’d put Franklin to bed. Johnny sat in your bed in the dark, the glow of the moonlight painting his somber eyes. His hand was curled around your watch like he still couldn’t let it go.

“Johnny.” Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of someone who’d been watching him break for months.

He didn’t look at her right away. Just mumbled, “Can’t sleep.”

Sue crossed the room, sitting down beside him. She let the silence sit for a moment before speaking. “I know it hurts. More than it hurts the rest of us.” She reached out, resting a gentle hand on his arm. “But it's been months. And for your sake, Johnny…you can’t keep living like this.”

Johnny remembered what Franklin told him that night, and he wanted to use the same argument. ‘But I miss her’. He was sure he’d sound the same as the child, considering how his voice wasn’t as confident as it once was. 

“I can’t stop thinking about her. About that night…about everything I didn’t say.”

Sue’s hand slid to hold his, comforting in a way only a sister could be. “I know, Johnny. But sometimes people make their choices, and all we can do is let them go. You can’t burn yourself out trying to hold on to something that isn’t here anymore.”

Her words cut deep, but he knew they were spoken with love. Johnny sat there for a long time, staring at the watch in his palm. “You’re right.”

“I know it seems impossible now, but it’s time to bury it. Move forward, Johnny, for you.”

And he nodded, even though it seemed impossible. He decided then, to shove it down, to lock it up, to pretend the only fire burning him was the one from his own flames. He had to bury the pain, to bury you, somewhere he could never reach again.

The next day, as much as it hurt Sue, she moved every photo, every souvenir, every memory of you they had in the tower to that room, and put it under lock and key. Because she couldn’t keep watching her brother talk to a ghost. 

Johnny inevitably went back a couple of days after, only to find he could no longer get in. He’d noticed photos of you had gone missing, as well as all of the stuff you’d once given to him, so he figured his sister locked them away in your room. 

In that moment, Johnny wished he’d kept every receipt of the times he’d gone out with you. He would've, if he’d known one day every scrap of you would be taken away from him.

All that he had left was your memories. And he couldn’t help but wonder, What is she doing now?

If I didn't know better, I'd think you were still around

I know better, but I still feel you all around

February.

Six years later. 

The town had become your home in ways you never thought it would. You’d grown to love the main street lined with diners, boutiques and an old movie theater. The way everyone waved and actually made eye contact when you walked by, the rhythm of a place that moved slower than the world you’d left behind. It was like living inside a Hallmark movie. Except…without the love interest part.

By day, you taught at the community college. Your mornings went by as a professor in the science wing, filling blackboards with equations and diagrams, trying to pass on your love for learning and the things Reed had once taught you. Your students adored you, not because you were easy, but because you made them feel like science was reachable, like anyone could do it if they put in the effort. 

By night, your world was your son. 

Leo Spencer. 

He was everything all at once. The spark in your life, the reason behind your smile, and the vivid reminder of the one person you could never outrun. 

Because Johnny Storm lived in your son’s face. 

The same golden hair, the same dashing smile that lit up every room, his charming confidence, his small quirks. The way he drummed his fingers against the table without realizing, the way he tilted his head when he was curious, the way he filled a room with energy without even trying. He was a copy of the man who broke you. 

But not his eyes, no, those were yours. Johnny let you have one thing, at least. 

The only thing missing was the fire. Thank God for that. He never needed flames to shine. At only five years old, his restless curiosity had already outgrown the classrooms around him. Teachers threw around words like gifted and advanced classes, ones that carried dollar signs heavy enough to scare you. You worked extra hours tutoring in the afternoon to afford his tuition in a private school, even picked up shifts at the local bar on weekends, while your lovely neighbor took care of him. Exhaustion became an everyday thing, but you’d do it a thousand times over if it meant Leo had what he deserved.

You weren’t the same person who left New York. You changed your first name, and picked the same last name as your son for you, Spencer. It seemed stupid when you chose it, being Johnny’s second surname and all, but you weren’t really thinking clearly when you did. At least it had helped you tremendously to share it with Leo when it came to signing him up in the advanced programs. It kept people away from making questions since there wasn’t a “father” in the picture. They could only assume he’d divorced you or died. 

It was a place where gossip ran like water, after all. 

Your one story house wasn’t that big, but it was yours. White paint on the porch railing, a garden you kept stubbornly alive, shelves lined with books you actually had time to read again. At night you’d sit on the steps with a mug of tea, watching your son chase fireflies across the yard, laugh bubbling while telling you facts about their wings. 

You’d built this life with your own two hands, out of nothing. You did it with a broken heart, with one truth you carried quietly, tucked deep inside your chest. 

I’m never going to love again.

People tried to show their interest in you; a colleague who lingered too long in conversation, a neighbor who offered to fix the leak on your sink when you’d mentioned it, or even the police captain offering you coffee when you passed by the station in the mornings, but you shut the door on all of it with a polite smile. 

The world had taught you what it cost to put your faith in someone else, to hand over your heart and believe they’d protect it. You couldn’t afford to make that mistake again, not when there was a child depending on you. So you forgot about your big city dreams, at least until Leo was able to have his own. You kept your world small, safe, and put caution tape around your heart. 

Miles away, Johnny wasn’t much different. 

Of course he didn’t have to hide behind a fake name, he was still the golden boy of New York, still the Human Torch. Half naked in calendars, covers of magazines and billboards. He’d leaned into the spotlight harder than ever, laughing loud, burning brighter than his flames. 

But beneath it, the void never filled.

Six years, and he never let another woman close. Flirting, sure, he couldn’t help it, but he never took anyone home. It felt like betraying you, even when you betrayed him first. 

It was absurd, really, that he kept burning for a ghost.

He told himself he'd buried you, like Sue told him to. But the wound never closed. So he researched, quietly, secretly. When the others thought he was sleeping, Johnny sat in Reed’s lab going through old files, things that never quite added up. It had started as punishment, as a way to prove to himself that the evidence had been real, that he wasn’t crazy for believing it. But the longer he stared, the more holes he found. Places where the trail was too clean, where it looked too deliberate. 

He didn’t find proof that you’d done it. He was finding proof that he had destroyed you for nothing. 

That’s when he started looking for you. But your name didn’t show up in any database after that September six years ago. You just vanished into smoke slipping from his hands. 

He was supposed to be the fire, to absorb it before it burned everything down. But this time he had to be the one picking up the ashes left behind, one by one. 

And every night he whispered the same prayer to the stars, let me find something. Let me find her.

And it's been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong

I'm right where you left me

March.

You spent your afternoons tutoring, guiding your students the way you’d wished someone did for you when you were younger. Every bright mind that walked through your door had the potential, you just showed them what they could do with it. 

But some shone brighter than others, like this girl Kate. The darkest long hair, a sharp gaze and even a sharper mind. The kind of mind you recognized instantly. Restless, unable to settle for easy answers. She deserved more than the small town college could give her, and more than you could give her, if you were honest. 

Now, one of the many things The Fantastic Four contributed to the world were their academic programs. Opportunities, grants, financial aid, internships were all part of the things someone could earn through them. Of course, you had to be brave enough to even apply in the first place, and compete with millions of ‘exceptional’ applicants across the globe. 

You had once been brave enough to, and felt like you won the lottery when it landed you an internship with…them.

We all know how that story went. In the end, you lost the game of chances. But maybe Kate would play her cards better. So one day, pushing past your fears and your own trauma, you talked to her about the program that changed your life many moons ago. 

“Have you ever thought about applying to the Fantastic Four First Steps Program?”

Her head snapped up from her notebook, eyes wide. “Me? No way. I mean…that’s for geniuses, right? Not many people get in, only the people from the big cities.”

You smiled softly, even though your chest ached at the name. Fantastic Four. You hadn’t said it out loud in years; it was exiled from your vocabulary the way they’d exiled you. You never thought you’d send another person into that world ever again, but your experiences shouldn’t tarnish the ones others could have. So, even if the words tasted bitter in your mouth, you forced yourself to go on. 

“Kate, that program was built for minds like yours, no matter where you apply from. I seriously think you could get in, I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t.”

She hesitated; she had heard of other people from the college applying, but she thought they were crazy for even considering it, since no one from there ever got accepted. “Well, but…even if I could, which would be crazy…would I even belong in places like that?”

God, how many times had you asked yourself the same thing?

“Listen to me. You belong anywhere your brain can take you. And if you’re worried about the application, I’ll help you, I know what it takes to get in. You don’t have to do it alone.” You reassured, and after some consideration, she finally nodded.

You let out the part ‘because once, I was in’. Because once, those halls were your home. Because once, your whole life had unraveled on the top floor of that tower. But that was a long time ago, and you were starting to live for the hope of it all once again. 

Maybe life would be kinder to her the way it couldn’t be with you. 

So you both worked on her application right away. Crafted it perfectly. It wasn’t a hard task, since she was brilliant and her scores backed her up. You just helped her polish everything, keeping your name out of it, and soon her file was mailed to New York. 

It's been a long time

And seeing the shape of your name

Still spells out pain

October.

Johnny had been sent to represent the family at the Fantastic Four First Steps Program Showcase. Where dozens of students made a presentation on the projects they’d been working on since they got into the program. 

He arrived just in time, wearing a leather jacket over a fancy button down, and the most inappropriate pair of tight pants he found that day. 

“Family representation, Johnny." Sue had said that morning, shoving the itinerary into his hands. “Behave, pay attention, and ask questions.” 

And he tried, he really did…at first. 

But by hour two, saying he was bored wasn’t even enough. He still clapped when everyone else clapped, smiled when a camera panned at him, even threw a wink or two when someone in the audience managed to get his attention. 

He just had to hold on for another half an hour. Then he could sneak out, text Sue “great event!” and pretend he’d been deeply moved by the future of scientific innovation.

He wasn’t even looking at the stage when the next student walked up. Kate Bishop, the host announced. Another young person with a bright future and a nervous smile. Johnny didn’t even notice the accent in her voice or the way her hands trembled holding the slide pointer to the huge screen behind her. His gaze was fixed on the watch on his wrist, until her presentation came to an end. 

“…and I wouldn’t even be here today if it weren’t for my mentor, my professor back home,” Kate was saying. “She pushed me to apply, even when I didn’t think I could make it.”

Johnny looked up absentmindedly, he was ready to clap and give a thumbs up as if he heard the whole thing, but his hands stopped midair when he saw the slide change. 

There you were. On the screen.

Standing in a college lab, radiant as ever, the sunlight from the big windows pouring over your shoulder. The girl on stage was smiling next to you, her head tilted slightly in your direction. Your hand rested on her project model. You looked proud, happy, alive.

You. It was you.

Johnny couldn't clap, smile, or even breathe. He forgot where he was, forgot the rows of interns, the attention from the audience, the cameras pointed at him. The entire world narrowed to that glowing projection of you.

He hadn’t seen you in six years. Not in memories that didn’t hurt. Not even in photographs because Sue had locked them away in your room. His heart started to race, too fast, too painful. He felt it everywhere, in the edge of his ribs, in his throat, his ears.

All he could see was your smile frozen on that screen. The same smile that used to undo him every single day.

“The project began with her, back home in Georgia. She taught me that even if people don’t believe in you, you have to believe in the impact you’ll leave behind.”

Johnny squinted, trying to read the caption under the picture.

Professor Spencer and student Kate Bishop. Thomasville, Georgia. 

Spencer. Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm.

You took his name. His second surname.

You’d vanished, built a life, a reputation. And you chose somewhere quieter, smaller, far from him, far from the city that ruined you. You built yourself back up, became a new person, and still took his name.

But Johnny didn’t have time to spiral, because for the first time in six years, he didn’t just have a ghost, he had a trail. He had a location now. 

Thomasville, Georgia.

He had to find you.

Johnny left the conference building in a blaze of golden fire, without even saying goodbye to anyone, and went back to the Tower.

He stumbled into his room, slamming the door behind him, the rush of adrenaline burning through his shaking hands. He went straight to his nightstand, pulling out the last piece of you he kept, the only one Sue couldn't take away from him because he’d hid it.

Your watch.

He paced the length of his room, the watch clutched tight in his hand, muttering under his breath like that would help calm the storm inside him.

“Six years,” he whispered. “Six years and I finally found you.”

He pressed his palms against his face, but in the middle of his frenzy, the watch slipped from his grasp. It clattered to the floor with a sharp crack, metal case popping open, tiny pieces scattering over his carpet. 

“Fuck…”

He dropped to his knees, scooping the pieces up, but stopped over something that didn’t look like it belonged there. He picked it up carefully, staring at a tiny silver chip, glinting under the light coming from the large windows. It didn’t have the blue number four Reed stamped everything with. 

What the hell…

He scooped the rest of the pieces from your watch, and set them on his bed. Then, without even giving it a second thought, he took off his own watch and closed his eyes as he slammed it against the floor. The casing burst open just like yours, gears and metal scattering on the floor. But all he saw were pieces that were meant to be there, stamped with the tiniest four emblem. No weird chip. 

“No, no, no…” He shook his head, looking all around the carpet to see if he missed it coming out of his watch. But he found nothing. 

He needed answers now.

Johnny didn’t remember running through the halls. His chest burned, and his vision blurred. By the time he burst into Reed’s lab, he was gasping, eyes wet, the small chip clutched safely in his hand. 

“Reed–Reed, I need you to look at this!” 

Sue jumped in her spot, and sat up straighter from where she was leaning over some papers. Reed looked up from his work, brows furrowing at Johnny sprinting toward him. 

“Weren’t you at the education summit?” Reed asked, just as Johnny set the chip in front of him.

“I left early.” Johnny shook his head quickly, catching his breath. “This is more important. You need to analyze this. Now.” 

Reed glared at him for a few seconds, but when he noticed the desperation behind Johnny’s pleading eyes, he reached for the chip with a tweezer. Johnny began pacing, raking his hands through his hair, breathing uneven as Reed studied the component carefully. 

“Are you okay?” Sue finally dared to ask, but Johnny didn’t answer.

He turned to Reed. “Well?” He demanded. “It’s not from here, is it?”

Reed ignored him, and set the chip under his scanner. A pulse of blue light ran over it, as Reed pressed keys, analyzing its composition, code structures, searching for anything familiar. When the machine was finally done with the results, Reed leaned back.

“This isn’t ours.” He announced, and Johnny froze in his pacing. “This is advanced nano technology. ” 

“Johnny, where did you even find that?” Sue asked, but was ignored once again by her brother. 

“Are you completely sure it isn't ours?” He pressed. 

“It is not. I am years away from implementing it on our equipment. I’m afraid I don’t have the capability of building something like this here…yet.”

Johnny just stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the chip glowing faintly under the lab lights. 

“The chip…it was in her watch. The one we got the information from when we threw her out.” He explained, quiet anger threaded in every word. “The one she begged us to believe was glitching.”

Sue and Reed exchanged a wide eyed look, they knew exactly who he was talking about. Sue got up to put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, but he turned away. 

“Johnny…”

He slammed his hands against the counter, as tears burned the back of his eyes. “She told us. She told us something was wrong, and we didn’t listen. We just–we believed the files instead of her.”

Reed’s expression hardened as he looked back at the chip. His mind piecing everything together. “Nano technology is extremely dangerous. Someone must have embedded it on her device when she was out in the city, stole her information and then transferred the breach into it to cover their tracks. To make it look like the leak came from her.”

“Oh my god,” Sue gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“This…this could have been planted on any of our watches. But whoever did this chose hers.” Reed added. 

“Because she wasn’t blood.” Sue shook her head. 

“Because she wasn’t officially one of us, which would make it more believable to us.” 

Johnny turned furious toward Reed when he heard that. “She was part of the family! At least back then she was. Don’t you dare imply she wasn’t.”

“Johnny, I’m not implying anything. I’m just trying to reason on how this happened–” 

“We let her take the fall, that’s what happened! You let me believe it was her, when she was innocent!” Johnny snapped, pointing accusingly at him. Reed opened his mouth to argue, but Johnny didn’t even let him speak. “How did that chip get past you? You got all the information of the breach from her watch. How come you didn’t see that?”

That’s when Sue decided to step in. “Johnny, we had no idea. None of us did. There was so much evidence, you saw it.” She reached out, her hand hovering near his arm. “We can only hope to forgive ourselves for believing–”

“Forgive ourselves?” Before she could reach him he recoiled, staggering back offended. “How can I forgive myself? Tell me that, Sue. How can I fucking forgive myself?” His voice cracked. 

That was the moment Johnny couldn’t hold it in anymore. He leaned over the counter, palms supporting him as his eyes drowned in tears with the heartbreaking realization that it wasn’t you. It had never been you.

And he found that out six years late.

Six years of feeling guilty for not hating you. Six years of burying you. Of forcing himself to believe that you were the one who had cut them open, who had put Franklin at risk, who had taken everything they built and sold it out. All those years, all that evidence, the betrayal they’d carved into your name, was a lie. Someone had planted it. Someone had turned the watch he gave you into a weapon against you. 

And he believed it. 

He thought he knew pain before, the loss of his mother, the terrifying day that changed his life on that space mission. But this was a different kind of pain. Because those other things he could have never foreseen, or prevented. But this? He didn’t keep you safe, didn’t protect you, just let you take the blame.

And he could never undo what he’d done to you. This was a fire he ignited himself, a fire he’d let consume you. 

Sue walked over to him, her face pale at the sight of endless tears streaking down her brother’s cheeks. She placed a hand on his shoulder hesitantly, expecting to be rejected once again, but instead stumbled backwards when Johnny turned around and wrapped his arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder. Sue’s eyes swelled with tears too as her brother cried uncontrollably, clinging to her for dear life.

She let him get it all out, one arm hugging him tightly and the other lifted to stroke his hair, just like when he was a kid. Reed just watched in silence, guilt sinking deep into his bones with every sob that echoed in the lab. Johnny was right. He should’ve seen it, he should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt instead of making them think you would do something like that. He hadn't just failed you, he’d failed his entire family.

Johnny’s tears finally came to a stop after what felt like forever, his chest heaved with leftover hiccups. He pulled back from Sue, running his hands violently through his soaked face. He sniffed a few times, gaze lowering on the floor, hands on his hips.

“I let her walk out with nothing. I watched her beg me to believe her and I–” His voice cracked again, but he pressed his palms to his eyes. “I didn’t, Sue. I didn't. For six fucking years I let her believe we hated her.”

“Johnny, we can’t change the past.” Her voice softened, she wiped her own tears with a napkin Reed pulled out from his shirt. “All we have is the now–”

“Now? Now she’s in some small town, working in a community college when she should’ve had the world with us. We stole her future from her.”

That made Reed’s head snap up. “Wait–you know where she is?” 

“Johnny, you found her?” Sue asked, just as surprised. 

Johnny nodded, sighing. “I saw her–not in person. This girl from the program, Kate, showed a picture of her in her presentation today. Said she was her professor at the community college back home.” He sniffed as he forced himself to go on. “In Thomasville. A town in Georgia, she’s there.”

Sue stepped closer, her arms crossed in her chest. “Then we have to fix it.”

She got startled by Johnny’s bitter laughter. “Fix it? How the hell do you fix six years? How do you fix letting someone you love think you hated them?” He shook his head. “I love her, I never stopped. And now I don’t even know if she’d even look at me, let alone forgive me.”

Reed sighed, walking over to Johnny. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and spoke to him the way he did when Johnny was younger. “Maybe it’s not about forgiveness, Johnny. Maybe it’s about the truth. About giving her back what was stolen.” He looked over to the chip, regret flickering through his calm voice. 

“So now we try. It doesn't matter if it’s too late.” Sue added. “And it has to be you. It doesn't matter if she slams the door in your face. You try, Johnny, you have to.”

Reed nodded. “We can’t undo what we did. But we can stop letting her carry it alone.”

Johnny stood there, comforted by his sister who’d always been his mother figure, and Reed who, no matter how much they bickered everyday, had also always been there for him in ways only a father could. 

He didn’t know if it was possible, he didn’t know what came next. But he knew he had to try. 

He was coming to get you. 

Guilty, guilty, reaching out across the sea

That you put between you and me

Thomasville, Georgia, was quiet that sunny Sunday morning.

Church bells rang in the distance, families walked out of diners with paper bags of pancakes, the people on the streets moving at that slow pace that belonged to small towns.

Johnny Storm had never felt more out of place.

He could’ve flown there. Part of him wanted to, he loved traveling in that fast, fiery streak across the sky. But he couldn’t risk it. If the news caught him flying in some random town instead of New York and you saw it, you might vanish before he ever got close, and he couldn’t lose you again. So he flew into the nearest big city instead, rented a shiny black pickup truck that in his head looked appropriate for his trip, and drove for hours to your town across red, yellow and orange trees with the windows down, letting the autumn air cool down the heat gnawing inside him. 

He hadn't been able to find your address on public records, so he chose to start by the community college first. The campus was almost empty that Sunday, only a few students lingered by the library steps. He stepped down his huge pickup with sunglasses on, the less flashy pair he owned, and a cap to cover his distinct blond hair. Johnny kept his head down, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, slipping past unnoticed. 

The directory board near the main entrance gave him what he needed. Your office number. He dodged a custodian pushing a cart, and ducked past a pair of students glued to their books. His heart pounded louder with every turn until finally, he found it.

The office.

The door was unlocked, strangely enough since there was no one inside. But when he stepped in, he understood why. The space was…bare. If your name wasn’t on the door, he would've thought no one worked there. He saw a desk, a neat stack of papers on it, and a clean chalkboard. No photos. No plants. No little trinkets to claim the space as yours.

Johnny closed the door softly behind him, his chest aching as his eyes traced the emptiness. There was no warmth, no spark of you. It was efficient, practical, almost…detached. Like you could walk away without leaving a trace. And Johnny realized, with a sick twist of his stomach, that your trauma had a shape. Four walls, stripped bare, a life lived like you might vanish again tomorrow.

“You never let yourself settle,” Johnny whispered to the empty room.

Because six years ago, they had made you leave your home with nothing. Because you had learned the hard way that belonging could be ripped away overnight. The guilt pressed down harder on his chest, almost suffocating. Johnny shoved those feelings away, he was on a mission to try to fix all of that. 

He rounded your desk, and checked the papers on it first. Faculty memos, notes, nothing relevant. His hands went through the drawers, he found more notes, a few bags of snacks, and finally, a folded bill, with your address printed clear at the top.

“Bingo,” he grinned. 

He shoved it in his pocket, then tugged at the next drawer but nothing happened, it was locked. He grinned wider, because if there was anything Johnny Storm liked, was sticking up his nose where he shouldn't. And he’d known you long enough to remember you used to hide things in plain sight. All he had to do was scan the desk until he found a small key tucked inside a pencil holder. 

Typical.

At first, it was nothing remarkable. Just research notes, class grades, tests drafts. But then his hand found envelopes tucked deeper. He pulled them out, and found letters with your handwriting, but no stamps, no addresses. Letters that were never meant to be sent. But his brow furrowed when he noticed his name on the first one.

My Johnny.

He flipped to the next. 

Dear Johnny.

Then the next.

Johnny.

And then the last one. 

For him.

You wrote to him, even when there was no hope, even when he was never going to read them. He clutched the envelopes, his heart fracturing when he realized he went from being called yours to someone you couldn't name anymore, not even on paper. 

He took a deep breath, ready to read what the first one said, but before he could take out the folded letter out of the envelope, the doorknob rattled.

He didn’t even have time to panic. He shut the drawer in a rush, and dropped down to his knees with the stack of the envelopes clutched tightly against his chest, crawling under the desk just as the door creaked open. The sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. Someone was walking up to the desk. Was it you? 

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God–

“Yeah, I’m in your office now,” a man’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Where’s that document you said you needed?”

Johnny’s eyes went wide. That man seemed to be on the phone. With you. He couldn’t make out clearly what you were saying, not from where he crouched, but the knowledge that you were there, so close, closer than you’d been in six years, nearly made him throw up. 

That, and also the fact that someone was on the other side of the desk and if they decided to round it, they would find the Human Torch hiding like a fucking thief.

The man hummed at whatever your response was, rifling through the stack of papers on top of the desk until he found it. “Ah, here. You owe me, Professor.” He chuckled. 

And then, faint but unmistakable, Johnny heard your laugh carrying from the other side of the line. God, he’d forgotten what it sounded like. Six years apart, and the first time he heard your laugh again, it wasn’t for him.

“Lucky for you, I was passing by campus today.” He said. Then his voice shifted, to a more playful tone Johnny knew too well. “By the way…have you thought about that coffee yet?”

Johnny stiffened under the desk. The man had an ease to him, the kind of thing that wasn’t forced. He wasn’t pushing, just…trying. He leaned closer so he could hear what you said to that. And that’s when he heard it again, your laugh. Like he was the funniest man alive, and it twisted Johnny’s insides. 

“John, I’m always flattered with the offer.”

John? Another John?

Jealousy wasn't something Johnny had felt in a long time. But at that moment, a million questions popped in his head in a matter of seconds. 

Who was he? How did you know him? Why did you ask for his help? Why were you laughing so much? Was he blond too? What car did he drive–

“But you know I’m busy, so I’m going to–”

“...Reject me, I know, I know.” John finished your sentence, and laughed under his breath, almost like he was expecting it. Johnny had to cover his mouth before he sighed in relief. “I’m used to it. But it's always worth a try, though.”

Always??

Before Johnny could lose it under that desk, it seemed like this “John” was finally about to leave, but stopped midway. “This may sound weird, but your office feels too…warm. I know it’s autumn, but how much do you crank up the heating?” He snorted, looking around the room.

Johnny cursed in his head. He hadn't even realized his temperature had risen significantly with all the jealousy. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, though.

“Huh, yeah, that’s weird. I always turn it off when I’m not there. Must be your imagination.” You joked.

“Or your voice,” John flirted. If you could even call that flirting, in Johnny’s very humble opinion. He grimaced, and thankfully, you protested too. “Alright, alright sorry. Let me get this to you and I’ll be out of your way.” He joked. 

“Okay…thank you, Captain Walker.” 

Captain Walker? Why did that sound flirty? Why did “John” laugh at that? Was it an inner joke? Was he an actual captain?

Johnny had to see this man right now.

But before he could spiral any further and create scenarios in his head, the line clicked off. He held his breath, waiting for the man to leave. Finally, the footsteps shifted toward the door, and Johnny couldn’t stop himself. He tucked the four envelopes on the inside of his jacket, and then he lifted himself up just enough to peek over the desk. 

He couldn’t see his face as he walked away, but with the way he carried himself, he was probably handsome. His hair was darker than Johnny’s but still blond, most likely with the same blue eyes to match. Taller, broader, the kind of frame that filled a doorway without trying. He wore a dark red flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves, worn jeans, and brown cowboy boots. The outfit screamed southern man on a Sunday.

Finally, the guy left the office, leaving him alone again.

Johnny should’ve been glad you’d turned him down, at least for a moment he was. The thought that you’d smiled politely, laughed softly, and still said no soothed the part of him that was still in love with you.

The guy seemed kind, and didn't really come off as a creep. He was a captain, apparently. He sucked at flirting, according to Johnny, but you seemed to laugh genuinely at his attempts…you seemed comfortable. Now Johnny only knew him from that short interaction, but he felt like the type of guy who looked steady, rooted…safe. The type of man who looked like he belonged there. 

The type of man you would've said yes to.

But something gnawed at the back of his head. The delusional part of himself thought that maybe you’d rejected that guy because you still remembered him. But then, the darker part of him whispered in his ear that it was actually because of what he did to you, and you couldn't risk another heartbreak.

The same way you didn’t seem to get attached to spaces, like your office, maybe you didn’t let yourself get attached to people either.

Johnny’s heart pounded in his chest as he drove to your home. He didn’t really have a plan…or words. What could he say after six years? What could possibly fit into a sentence when what he did to you should be a lifetime of apologies?

All he knew was that he had to see you. 

When he finally turned down your street, the world seemed to slow. It was a beautiful place, for sure. Orange leaves fell from the trees lining up the street, landing in the gardens of the houses. It was quiet around, yet it looked so lived in. Johnny parked a few houses down, and he sat there for a long moment, just staring at his shaking hands. He finally gathered the courage to get out of the car, and looked for the house with the same number he found in the bill he got from your office. He finally found it, and he stood right in front of it. 

Your home.

A single story painted in soft baby blue with a beautiful porch. A little rocking white bench sat out front, and plants that looked cared for lined the steps in mismatched pots. 

You built this, he thought. Without us. Without me.

Each step to the porch felt heavier, like he was walking straight into a storm. He ran his hand over the wooden railing, steadying himself, letting the softness of the blue paint calm him down. He paused at the door, looking down at the doormat that said Welcome! 

He chuckled nervously under his breath, but something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Right by the door, there were two pairs of rainboots. One black, the other shiny red. It would've been a normal thing, if it wasn't for the fact that the red ones looked too small to belong to you. Johnny tilted his head, but the nerves running through his body didn’t really let him think clearly. So he just shrugged it off. Maybe some kid from the neighbors had left them there. It seemed like the type of neighborhood where everyone knew everyone and everyone shared everything. 

He took one last deep breath, and finally knocked on your door. 

The time is near

What would he do if he found us out?

He's gonna burn this house to the ground

The knock that would change your life echoed through the quiet of the house. You finished slipping your sports shoes on, frowning at the sound. Sunday afternoons were calm, Leo was already at the neighbor’s so you didn't get interrupted as you got ready for your shift at the bar. You weren’t expecting anyone.

And when you opened the creaky wood door, you certainly weren’t expecting Johnny Storm to be standing right outside the mesh screen.

It felt like a bucket of ice water just got dumped on you. 

The last rays of golden sunlight hit him perfectly, catching on that familiar blonde hair you saw everyday on a smaller version of him. Your eyes went over the sharp lines of his face, ones you had spent years trying to erase from your memory. It was him, without a doubt. A few years older. Real. But somehow missing that boyish spark you were so used to seeing on him.

For a moment you didn’t move, you didn’t breathe, you couldn’t even if you tried. It felt like the air had been stolen right out of your lungs.

And Johnny? He was no different. Because even though he knew he was seeing you that day, he wasn’t prepared for this version of you. The one whose eyes told him you were still haunted by everything he had taken away from you. And you were so real, not a memory, not a brief visit in his dreams, not a picture on a presentation yet he looked at you like he’d seen a ghost.

Because that’s what you were, his ghost, his lost six years.

The mesh door separated you like a thin wall, but the weight of lost time pressed through it. Your face was stunned, eyes wide like you were seeing death itself. Because that’s what he was to you.

But this time what died didn’t stay dead, and it was standing on your porch, right in front of you. 

The pain of it all hit you immediately, like it never left. You remembered the way he’d said everything all those years ago, his voice harsh and determined. Words that had followed you through every lonely night, every rock of your baby’s cradle, every time you told yourself you’d never trust again.

And now he dared to show up at the house you built with the bricks they threw at you.

Your heart rushed, panic replacing your anger. The only thought racing in your head was Leo. He came for Leo. He found you somehow, and now he was going to take your son away.

“J…” Your voice broke trying to say his name; it had been buried in your throat for years. But saying it felt wrong, unnatural, like dragging open an old wound. 

His own breath hitched, his eyes getting glassy before he could stop them. “God…” He whispered. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You stared at him as if he might vanish like he always did in your dreams. He would be doing you a favor anyways, you’d much rather be safe and stranded, than giving someone the chance to hurt you again. 

Your fingers gripped the edge of the doorframe to ground you, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and defensive. 

“What are you doing here?”

Johnny flinched, just slightly, like the sound of your voice had cut him. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said softly. “For a long time.”

Your stomach twisted. Panic and fury knotted together in your chest, and you shook your head. “You shouldn’t have.”

He took a small step closer, seeing the fire in your eyes, yet still he dared to ask. “Can I…come in? Please. We need to talk.”

“I don’t think you should.” The answer came firm, unhesitant. 

The firmness in your voice startled even you. His face fell, taken aback, like he hadn’t expected you to stand so solid, to draw a line in the sand. Six years ago, you’d begged. Six years ago, you’d folded under the weight of their disbelief.

But not anymore.

Johnny cleared his throat, his voice breaking as he tried again. “Just–just a conversation. I swear. We really need to talk.”

For a moment, you wanted to shut the door. To bolt it and keep the small, safe world you’d built intact. But his eyes…always those eyes. Wide, glassy, unguarded. And against every instinct, against every scar, you found yourself unlatching the mesh door. It creaked open, and you stepped aside.

Johnny crossed the threshold like he was walking into another world.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving him standing awkwardly in the small living room. Johnny’s eyes darted everywhere at once, taking it all in. The scent of lemon freshness, the warmth of afternoon light across your light cream walls, the faint clutter of everyday life, papers stacked on the table, faint scuff marks on the wooden floor, a blanket folded neatly on the couch. It wasn’t the Baxter Building. It wasn’t glass and striking colors and grandeur. It was a home. Your home.

And Johnny Storm stood in the middle of it, stunned, feeling like he had no right to breathe the same air.

“You can uh…sit,” you said quietly, gesturing to the couch near the door, trying to keep him from looking closer and finding something that could hint at a child living in the house. 

He obeyed without question, lowering himself onto the cushions. They sank beneath his weight, too soft, too comfortable. Nothing like the Baxter couches, firm, pristine. This one probably carried the wear and tear of movie nights and lazy weekends. He wasn’t sure the last time he had something like that. Still, no matter how comfy, Johnny sat stiffly, hands clasped trying not to fidget.

You hovered nearby, nervous, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Do you…want something to drink?”

For a second, he softened. The offer was familiar, like the ghost of old times when you’d fuss over whether he wanted a soda or coffee before turning into your assistant for long nights in the lab. His lips twitched, almost a smile, but the nerves won out.

“No. I’m fine.” He said, voice awkward.

You crossed your arms, finally steadying yourself enough to meet his gaze. “Then say what you came to say. I don’t really have much time.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I have to go to work.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Work? On a Sunday night? Classes aren’t–“

“It’s not college. I have something else on the weekends.” You didn’t elaborate further, you didn’t need to.

Something in his chest sank, knowing you had another job, a side job. You, who once had the whole future wide open in the palm of your hand, who got everything promised when you were selected to work on Reed’s lab, becoming one of them, now pulling late shifts somewhere just to make ends meet.

Johnny swallowed the lump in his throat, understanding without you spelling it out. You needed the income. The silence stretched until it strangled him, until he couldn’t keep those words inside anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, then leaned forward, voice already breaking. “I’m so goddamn sorry for everything. For not believing you. For letting you walk out of that tower like you were nothing when you were–when you were everything. I know it wasn’t you. I know now.”

Words…how little they mean, when they’re a little too late. 

Johnny dragged a shaking hand down his face when you just blinked at him. “I found the root of the leak…some nano chip that was hidden inside your watch. I know you told us–you said it was glitching, that it wasn’t you. Someone planted it there, got your information and used you to cover their tracks. And we–” He stopped for a moment to breathe, to steady his voice. “We let them. We handed you over without a fight. I–I did.”

Hearing Johnny say those words should’ve made you jump into his arms and kiss the tears away. Should’ve shattered you into granting him the sweet light of your forgiveness. Six years ago, you would have. Six years ago, you would have fallen to your knees just to hear them, would’ve clung to the smallest scrap of his belief.

It was the apology you had begged for in the dark, the one you had prayed might come. For years, you had whispered those words into your pillow, written them down in letters addressed to the fire, waited for the day he would arrive and tell you what you already knew.

But that day never came.

Not until the years had worn the edge off the pain. Not until you’d forced yourself to move forward. For your sake…for Leo’s. Still, that didn’t make it any easier for you. 

You could see it in him…the wreckage. His eyes wet, voice cracked with regret, chest rising and falling too fast. He was crushed under the same weight you’d carried alone for so long. As his chest ached with the same heartbreak yours once did, you stood still, lips sealed tight, arms crossed to protect yourself. 

That silence killed Johnny. And he had no one else to blame but himself. 

“I should’ve believed you.” His last choked apology came in a whisper, barely audible. 

Johnny stood up from the couch, but didn’t get closer. His fire buzzed under his skin, begging to flare to burn the ache down, but he forced it off. The last thing he wanted was to scorch this place, your place, the home you had built from the ashes he’d left you in.

You swallowed hard when he did, but you said nothing. You didn’t uncross your arms. Didn’t break…not yet. 

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t just look at me like that.”

When you said nothing, again, he staggered back a step, his hands dropping to his sides like he was keeping himself from reaching for you. 

“God, I deserve this,” he mumbled, more to himself. His eyes glistened, fixated on some mark on the floor. “Six years. I–” His throat closed, he had to force his voice out. “Six fucking years, and you won’t even say my name.”

No. You couldn’t. 

“I would’ve died to hear those words back then.”

His head snapped up. The sound of your voice, steady but laced with ache, tore through him like fire.

You shook your head, a bitter laugh made its way out. “I waited…God, I waited. For you to reach out, for any of you to show up at my door and say you didn’t believe it, that you hadn’t given up on me. But nothing came.”

Johnny’s lips parted, eyes wide, but this time it was him reeling in silence.

“I wrote letters,” you whispered, arms still crossed. “Letters addressed to no one. Words I knew you’d never read…just so I could breathe. Just so I could put the pain somewhere.”

Tears clouded Johnny’s eyes, he could almost feel the papers in your hands, the ghost of your handwriting spelling his name. My Johnny. Dear Johnny. For him. 

The last one when you couldn’t even withstand the thought of his name anymore. 

“And still…I couldn’t make it go away by making you the villain. I tried–believe me I did, because out of all of them I expected you to be the one to stand by me. But you just–” Your voice faltered when tears finally found their way out of your eyes. “You didn’t believe me.”

The little sobs you tried to muffle with your hand were unbearable for him. For a moment, he looked like he might collapse under the weight of your words, but he pushed through. He had to make you understand his side of the story. 

“I didn’t give up on you, not at first.” He said, words coming out desperate. “I studied it…in secret. Every night, I went over the reports, the logs, everything I could get my hands on. I couldn’t–God, I wouldn’t believe it. Not you. Not the girl who lived in the tower with us, who was family, who was…who was everything to me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, pacing once before turning back toward you. “But the evidence was there, every file, every trace led back to things only you would know, and I was too blind to see past that. But all this time–” He reached into his jacket, fingers brushing the broken edges of your old watch. “It was sitting on my nightstand…the proof–that fucking chip inside your watch. It was right there all along…and I didn’t see it until six years too late.”

The revelation that he kept your watch on his nightstand shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. He’d kept a piece of you close to him…next to him. Yet still, he decided you weren’t worth the benefit of the doubt. 

“The problem,” you said dryly, “is that you needed the evidence at all. If you’d just listened to me–” Your voice cracked, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “If you’d just trusted me back then, everything would be different today.”

“I wanted to,” he rasped, too unsteady, too quickly. “God, I wanted to believe you more than anything. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to choose my heart over proof and I hate myself for that…I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

You stared at him for a moment, then shook your head. “You’re asking for something I can’t give you now,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I ever can.”

“I’ll take it.” He whispered back, wiping the tears away with the back of his sleeve. “Whatever you’ll give me, I’ll take it. I just needed you to know I was sorry. That I was wrong.”

Silence stretched, until you finally forced yourself to ask what you’ve been dying to know since you saw him at your doorstep, your arms tightening across your chest. 

“How did…how did you even find me?”

Your stomach twisted, braced for the answer you feared most. That he wasn’t here for you at all. That the apology was just some excuse. That he was here to rip Leo from your arms, to take the only piece of safety you had left.

“Through one of your students…Kate. She showed a photo at a presentation. You were there…next to her.” He explained. “I thought I’d gone insane. I thought I was seeing ghosts. But it was you.”

Kate.

Shit.

You swallowed hard. It had been you who’d told her to apply, who’d guided her steps closer to the program you should’ve kept far away from. You had been so careful with her application, keeping your name out of it, yet it was a variable you couldn't control that made your face find its way back to him. 

It still felt like your fault. 

The walls of the house suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier, warmer but not in a good way. Suffocating. For six years you’d kept yourself invisible, careful to erase every trace, and now you’d been found…because of your own slip.

Johnny saw the realization hit your features. Your frantic eyes told him how much you didn’t want to be found, how he was considered a danger to the little world you lived in now, and it ripped his heart more. He took a shaky step back, his hands half raised like he needed to show he wasn’t a threat. 

“God, I knew it. After everything I did, after what we put you through, of course you don’t want me here…and you don’t owe me anything, but I’ll take whatever scraps you’ll give me. Just–” He ran his hands through his already messy hair. “…Just don’t be afraid of me.”

You just stood there, letting your gaze drift over him. His posture a little heavier, his face more lined, but still so unmistakably Johnny Storm. Still handsome in that way that made your stomach twist…like seeing an ex. 

And the resemblance…God. It was astounding.

Your throat tightened as your eyes flicked from his face to the memory of your son’s. The same blond hair, the same damn smile when he was feeling mischievous. Leo was a mirror of him, down to quirks he didn’t even know he shared.

You knew if Johnny looked too long into your eyes, he might see the fear was not for you, but for Leo. So you forced yourself to blink, to pull the thought back into the cage where it belonged. Johnny didn’t know. Couldn’t know. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said at last, steadying your voice. “It’s just…shocking. Seeing you after all these years.” 

“Yeah…feels the same way for me.”

For a moment, Johnny let himself breathe, let himself believe just being there with you was enough, that he’d gotten farther than he thought he would. He sat back down on the couch, trying to steady himself from the weight of it all, but the silence stretched, and something gnawed at him. A pang in his chest, a whisper at the back of his mind.

Something was missing.

He tore his gaze from you, eyes drifting quickly across the place like answers might be hiding in the corners. It wasn’t like the tower, not polished, not curated. This house showed it was lived in. The open small kitchen was the room that first caught his eye. On the breakfast counter that faced the living room, three different kinds of cereal sat half open. A small wooden stool sat beneath the sink on the counter by the window, and in the drying rack, a mug and an orange plastic cup with a built-in straw sat side by side. A metal lunchbox was nearby, plain, blue, nothing flashy, but it didn’t quite fit as yours alone.

That’s when he remembered the tiny boots at the entrance. Everything lined up too perfectly, too unmistakable. Johnny came to the conclusion that someone else shared this space with  you. Someone with smaller steps, different routines than a normal person…it was a family’s home, without a doubt. Johnny’s chest tightened, and his eyes darted again, searching for just one more clue…

And then he saw it.

By the small tv center, half hidden in the corner, a toy box. Brightly painted, clearly well loved by the scratches on it. From the top poked the unmistakable shape of a toy car, the front wheels worn from too many races across the floor. His eyes widened, locked on the toy poking out, his entire body going still.

You followed his line of sight, dread flooding through your body. He’d seen it.

The toy. The truth. And you knew in that second there was no taking it back.

Johnny’s gaze stayed fixed on the little car. He didn’t say it right away…he couldn’t. The truth pressed the back of his throat, suffocating, but if he spoke it aloud, it would be real. So instead, he gaslighted himself for a little longer, forcing his voice to come out.

“Didn’t know you had a nephew,” he said, nodding faintly toward the corner. “Guess I missed a lot.”

It was subtle, almost casual, not accusatory. But you could hear the crack beneath the words, the real intention under his tone. He was pretending not to know. Pretending, maybe for both your sakes.

You hesitated, lips parting before closing again, thinking you could lie. You could nod and let him believe it, let the moment slip away. But his eyes…God, his eyes were already on you, glistening, waiting for you to tell the truth he couldn't. 

“It’s not a nephew.” Was all you said. 

No lie. Not the full truth either.

And what once was a forgotten night of too many drinks between two idiots in love, turned into two strangers, standing inches apart, knowing damn well what that child was.

Johnny pushed up from the couch, his legs unsteady but determined. He couldn’t sit any longer, he needed to be closer. To force that truth face to face. But when he stepped closer to you, his eyes caught on something on the corner of his eye.

A wall that led to a hallway, covered in frames. He drifted toward it instinctively, drawn like a moth to flame.

You moved quickly, your hand half reaching for his arm to stop him, his name tumbling out of your lips in desperation. “Johnny–”

But he pushed past you, and soon was standing there. Right in front of the wall of photographs. Dozens of them. A curated display of moments of a little kid. 

A newborn in a hospital blanket, tiny fists curled tight. A toddler, grinning wide as frosting smeared his cheeks at a birthday table, a number two on the cake. A four year old, probably, holding up a plant with proud little hands. And the one where he looked the oldest, standing proudly next to an experiment with a “winner” badge at a science fair. It could’ve been that same week for all he knew. And multiple more, across all stages of his little life.

The kid’s face looked back at him like a mirror from the past. His past. Just younger, innocent. Same hair, same smile, same spark. He reached out, fingertips shaking as they hovered over the glass.

All the paths led there. To that house. To that wall. To that smile.

To you.

Johnny’s mind went to that gala night. That one damn night. Too much champagne, too much fire, laughter and kisses that blurred into a night he could never forget. But it had been just one. One night you'd both decided it was a mistake, an impulse, a result of recklessness. 

And yet here, before his eyes, was proof of everything that night had left behind.

“God…” he whispered, barely audible.

An entire childhood he had missed.

Your son.

His–?

Johnny’s hand lingered on the frame. His own reflection in the glass, overlapping with the kid’s smile, and it felt like a cruel trick. His chest heaved, his head spinning.

“No,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. “No, it was…it was just one night.” His voice cracked in denial. “That gala, that was all it was. Just one night.”

His eyes darted across the wall again. Newborn, toddler, child, and every photo twisted the knife deeper. He staggered back a step, and finally, he forced himself to turn to you, his gaze pinning you to the spot.

“Tell me he’s not who I think he is.” He begged. “Please. Tell me I didn’t miss it–tell me I didn’t miss the most important part of your life–” His voice cracked, devastated, “–of mine.”

The plea rattled the air between you, thick with panic, with grief, with the sharp edge of a truth he couldn’t bear to face. His eyes glassy and desperate, burning with fire he couldn’t control, the heat searing just beneath his skin. And you couldn't, for the life of you, say anything. 

“God, please,” he whispered, his throat closing around the words. “Don’t let it be true. Don’t tell me I’ve lost all those years I'll never get back. Don’t tell me he’s–”

He cut himself off, choking on the last word.

And you knew. You knew the cat was out of the bag. No turning back, no denying it, no hiding Leo in the corners of your little world anymore. His father stood right here, breaking, begging you to undo what couldn’t be undone.

Johnny stared at you. He’d begged, he’d pleaded, he’d prayed you’d deny it. That you’d laugh, shake your head, shove him out the door and tell him he was insane. That you went out and had a child with someone who looked exactly like him as revenge. 

But you didn’t. 

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” Was all you could say. 

He blinked the tears away, and with a shaky exhale he finally claimed what was undoubtedly his. “He’s mine.”

You couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t force the words out. All you could do was nod, slow, aching, like it was tearing you apart to admit it.

“He’s my son,” he said, voice breaking again.

His eyes darted back to the wall of photos, all the years he’d missed staring back at him. Six years of a life he should’ve known. Six years of first steps, first words, laughter, birthdays. Johnny looked like the ground had opened beneath him. Face pale, stunned, his lips parted but no sound came out. Your instincts told you to grab Leo, to run, to keep him safe. But Johnny’s face…it was wrecked. It wasn’t fair for him.

So instead, you grabbed his arm lightly, steadying him, and guided him back toward the couch. He sank into the cushions without resistance, his hands shaking on his knees.

“I’ll get you some water,” you whispered.

You set the glass down in front of him, but he didn’t touch it, just stared through it like it wasn’t there. The shock ran like a chill through his body. 

Johnny was part of a family that had been torn apart when his mother passed. Every time he thought about having his own, he prayed for something complete. Not broken, not tarnished, not…this. Not a son who didn’t know he existed. 

“What’s his name?”

“Leo.” Your voice cracked, so you cleared your throat. “…Spencer.”

There it was. Spencer. 

“When was he born?”

“February 18th," you said quietly.

Johnny’s head snapped up. His head doing the math quicker than he ever thought he could. You must've been around three months when everything went down. 

“You knew,” he said, voice accusing now. “You already knew. Before–before we…” He trailed off, gathering the strength to continue. “Why?” He blurted. “Why didn’t you tell us? Tell me?” He shook his head. “It could’ve changed everything. God, you should’ve told me.”

You couldn't even look at him, because you had asked yourself that same question a thousand times in the dark. Your hands twisted together, nails biting into your palms as you forced yourself to meet his eyes. 

“I didn’t tell you because…because before that night, we were nothing,” you said. “Just two idiots who got too drunk and crossed a line. You said it yourself, it was just one night. You joked about it.”

The words tasted like lies, because you knew damn well you were in love with him. Still were, no matter how hard you tried to burn it out of yourself. But it was easier to paint it as nothing than to admit how much of you had always been his.

“And after what happened? After Reed found that so called evidence, after he told me I had to be gone, after you–” Your voice broke, eyes burning. “After you didn't fight for me? I wasn’t going to raise my child in a house that didn’t hesitate to throw me out like I was nothing. I wasn’t going to let my baby live in a place where family turned on me without blinking.”

Johnny just listened, because he didn’t have an argument for that. 

“I wanted him safe,” you mumbled. “Safe in a way I wasn’t. And I tried–I swear to God, Johnny, I tried to tell you when I asked to speak to you. But you wrecked me before I ever got the chance. You wouldn’t even look at me without that look…like I’d betrayed you.”

Your throat closed, but you forced the last words out.

“So I didn’t say anything. Because you didn’t deserve it.”

He realized just how much he’d really lost. Not just six years, not just the kid on the wall, but the pieces of you that he never had the courage to claim as his, long before that night. For a heartbeat he sat frozen, but when his hands went to cover his face, he broke.

The sound just ripped out of him, raw, sobbing. His shoulders hunched forward, his body folding in on itself as if he could hide from the truth but he couldn’t. Not from this. Not from you.

“God, I’m sorry,” he choked. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve–” He cut himself off, a sob tearing free. “You were right there, and I–I didn’t listen. I didn’t believe–I should’ve fought for you.” Tears streamed hot down his face, his chest heaving. “You tried. And I–” His hands dropped uselessly to his lap.“I destroyed you. I destroyed everything.”

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out to your figure in front of him. His hand hovered in the air, hesitant, fingers almost brushing yours, asking for something he knew he had no right to.

Still, he asked. “Please. Just let me hold your hand. Just–just for a second. I don’t care if it’s the last time.”

The man who always stood cocky and unshakable in front of the world was reduced to this. Broken, sobbing, begging at your feet for the smallest piece of forgiveness. And in his blue eyes, through the tears, you could see the guy you had loved with all your soul. The guy who had been yours…kind of.

So you let him hold you, just for a moment. Johnny’s warm hand shook against yours, his fingers curling carefully, like he was afraid you’d pull it back if he held too tight. His breathing evened out, his sobs softening until the room fell heavy again with silence. But then his lashes lifted, his eyes still wet as they flicked toward the hallway. 

“…Is he here? In his room?”

Your whole body stiffened, and he felt it with the way your hand tensed against him. 

Johnny took a deep breath, thumb brushing your knuckles as though he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I just…I need to see him. Please.”

That was when you yanked your hand back, shaking your head profusely. “That’s not happening.”

Johnny froze, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“You can’t see him,” you said firmly. “You can’t take him away. He’s all I have, Johnny. The only thing I have.”

And Johnny sat there stunned, gutted that you’d think that, realizing he wasn’t just fighting for your forgiveness anymore, but fighting for the right to see a son he hadn’t even touched.

“No. God–no. I would never take him from you.” He shook his head, pleading for you to believe him. “I swear on everything I am, I would never do that.” He reassured, pressing a hand to his chest. “But I need to see him, please. I have to. He’s mine. He’s my son.”

“But he’s my whole world, Johnny. And I can’t let anyone risk that.” You shook your head, stepping farther away from him.

Johnny couldn’t exactly blame you. He understood where the fear came from, but he’d be damned if he managed to find you and his son only to be told to go back to his life. 

This was his life now.

“I have a right to see him. To know him. To look at his face and not just through pictures on a wall.” He pressed, his eyes searched yours as you forced distance between you. “I’m his father.”

You had spent years building a wall around you and Leo, years convincing yourself you could keep him safe by keeping the world out, by moving to a small town where the Fantastic Four were nothing but big city superheroes. But now Johnny was sitting here, away from his big city, claiming that word like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Father.

Johnny’s lips parted, trying one more time. “I…I don’t want to take him from you. I just want to see him. Please, I’m begging you.”

You wiped at your cheeks quickly, forcing yourself to stand taller even as the word father rang in your ears. You drew in a shaky breath, keeping your tone as steady as you could.

“He’s not here,” you confessed. “My neighbor takes care of him when I’m working late shifts at the bar.”

Johnny blinked. The bar. The image of you, the woman who once lived and laughed in the tower, now pouring beer for drunk men on a Sunday, broke him. 

You glanced at the clock on the wall, your face scowling. “Shit.” You reached to grab your jacket from a chair. “I’m so late. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow if you want to see him.”

You stepped past him, toward the door, until his hand closed around your wrist. The warmth of his touch froze you in place.

“I can’t wait anymore.” His grip on your wrist was not tight, not forceful, just begging. “I’ve already lost so much. Please don’t make me lose another day.”

“Johnny–”

“Don’t go.” His voice cracked as his eyes searched yours. “Please. Don’t go.”

“I can’t just ditch work,” you snapped, panic rising in your throat. “I need it.”

“I’ll figure something out,” he said quickly, desperate. “Whatever it takes, I’ll fix it–I’ll cover it. But please. Not tonight. Not when I just found you again.”

The plea broke something in you. His hand on your wrist, his voice hesitant, the way his eyes begged. Your pride told you to yank your wrist back like you’d done before and tell him no, but the whole encounter had taken a toll on you, and you weren’t sure you could withstand a shift like that. So you exhaled, then finally gave the smallest nod. You pulled your wrist gently from his hand, not harsh, just needing space to breathe. 

“I uh–I need to make a call first,” you announced, and he nodded, stepping back so you could walk to the telephone on the wall.

Johnny watched as you gave him your back, and dialed the number with shaky fingers, the line ringing a few times before someone picked up. By the looks of it, it was your boss most likely, from the way you stumbled over a lie about Leo being sick. Johnny flinched when he heard the scolding from the other side of the line as you mumbled apologies for the short time notice. 

God, he needed to fix all this mess. 

You set the phone back with a sigh, and turned to him. “I’ll bring him home,” you said, then walked closer to him to plead just like he’d done before. “But you have to promise me you won’t take him away, Johnny…please. Don’t make me regret this.”

He stepped closer, hands raised in surrender. “You won’t,” he assured. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone to do this by yourself. I’ll never stop being sorry. But I can promise you this, I won’t take him away. Not from his mom. Not from you.”

You nodded, choosing to believe, slipping your jacket on to walk into the cold of the night. “Wait here,” you said. “I’ll go pick him up from my neighbor’s.”

Johnny only nodded, shoulders hunched, his hands lowered and clasped together like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for you again. His eyes followed you to the door, until you slipped away. 

You’d forgotten how warm a room became when Johnny was in it. The night air hit you as you stepped outside, crisp and cool, making you shiver. The street was dim, only the soft glow of porch lights guiding your path as you walked to the house across from yours. Your eyes went to the huge fancy pickup truck parked just a few houses down, which had to be Johnny’s, for sure. You rolled your eyes, of course. Rubbing your arms as you walked, legs moving on autopilot, every voice in your head screaming to scoop Leo up and vanish before it was too late. But it was already too late. Johnny was inside your house. His ridiculous truck outside. Johnny had seen the photos. Johnny knew.

Back at your place, behind the curtains, Johnny couldn’t sit still. He’d told himself he wouldn’t move, wouldn’t intrude, but his chest was on fire with longing. So he drifted closer to the window, pushing the curtains just enough to peek past the glass.

There you were, on your neighbor’s porch, exchanging a few words with a lovely old lady who looked at you worriedly. Johnny’s breath fogged the glass as he watched you. His heart ached at the sight. You looked so small, so breakable, carrying all of this alone.

You went inside only for a moment, and then you stepped out, cradling a bundle against your chest. The porchlight painted your silhouette in gold, and just beneath it, faint but unmistakable, was the glow of that blonde hair.

Johnny stopped breathing. 

My God.

He scrambled back from the window, clutching the pearls he didn’t have, and set the curtains back in place hoping you hadn't noticed him. By the time you reached your porch, he had forced himself back onto the couch, his hands braced on his knees, trying to look like he hadn’t just witnessed his entire world change in an instant.

The door opened with a quiet creak, and there you were. Your arms wrapped protectively around your son–his son, head resting on your shoulder, lips parted in soft sleep. Johnny shot to his feet immediately. His eyes, glassy and wide, locked on the child in your arms. You nudged Leo’s body only slightly, to see if he realized he was home, but Johnny’s hand twitched forward before he pulled it back, hesitant. 

“Don’t wake him,” he whispered quickly, his voice breaking. “Please–don’t. He looks…peaceful.”

You nodded, shifting only to hold Leo tighter. Johnny stepped closer, just enough to see. His eyes fell on the little face pressed into your shoulder, cheek squished, small eyebrows relaxed. Johnny’s hands stuck at his sides, aching to reach out, but terrified to cross that line.

“He’s… perfect,” he breathed. His knees nearly gave out, but he clung to the sight, drinking it in as if he could catch up on six years in a single heartbeat.

Your son–his son.

Perfect.

“C–can I…?” He mumbled, the words barely making it past his lips, more a plea than a question. His hand lifted a little, hovering helplessly over Leo’s little back, asking for permission to touch the sun.

He wasn’t Johnny Storm, the cocky Human Torch, not here, not now. He was just a man staring at his son for the first time. 

“Careful. He’s a heavy sleeper, but…”

Johnny nodded frantically, like he’d do anything, anything, not to ruin this chance. His hands shook as you carefully, reluctantly shifted Leo into his arms. The kid’s head fell against Johnny’s shoulder, his little hand curling unconsciously into the fabric of Johnny’s shirt.

And Johnny’s whole world stopped.

His arms tightened instinctively, protectively, as his body nearly buckled beneath the weight– not because six year old Leo was heavy, but because he was real, warm, breathing.

Johnny’s lips quivered as he pressed his cheek lightly against the crown of his son’s head, his tears falling into soft blonde hair. “Hi, buddy,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “God, you’re perfect.”

He rocked a little without realizing, clutching him as if he’d disappear. Six years of missed moments collided in his chest all at once. And for the first time since that night at the gala, Johnny felt whole and broken in the same breath. Johnny swayed gently, cradling Leo like he’d done with Franklin a thousand times before. His lips brushed Leo’s hair, a soft kiss he couldn’t stop himself from giving. His chest ached with every quiet breath the child took against him.

You stood frozen, watching them. The sight was enough to undo you. There he was, Johnny Storm, holding his son on a random Tuesday, right in that small town you called home. And the sight unlocked a longing on you that had been buried a long time ago. So you spoke, softly, because the silence was too heavy.

“He wonders about you, you know.”

Johnny’s head jerked up, his glassy eyes wide. “What?” His voice caught between awe and disbelief.

“Leo…he’s brilliant, I think the word smart is too small for him. He’s a little wonder,” you said proudly, trying to smile. “And he asks a lot of questions, about everything, about his dad…about you.”

Johnny’s eyes went wide. “What kinds of questions?” He asked, shifting Leo in his arms just slightly, like he was grounding himself his warmth. “Please, tell me what he wanted to know about me.”

“Everything.” You exhaled, shrugging, eyes dropping to the floor. “If you had the same hair as him. If you liked the same foods. If you could build things the way he does. If you were…funny.” A chuckle slipped out of you. “He even asked once if you were a superhero, I’m not sure why. I told him no, of course, because, well…obvious reasons. Guess I just wanted him to know you’re human. Just human.”

Johnny’s chest caved in, he pressed his lips against Leo’s hair, whispering. “Oh, buddy…”

Your eyes went to the floor, clearing your throat before confessing the last part. “And then he…he asked why you weren’t here. And I–I didn’t know what to say…so I just told him you live far away, and had a very demanding job. That your life is there. And his is here…with me.”

The hesitation in your voice made Johnny’s arms tighten around Leo instinctively. You still looked away, biting down on your lip, but you kept talking, because it was the truth. 

“I couldn’t lie to him. But I couldn’t tell him, either. So I just…I kept you as a distance. An idea. Someone too far away to reach, because that’s what you were to me.”

Johnny, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring at you. But once again, he didn’t have an argument against that. He shifted, his eyes roaming over Leo’s little face like he was trying to memorize every curve, every eyelash. And then he finally whispered the question that had been clawing at him.

“Does he…?” His throat bobbed, his voice hesitant, almost afraid. “Does he have it? My–my powers?”

You shook your head quickly. “God, no.” Your hand pressed protectively to your chest. “No fire, nothing like that. I watched him like a hawk for years.” You let out a small, nervous laugh, one that carried your relief. “His only superpower is being too smart for his own good.”

Johnny smiled at that, oh he knew. 

“He’s a genius, Johnny. Top of his class. Public school said he needed advanced courses. So I–I work myself to the bone to pay for that private school because he deserves it. Every single opportunity I can give him, I’ll give him.”

Johnny’s arms curled tighter around Leo. “I could've given him so many more opportunities. I could've helped you, he’d have the best teachers in the world right in his own house. But you decided to keep him from me.”

You flinched, clutching your arms tighter around yourself.

“I get it–you didn’t trust my family. Fine. You didn't have to. But me?” His voice cracked, his chest heaving. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You didn’t let me know I had a son. You didn’t let me decide if I could protect him. You just–” He looked down at Leo in his arms, “–you just shut me out.”

“Well, you shut me out first, Johnny!” You whisper shouted, doing your best to not let your anger disturb Leo’s sleep.

“I know,” he whispered, broken. “God, I know I did. But six years–” He shook his head. “Six years I could’ve been here. Six years I could’ve loved him…and you didn’t let me.”

For the first time, it wasn’t just guilt suffocating Johnny. It was grief for the life he’d been denied, the life he might never get back. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, the words came tumbling out, because you couldn’t hold them anymore.

“You really want to know why I didn’t tell you about him?”

Johnny’s lips parted, but no sound came.

“Because I was terrified,” you admitted. “Terrified that if you knew, you’d take him away the second you held him. Because you didn’t trust me. Because you already proved I was disposable.”

“You weren’t–God you weren’t…” He shook his head. “And I would’ve never taken him– but you thought I would. And that’s on me.”

Leo stirred in Johnny’s arms, a soft little whine slipping from his lips as he shifted against his chest. You straightened immediately, your arms twitching as if to take him back.

“He needs to go to bed,” you whispered.

Johnny’s eyes shot to yours, desperate but gentle. “Let me. Please.”

For a long, taut moment you hesitated, torn between instinct and the look on his face. You had already allowed him so much today. But you had also denied him so much already during those years, so you could let him have this at least. 

Together, the three of you walked down the hallway, guiding Johnny, who moved slowly like he was carrying glass. You pushed the door open, and Johnny froze on the threshold.

You turned on a little lamp, the room glowing soft in the warm light, painted in baby blue, with tiny white stars scattered across the ceiling like a sky waiting for wishes. A low bookcase ran along one wall, stacked neatly but already overflowing. It reminded Johnny of Franklin’s back home, except his nephew’s was bigger, neater. This one was fit to Leo’s size. 

He saw multiple posters on the walls. Beautifully illustrated and educational, with names of insects, dinosaurs and galaxies. A half solved massive puzzle was scattered across the carpet, the edge pieces already put together, and in the middle a scattered constellation of tiny hopeful starts. He could tell it was a rocketship mid launch. Next to it was a tower of lego blocks mid construction, like Leo couldn't decide which one would be more fulfilling to finish. In a corner of the room, boxes stored little cars, stuffed animals, and more books. 

His son's little kingdom.

Johnny stepped inside, dodging the puzzle on the floor. He bent carefully, guiding Leo down onto the small bed with its soft, solar system patterned covers. He eased Leo onto his back, smoothing his hair gently, brushing a stray lock off his forehead. The child sighed in sleep, lips parting, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Johnny’s chest crumbled.

He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to his son’s forehead, lingering there, his lips hot with tears he couldn’t stop. When he pulled back, his eyes drank in the little face now tilted upwards in the glow of the night light.

So small. So peaceful. So perfect. So his.

And he couldn’t look away. Not from the child he’d just tucked into bed for the very first time, six years too late. You stayed in the doorway at first, leaning against the frame, your arms wrapped around yourself as you watched Johnny kneel by the bed. He was so careful, so gentle, nothing like the energetic golden retriever you once knew. 

As Leo shifted in his sleep, a soft sigh slipping from his lips, you finally stepped into the room. Without a word, you reached past Johnny to pull the little blanket up over your son, tucking it around his shoulders the way you always did. Your fingers brushed Johnny’s hand for the briefest moment.

And for just that moment, just a delusional, fragile second…Johnny let himself picture it.

You, beside him at bedtime. This little room, these blue walls, these stars on the ceiling. A ritual of small hands reaching for him, bedtime stories, goodnight kisses. Not a stolen moment after six years, but your life. The life he should’ve been here for. The life you should’ve had together.

In another universe, it was probably like that. In another universe, he didn't doubt you. In another universe, you didn't have to run. Johnny’s throat ached, trying to keep the dream from spilling out. For one heartbeat, he let himself believe it. 

You adjusted the blanket one last time, smoothing it over Leo’s chest until he let out a tiny snore, and you almost smiled. Johnny’s hand still hovered near the edge of the bed, his eyes glued to the child’s face like he couldn’t believe he was real.

“I’ll never get tired of saying it…I’m sorry,” he whispered, so low it almost vanished in the air. His eyes flicked to you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for him. I should’ve been here. For the first step, the first word… all of it. I missed everything, and he doesn’t even know I exist.”

“I’m sorry you missed that too,” you whispered back. 

His gaze lifted to you, and he decided not to speak as the man who betrayed you, but as a father. “I promise you…I’ll never let him feel like how I let you feel…alone. I swear it.”

You gave him a nod. That promise wasn't just to you, but to his son.

You flicked off the little lamp by Leo’s bed and the two of you stepped out, leaving the door cracked just a bit. When you reached the living room again, Johnny stopped in his tracks. The room wasn’t just yours anymore. Now that he knew the truth, every detail shifted, every corner sang a different story.

The boxes of cereal on the counter? Leo’s. Not the quick snack of a busy professor, but his kid’s favorite breakfast. The fridge, though he hadn’t really looked at it before, had drawings pinned there with mismatched magnets. Crayon rockets, wobbly stick figure heroes, a very accurate representation of a T-rex. His son’s talent staring him in the face.

The blanket on the couch, the one he’d first seen, wasn’t just yours. It was small, soft, patterned with stars and comets, clearly a child’s. He pictured Leo curled up there, dozing while you graded papers late into the night. Even the stack of books by the TV wasn’t just random clutter. Johnny crouched a little, his breath hitching at the sight of colorful hardcovers. Stories picked by little hands, read again and again. And a huge detail he'd missed, an unmistakable pair of tiny sneakers under the coffee table.   

This was his son’s world. A kingdom built out of your sacrifices, your sleepless nights, your stubborn refusal to let him grow up with less than he deserved.

As Johnny explored, you lingered by the edge of the living room, your arms crossed, eyes flicking uneasily toward the door like you expected it to burst open at any second. What now? The question pressed heavy in your chest. You could almost see it, the rest of the family arriving in the morning, wanting answers, deciding Leo’s fate. The thought made your stomach knot.

You rubbed your temple, fighting to stay upright, but the weight of the day dragged at you. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only bone deep fatigue. You yawned before you could stop yourself, covering it quickly with the back of your hand.

Johnny caught it. His brows furrowed, his eyes softening in that way you hated because it made you feel seen. His gaze lingered on your tired shoulders, on the dark circles you’d tried to hide, on the way you still stood like you’d go work another eight hours if you had to.

“You were really gonna work like this?” He asked softly, borderline accusatory. “Dead on your feet. With class tomorrow, too?”

You shrugged, too tired to build your walls back up. “I don’t have a choice.”

Johnny’s stomach twisted. He wanted to scoop you up, tell you you’d never have to push yourself like this again, and tuck you under the covers of your bed. But he knew he didn’t have the right…not yet. So instead, he swallowed the words down, forcing the fire back down. 

“I better get going.”

You blinked at him, surprised.

“Yeah, you uhm–” Johnny started quietly, glancing at the hallway that led to Leo’s room. His voice softened even more. “You need to sleep. And…we’ve got a conversation pending. A big one…but not tonight.”

You were too tired to argue, so you nodded.

“Thank you, for letting me…for letting me see him.” He forced a smile, not cocky, just soft. “It’s more than I thought I could.” He chuckled nervously. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Not in the morning,” you blurted, before you could stop yourself. “It’s always chaos,” you explained quickly. “Getting Leo ready for school. Breakfast, answering his questions, all of it. Just–don’t. Please.”

His eyes softened, his shoulders easing a fraction.

You exhaled and added, “If you want… you can come by the college, after classes…there’s this coffee shop right outside campus.”

Johnny nodded slowly, like he’d been given more than he expected “College…coffee,” he repeated, committing it to memory. “Alright.”

For a moment he just stood by the door, drinking in the sight of you in this beautiful, lived in space that was never meant to carry all this history. 

“Tomorrow after classes,” he whispered again, like a vow, before finally stepping out into the night. The door closed softly behind him, leaving you in silence.

You didn’t know if you were more terrified or relieved that Johnny Storm had found his way back to you.

Did I close my fist around something delicate?

Did I shatter you?

Johnny drove to the hotel on autopilot, barely remembering the turns he took, barely noticing the glow of passing streetlights. His mind was still spinning like the world had been knocked off its axis.

Because it had.

Leo’s weight had been in his arms. He looked at peace sleeping on Johnny’s shoulder, as if it had been the most natural thing in the world. Now, in the dim silence of his hotel room, Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows braced to his knees, his face buried in his hands, caught somewhere between joy and grief. 

He pressed his hand hard to his eyes, but the images came anyway…Leo, smaller, toddling through the tower halls, Sue fussing over him, Ben sneaking him cookies, Franklin pulling him into games, Reed insisting on checkups. His family.

It should’ve been like that.

Instead, Leo’s bookcase was small because Johnny hadn’t been there to build it bigger. His shoes by the door were scuffed because Johnny hadn’t been there to buy him new ones. His mom worked extra shifts on a damn Sunday because Johnny hadn’t been there to shoulder half the weight.

His son. His brilliant, perfect, wonder of a kid. The one he should’ve known since the very beginning.

He thought about calling Sue. His fingers even hovered over his repaired watch, her name right there. She’d been waiting for him to call and tell her everything. And he knew she’d tear it out of him the second she heard his voice.

But the thought alone made his heart sink.

Telling Sue meant telling everyone. Meant deciding what came next. Meant pulling you into a storm you clearly weren’t ready for. And after tonight, after the way you begged him not to take Leo away, after you let him tuck his son into bed…he couldn’t betray that fragile thread of trust. Not yet. Not when you hadn’t even talked about Leo’s future. Not when you still looked at him like you were half a breath away from running all over again.

So he swallowed the urge, locked it down, and typed out a simple message instead.

Didn’t find her today. I’ll try again tomorrow.

A lie. But one he could live with.

He leaned back against the headboard, and stared at the ceiling for a while, until he decided it was better to rest if he wanted to be ready to face whatever came the next day. He got up to shrug out of his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the hotel chair, but it landed heavier than it should have.

The letters.

He turned back, snatching the jacket up, shaking the inner pocket until the stolen envelopes spilled onto the bedspread. He sank down beside them, remembering he hadn’t had the chance to read them in your office before “Captain Walker” barged in.

He reached for the first envelope, the oldest. The one dated just weeks after you’d been cast out. He unfolded the page with care, your handwriting staring back at him.

My Johnny

I don’t know why I’m writing this, maybe to remind myself I’m not crazy, maybe to hold onto some piece of what I thought we had. I really want to hate you. God, I know I should. But all I can think about is the way you looked at me before it all went wrong. The way you smiled at me that night at the gala. The way you made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t alone in that big building.

But now I am. Completely alone.

I wanted to tell you about our little miracle, but you hurt me Johnny, before I even had the chance to say it out loud. You couldn’t even look at me without that fire in your eyes, and not the kind that used to warm me, the kind that burned.

That was the moment I chose to leave, instead of fighting for something that you had already decided I didn't deserve. I can’t pretend I understand how everything ended, but it did, and now your life is there, and mine is wherever you aren’t.

Those words felt like a punch to the gut. You did try. You reached for him, but he had turned away.

‘You hurt me, Johnny.’

“Fuck,” he cursed, shaking his head violently. “Fucking hell.”

Johnny’s hands shook as he set the first letter down, his breath ragged. His chest hurt, but still he reached for the next.

He unfolded it with trembling fingers, the paper softer, the ink smudged like it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times before. 

 Dear Johnny.

Today he turned four. He asked me if his dad would come to his birthday, and I told him no, because you live far away. He didn’t cry, but he looked at the door all afternoon like he was hoping you’d walk in, even if he doesn’t know what you look like. I don’t know how to explain to him that you don’t know what he looks like either. But he is so much like you.

When he smiles, when he makes his silly faces, when he figures something out quicker than anyone else. It’s you. Every day I see you in him, and every day I tell myself I’m doing the right thing keeping him away, that I’m protecting him, but it feels like a lie, because sometimes I think I’m just protecting myself. Protecting myself from you breaking me again. 

The worst part is you were never really mine, and it embarrasses me that sometimes I can’t get out of bed because I miss something I never had.  

I guess that hurts more on days like these. 

For what felt like the millionth time that day, Johnny found himself crying. Leo’s fourth birthday. The one he should’ve been front and center at, not a ghost in the background of his mother’s fears.

Not even a curse left his lips this time, just his ragged breathing. But his eyes flicked to the pile again, as his trembling fingers reached for the last envelope. The one dated five years after you’d been cast out. A year before tonight. 

For him.

I’ve realized something I should have long ago, you’re not coming. I convinced myself I hated you, yet I still waited every day, hoping you’d find something. It’s eaten me alive, night after night, I feel like I fight with you even in my dreams. 

And I keep asking myself, if clarity is in death, then why won’t this die? Why can’t I let it go? Why do you still haunt me even after all these years?

I wish you would give me back my peace. It was mine first.

I miss who once was my best friend, but more than anything, I miss who I used to be. So I can’t be like this anymore, I can’t keep writing letters to a ghost. Five years Johnny, five years of wondering if you ever saw me in a different light, if you ever saw beyond the lies. But I have to stop for my sake, for his sake.

This is the last time I’ll write to you, this is my goodbye. There was happiness in my life because of you, and I can only hope there’ll be happiness after you. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re happy too, and I hope you’ve forgotten me, because I need to forget you. I need to let you go before I lose myself completely, I need to live without waiting for a door that will never open.

So I’m closing it myself.

Yours once, never again.

Fuck.

Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He had never stopped thinking about you. He had tried to find proof, investigated, and spiraled in dark nights in his room with papers stuck to his windows. And all the while, you had written this, your goodbye, your surrender, your heart breaking onto the page while he was too blind.

You had given up on him. And now, a year later, he was here, only to realize he’d arrived far too late to be the man you’d once waited for.

Johnny barely slept. Every time he shut his eyes, the words of those letters screamed at him. The thought of you sitting alone, hiding from Leo to write that with shaking hands, giving up on him. It hollowed him out until there was nothing left but determination to make things right.

To give you back your peace.

So before dawn even touched the sky, he was already moving. He slipped into the college campus while the halls were still dim and quiet. Not that easy now, since it was Monday.  Students, staff, early professors buzzing everywhere, far different than the hushed emptiness of the day before. It was a risk, and his chest pounded with every step, but he had to do it.

He couldn’t have you finding out the letters in your desk had gone missing the same weekend he showed up at your doorstep. 

Your office door creaked faintly under his hand. He moved quickly, carefully, as he slid the papers back into the drawer, tucking them in place exactly where he’d found them and locking it again. 

By the time he slipped out into the hallway, the building was alive with movement. He kept his head down, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, wearing that same sunglasses and baseball cap combo to make himself look like just another visitor until he made it outside.

And then…he waited. 

Will you forgive my soul

When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

The hours until your little meeting felt like years. He wandered the campus for a while before he realized some people were looking too suspiciously at him. He then drove around the college block more times than he could count, and since he was inside a window tinted black Ford truck, he was sure some student must’ve thought some mafia members had come to kidnap them. 

Now, he’d been waiting outside the cafe for exactly fifty four minutes. He tried to stay inside the truck to avoid getting seen, but his nerves and inner spiral didn't let him sit still. So he stood by the truck, cap still on and head ducked low, his eyes glued down the street so he wouldn't miss the moment you showed up. 

As your unmistakable figure appeared around the corner of the cafe, Johnny’s breath hitched at the sight of you finally emerging, walking slowly with a folder hugged against your chest. 

The autumn air was crisp, brushing against your skin, but the moment your eyes found him leaning by that ridiculous, shiny rental truck, you suddenly felt like sweating.

Johnny straightened the second he saw you, his whole face lighting up like he’d been waiting for this all day…which he had. But the closer you got, the more his confidence faltered. He shoved his hands deep into his jean’s pockets, suddenly awkward.

“Hi…Johnny.” You said, standing a few feet away from him, chin lifted, your voice steady. “Leo’s not out of school for another hour.”

Johnny nodded, quick, like he’d been expecting the wall. “...Hi.” He greeted, and you gave him the slightest curve of a smile.

“I know you want to see him again,” you went on, the folder pressed tighter against your chest, “but we need to talk first.”

He nodded again, softer this time. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. You’re right.”

There was an uneasy pause, until Johnny cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I–uh…can I get you a coffee?”

This type of nervous awkward interaction was so strange to Johnny. He was so used to smooth words just flowing out of his mouth, making a joke out of everything. But his life had changed so drastically in just a matter of days, that he wasn't sure he could go back to his default ‘Chill Johnny’ setting. 

You studied him a moment, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”

His shoulders loosened instantly, and he finally allowed himself to smile, then gestured toward the little café’s glass door with a red frame. He held the door open for you, and you muttered a thank you as warm light and the hiss of an espresso machine welcomed you. The bell above the door jingled when you stepped in, Johnny following carefully behind.

You chose a booth by the window, close enough to the door if you needed an exit, far enough from others to keep voices low. Johnny slid into the seat across from you, the baseball cap finally coming off. His knees bounced under the table, his hands fidgeting with the paper menu though he didn’t read a word.

For a moment, it was just silence. Awkward, heavy. You stared down at your folder on the table, and he stared at you, neither of you knowing where to start. A waitress came by, and Johnny ordered two coffees, remembering your exact order from all those years ago. 

That made your heart skip a bit. 

The silence stretched again until Johnny cleared his throat, his voice softer than you remembered. “So…Leo.”

Your eyes flicked to his, nodding slightly. “Leo.”

The clatter of cups and the murmur of conversation around the cafe made the tension between you feel sharper. The drinks arrived but Johnny’s coffee sat untouched, steam curling up between you as his eyes finally lifted to yours.

“What’s his favorite cereal?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Of all the questions he could have asked…’Why this, why that?’ that was not the one you expected.

“Cereal?” 

“Yeah…you’ve got, like, three boxes on the counter. He has to have a favorite.” Johnny shrugged. 

Your chest ached at the innocence of it, the way his voice cracked with soft curiosity. 

“Lucky charms,” you said. 

Johnny’s eyes softened instantly. He nodded, filing it away like it was the most important piece of information in the world. Then, an idea lit up his face.

“Did he get the human torch figur–?”

“They don’t have the one with your face on it here,” you cut him off, almost apologetic.

The truth is, one of the many reasons you’d picked that town was the lack of the Fantastic Four’s influence. Johnny understood that.

“Right.” He nodded, not exactly sure how to feel about it. “And his favorite color?” he asked quickly, before you could redirect.

“Blue…” you answered, ‘like your eyes’ your mind whispered. “Like the summer sky,” you said instead.

Johnny smiled. He wanted to ask a thousand things at once. About his laugh, his quirks, the bedtime stories he loved, the little words he mispronounced when he was smaller. But each answer cut and healed him in equal measure, so he asked them slowly.

“What makes him laugh the most?”

“Who’s his best friend?”

“What does he want to be when he grows up?”

You sipped your drink, watching Johnny soak in every answer like he’d been starving for it. He wanted to know everything, like each detail was a thread stitching him closer to the the kid he’d missed for so long. And for a moment, you let him have it. For a moment, it almost felt right.

“I could talk about Leo’s favorite things all day,” you admitted softly, tracing the rim of your mug with your fingertip.

Johnny smiled faintly, but when he looked up, your eyes had shifted.

“But there’s something else,” you said, daring to look up. “A question that’s been eating me alive. One I can’t keep inside anymore.”

His brow furrowed, the smile gone instantly.

“What exactly do you plan for him now, Johnny?” You sighed. “Now that you know he exists–what happens to Leo? Because last night…last night I slept with him safe beside me. I couldn’t close my eyes without imagining someone walking through that door to take him away.”

Johnny froze, the color draining from his face. You didn't think he was safe. He reached for the mug he hadn’t touched, gripping it just to anchor his hands, but he didn’t drink.

“I need to know,” you pushed on, your stare burning into him. “What do you plan to do with my–with our son?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His mouth opened, then closed, like the words weren’t ready, like nothing he could say would be enough. 

“I don’t know,” he said, honest.“I don’t know what the right move is,” he went on, his eyes flicking up to yours. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do, or how to fix six years I’ll never get back. But…the only thing I do know is that I want to be part of his life. However you’ll let me. I can’t…I can’t pretend I don’t know him now.”

The conviction in his words fought with hesitation. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t trying to take. He was still begging for a chance, clumsy and terrified, but utterly certain of one thing.

“I want to know him,” Johnny added, more firmly now. “And I want him to know me.”

You leaned back against the booth, your chest tight, but his words lingered. I want to be part of his life. The way he said it…shaking, terrified, but sure, chipped at the walls you’d built so carefully.

“Do you think he’d…want me in his life? I mean, if we told him who I am. Would he hate me for not being there?” He asked, hesitant, tracing the rim of his mug.

The question knocked the air out of you more than you expected. Not because you hadn’t thought about it, God knows you’d lost sleep over it, but because of how honest he sounded asking it.

“He’s a smart kid. He sees things. Asks questions I can’t always answer…I don’t think he’d hate you, but…he’d have more questions. And I’d like to give him answers that don’t hurt.”

Johnny nodded slowly. “I just…I want to do right by him. Even if it’s late.”

You looked at him in silence for a few seconds, before humming. “You can start,” you said softly, “by meeting him…like really meeting him”

Johnny blinked, startled. “Like–now?”

The look on his face of wide eyed disbelief, made you huff out a laugh you didn’t expect. 

“Yes, Johnny. Now.” You tilted your head to check the time on the clock by the barista. “It’s just in time to pick him up from school.”

For a second he just sat there, frozen, like he hadn’t prepared himself for the possibility that you’d actually let him do that today. His hands gripped the edge of the table like he needed to hold on to something solid before the floor crumbled under his feet.

“God,” he whispered. “I don’t even know if I can breathe right now.”

You chuckled and shook your head, standing up from the booth. “You’ll manage, come on. I promised him yogurt ice cream after school. He aced a test on Friday.”

“Doesn’t he, you know…always ace them?” Johnny asked, the doubt in his voice almost made you laugh again.

“He does. But I don’t want him to think it’s his duty to excel every single time. I want him to know that little victories matter too even if I didn't take him much effort. He deserves to feel celebrated, not pressured because he thinks he has to fulfill other people’s expectations."

Johnny stared at you, floored. He thought of his own childhood, of expectations that had weighed on him since the day Sue took over his raising, when his mother passed away. It wasn’t because his sister pressured him directly, but because he always felt like he owed her excellency. Things that took all his effort, sweat and tears. But to this day, Johnny felt like he'd failed her on that, because the bar had always been set too high for his little hands to reach. So in his head, that kid inside him didn't deserve yogurt ice cream, because little victories had never mattered in his big world. 

But his son’s did. Because you made sure of that. 

So he just glanced toward the window to blink away the tears threatening to come out of his eyes. All he could think was his son had the best mom he could've had. 

Once you walked outside, the late afternoon sun shone across the street. Johnny headed toward that absurdly shiny rental truck, but when he glanced back, you were unlocking your modest sedan.

“I’ll pick him up from school. You can meet us at the yogurt place.”

Johnny nodded, though something in him ached at the distance between your cars, your lives. But he didn’t fight it, just asked for some directions on how to find said yogurt place. 

“Alright,” he said softly, eyes lingering on you as you slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be there.”

-

The yogurt shop was painted in cheerful colors, with a bell jingling as Johnny stepped in. He scanned the room, with only a couple of tables occupied by groups of high school students. His chest rose and fell too fast, his palms getting ridiculously damp. Since when did he sweat?

Calm down, Storm, it's just ice cream…oh right, and you are also meeting the most important person in your life. 

“Welcome in!” The teenage girl behind the counter gave him a friendly wave. 

Johnny nodded too quickly. “Yeah, hi, thanks, just–uh, table for three? I’m waiting for someone.” He said, then immediately panicked. 

Did he really just ask for a table for three? In front of a bunch of teenagers that were totally giving him a side eye? He couldn't exactly blame them, what was this, some fancy dinner restaurant from New York? Was he really so out of touch that he didn’t even know how to be a normal person anymore?

Before he could keep overthinking over that single interaction, he cleared his throat, then pointed around the place. “I’ll just find one myself…yeah.” He smiled nervously, darting toward the empty tables, away from the groups. 

It didn’t matter though, because they were still watching him over their shoulders, because Johnny tested each empty table like a maniac. Too wobbly. Too close to the trash can. Too far from the door. Until he finally landed on one by the window where the afternoon sun spilled in. Steady, perfect lighting, perfect line of sight to the door.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, yanking the chairs out and back in again to make sure they weren’t squeaky. “Aaaand we got a winner! This is the table.”

Then, he went toward the counter where he could see the list of flavors on the wall, because he couldn’t look like a fool not knowing what to order in front of his family. He scanned the labels, as the girl behind the counter stared at him curiously. 

Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate swirl, cookies & cream, birthday cake, mango, passionfruit. 

“What’s the most popular?” He asked, placing a finger on his chin as he tilted his head. “No, wait–what’s the healthiest? Do you guys do like…sugar free? No, kids don’t care about that. Uh…”

“Sir…would you like a sample?” The girl offered, lifting tiny spoons in the air. 

Johnny nodded so quickly, that the girl let out a chuckle, before turning to the yogurt machines to get a sample of the most popular flavors for this weird guy to try. He was handsome though, she was totally telling her friends about him. 

By the time the judgy teenagers had left the establishment, Johnny Storm, Human Torch, beloved public figure that no one seemed to recognize in this small town, was sitting on the table he’d meticulously picked with five pink sample spoons sticking out of his jacket pocket. 

Okay, so if he likes chocolate, I’m set. But if he’s a fruit kid? I’m screwed.

The bell above the yogurt shop door jingled, snapping him out of his thoughts, and that’s when the golden light of late afternoon poured in behind you. Johnny looked up, and the world stopped.

There he was.

His son. Your son.

Leo stood beside you, his small hand clasped in yours, his little uniform neat. A navy pullover stretched just slightly at the sleeves, crisp white polo peeking out at the collar, khaki shorts, and the cutest polished shoes that Johnny knew you’d spent extra to make sure he looked perfect in.

He looked like a polite kid, yes, but his energy buzzed right through the surface, his body practically bouncing at your side like he couldn’t decide whether to walk or skip into the shop. His hair glowed blonde in the light, catching that same golden halo Johnny had seen in the mirror his whole life. The shape of his smile,as he was tugging at your hand, was his. Unmistakable. The resemblance knocked the air straight from Johnny’s chest.

It was a mini him, except better, softer…pure.

By the door, you crouched slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you spoke gently to Leo. Your voice was steady, but Johnny could see the way your hands twitched with nerves.

“Leo,” you said softly, brushing a hand over his sleeve, “I want to introduce you to someone.”

Johnny’s heart hammered so loud he thought the whole shop could hear it. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. And Leo, with wide curious eyes, looked up at you, then followed your gaze toward the man waiting by the window.

“Baby,” you squeezed his hand, getting his attention back. “I want you to meet a…friend.” 

His eyes flicked from you to Johnny again, studying him with all the seriousness a curious five year old could muster. Leo tilted his head, eyebrows knitting.

“A friend?” he said, and Johnny almost fainted from how cute his little voice was. “From where?”

“From a long time ago,” you replied.

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.

PART TWO

Thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated and it helps a lot, so don't be shy to share your fav moments 🫶🏼

Lil funny extra -> Johnny jealous of Walker

Lovely dividers by @lobster-graphics

“A couple days” you replied, but it quickly turned into a cough that had your face scrunching at the sheer pain of it.

“Shhh” Satoru tried to comfort you through it, but everything in him hated seeing you in pain like this. He held your body upwards to ease the tension on your chest, rubbing calming circles all over your back. “Fear not, the doctor is here” he announced once the coughing subsided, catching your stray tears with the pad of his thumb. You wanted to roll your eyes or tease him back but you couldn’t even deny how much better his presence alone made everything.

“I feel so shit” you whimpered, falling forwards into his chest. He caught you immediately, pulling you in close like it was exactly where you belonged.

“I know sweetheart, I know” he whispered into your hair, rocking you slightly. “Gave me a fright when you didn’t come to the door. Don’t scare me like that again, yeah?”

“M’sorry Toru” you cried out. “Can’t move”

It hurt to hear you sound this small, to see you this weak and know he hadn’t been here while you needed him. He thought of you having to deal with this fever alone, the evidence of how much you were trying right there next to him on the bedside table. It absolutely gutted him.

“Good news is you don’t have to” he replied then, pulling away just enough to watch your fever flushed face resting on his chest. “Let me take care of you, ok?”

You nodded, managing a smile that had the tension in him loosening up finally. Satoru leaned down to place a firm kiss to your warm forehead, and started readjusting the pillows behind you so that you could sit down with more support. “First things first, water!” he announced.

Gojo came back not even a minute later with as many glasses full of water as he could carry, placing them all neatly within armsreach. One hand helped tilt your chin while the other brought a glass to your lips. “Just a bit pretty, do it for me” he said reassuringly when he noticed the way you scrunched your nose at how painful swallowing was. “There you go. Good girl”

You smiled, coughing a little but the water did do wonders. “See, doing better already!” he said excitedly. “I think I deserve a kiss--” but his happy expression crumbled when you moved your face out of the way.

“Toru” you said, disapprovingly. “I don’t want to get you sick too”

“Don’t worry about me, princess” he said, scrunching your face with his palms and leaning forwards again.

“I’m serious” you complained through squeeshed cheeks. He stopped, looking at you with wide eyes like a lost puppy. “This is miserable, I don’t want to pass it to you too”

Gojo tried his hardest to contain the absolute shock in his expression. “Are you saying after three weeks away I can’t even kiss my beautiful wife?!” he complained again.

“Yes” you replied, firm.

“Betrayal...” he mumbled, throwing himself next to you and snaking his arms around your middle, pulling you in. “Can we at least cuddle?”

The next morning, Suguru Geto was standing outside, ringing the doorbell, eager to say hi to his best friend after he finally got back from what he heard was a difficult mission. He had not expected, however, Satoru to answer the door wearing an apron and a white medical mask under his sunglasses.

“...Satoru?” Geto murmured, tilting his head and squinting his eyes at him.

“Nice to see you, Suguru” Gojo replied, taking off the face mask to smile at his best friend who just stared at him with one eyebrow raised.

The white haired man just kept staring at him, like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Why does it smell like garlic in here?” Geto asked eventually, suspiciously eyeing the inside of the house.

“I’m making soup” Satoru replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Garlic soup?” he asked.

“It’s anti-inflammatory”

“Um, sure”

They kept standing there at the threshold, when Gojo motioned to the inside and held the doorframe tight as if about to close it. “Sorry, I am in the middle of something right now so-”

“Is everything ok?” Geto cut in. “Where’s y/n?”

Satoru exhaled, letting go of the door and allowing his raven haired friend the space to step inside. “She’s sick” he replied, shaking his head. “Very bad flu. You can say hi but you gotta lower your voice”

Suguru stared at him in disbelief at the request because it was obvious who the loud one was out of the two, but he just exhaled and agreed, worried about you too.

He followed his friend further into the large house and into the main bedroom. “Sweetheart, Suguru is here” Gojo called softly as he opened the door slowly. “He won’t be long, but- uh? Baby?”

Satoru was running to your side in a flash, crouching down by your head which was angled in a slightly uncomfortable position against the mountain of pillows Gojo had propped up under you, snoring faintly into them.

“Are you ok? Did you faint?!” Satoru was trying his best not to sound alarmed but failing miserably, as he tried to move your head slowly.

“I think she’s just asleep, Satoru” his friend said, assessing the situation.

“She was wide awake a minute ago!” Gojo replied, worried, like it was a medical mystery.

“Ah” Suguru stepped into the room, picking up something from the bedside table. “I think I might have found the culprit” he extended his arm to Satoru, holding the still open bottle of cough syrup. “How much did you give her?” he asked with a raised brow.

Gojo eyed the bottle guiltily. “I don’t know!” his voice rose higher as he was clearly starting to panic. “She was coughing a lot! So I just held it to her lips, it sounded so painful, I hate hearing her in pain and...oh my god, did I drug her?!”

Suguru struggled to hide his smirk while his friend shook your limp body close. “I think you might have”

“Is she gonna be ok?! Is she-” he turned his attention to your flushed face, still red with fever but looking a lot more peaceful now, curling instinctively into his chest as he held you. “Baby, wake up, please” but you only nuzzled into him and grunted like it was the last thing you wanted to do.

“She’ll be fine” Suguru reassured him. “Looks like maybe she needed it”

Satoru looked down at you, completely out of it but looking very content and safe in his arms. His mind went straight to the night before where you could barely hold still, your body convulsing with every cough, jolting up with every sneeze. The way tears had streaked down your face and he wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to your symptoms or your emotions getting the best of you. He had felt so helpless then.

Gojo brushed your hair away from your face now, moving your body slowly as to not wake you, adjusting you gently so you were more comfortable on the mattress. “They should put warnings on that thing” he complained as he pulled a blanket under your chin with careful precision.

Geto chuckled. “They do”

Gojo exhaled, looking at you breathe deeper than you had in hours. “Come help me with the soup then” he said.

You woke up a couple hours later, a little confused but definitely well rested since your forced slumber sponsored by the cough syrup. The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a mess of white hair over a pair or bright blue eyes looking back at you with so much fondness it made your chest ache.

“Heyy” Gojo called, leaning in from the chair by your bedside and helping you sit up. “Don’t move too fast, you’ve been out for some time now”

“...what happened?” you tried to say, the last thing you remember being the doorbell ringing and Satoru announcing he was gonna go get it, before your body started getting too comfortable all of a sudden.

“I,uh, may or may not have given you too much cough syrup” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m sorry” he completed, sheepishly.

You just laughed, which made everything in him relax. “Of course you did”

“In my defence, you were very peaceful” he added, putting his hands up in defence but whole face softening at the sight of your smile. “How are you feeling now?” he asked, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“A bit better, I think” you replied, grounding yourself in the gentle weight of his hand on yours. You looked over to your bedside table then, intrigued by the smell coming from a steaming mug that sat right in the middle.

He seemed happy you had noticed it. “Here” Gojo picked it up, passing it to you. It smelled of ginger and honey, the smell alone enough to open your airways. “It’s ginger, for your throat” he said.

“Thank you, Toru” you smiled, blushing not from the fever this time.

“Of course, princess” he replied, watching you sip the tea with a satisfied expression. “There’s some soup too”

You swallowed the warm ginger water, soothing your throat immediately. “Is that what this garlic smell is?” you asked.

“It’s anti-inflammatory” he replied proudly.

You laughed at how hard he was trying. “Have you been doing research?”

“Of course” Satoru replied with a grin. “I’m commited to nursing my beautiful wife back to health”

You smiled at him, holding the mug down before he picked it up and placed it on the side for you. His hands lingered on yours, tracing small patterns across your knuckles. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here” he said finally, staring at you with those blue eyes of his.

You clutched his hands tighter. “It’s not your fault”

He carried on like he knew you’d say that. “You know if I could choose, I’d-”

“I know baby” you interrupted, and the nickname seemed to ease his guilt spiral a bit. “I’m just happy you’re back” you said, pulling him in closer.

Gojo obviously obliged, getting up from the chair and sitting next to you on the bed, opening his arms so you could rest your head right on your favourite spot. He assessed everything from here, the way you were breathing easier, how your body felt less warm, how your voice seemed to come out which much less strain now. You were getting better, and it meant everything to him.

“You think I can get that kiss now?” he murmured with a devilish smirk while smoothing your hair in gentle, repetitive motions.

“Toru...” you pushed yourself up, squinting at him like a disappointed parent.

“Why am I being punished for your weak immune system?!” he exclaimed, pulling you back to where you were before.

“I’m not punishing you” you laughed, settling into his chest again. “I don’t want to make you sick too”

“Maybe if I got sick I could spend more time at home...” he suggested in a stage whisper.

“Baby...” you shook your head at him.

“Please princess, I’ve missed you so much” Satoru said, holding your shoulders so you could look at his genuine expression, hoping he could convince you with his puppy dog eyes.

You pouted at him, but didn’t push him away this time, feeling some of his infectious energy start to seep into you too. “How much did you miss me?” you asked, looking to the side to hide your little teasing smirk.

Gojo grinned wide, moving to the top of you in one swift motion as he caged you in, earning a giggle out of you. “So much baby, every day. Couldn’t stop thinking about you”

You looked at him, towering above you but resisting coming any closer before he had your permission. “And what were you thinking about?” you asked in a little devilish voice too.

“My wife’s beautiful face, her laugh” he spoke so enthusiastically it was hard to resist, coming down lower and lower while paying attention to your reactions. “The way you say my name, how warm you feel at night, how badly I want to see you round with my baby” he said the last part low, right against your ear.

“Satoru!” you laughed, playfully nudging his shoulder although he didn’t move. He was right on top of you then, noses almost touching, sharing that special warmth you had with one another that you had missed so dearly in these past three weeks.

“I’m sorry” he said, rubbing his nose with yours affectionately. “One kiss? Pretty please?”

“Fine” you smiled.

With a tilt of his chin, Gojo’s lips met yours in a kiss that wasn’t rushed, wasn’t even as steamy as you both ideally would have wanted for a “welcome back” kiss, but it said everything you hadn’t been able to say in those weeks away from each other.

I love you. I missed you. Welcome home.

Your fever broke a bit that night, Gojo would never tell you but every few minutes he’d check your temperature just to make sure you weren’t getting worse again. He had to reassure himself you were ok, happy in his arms, not quite healthy yet but soon to be. Every time you whimpered he pulled you closer, every time you coughed he rubbed your back, every sudden movement had him awake in an instant because Satoru Gojo could not bear not being there when you needed him. Never again, he promised.

And when the morning came, you stretched upwards like a new person. Your voice was back, and although the aches and fatigue weren’t completely gone just yet, everything seemed to have eased overnight.

A miracle, you thought, until you heard a little cough come from the tall man behind you, still clutching your arm like his life depended on it.

“Baby” Satoru mumbled, voice raspy and sad. “I don’t feel too good”

thank u for reading <3

And now here he sat, scrolling through an app called ‘Rover’ that Sam had deemed ”Tinder, but for animals”. Which already filled Bucky with dread considering his track record with the dating app. Nevermind that his cat was like him in the way she didn’t much care for strangers. So this almost felt like picking out a victim that was going to have to deal with her mood swings.

“What about this one?” Bucky asked Alpine, turning his phone so she could see a photo of a sitter. He figured that if whoever was going to be tasked with watching her, she may as well have some input. Maybe then she wouldn’t tear them to shreds. Not that she could really answer save for a slow blink, a flick of her tail, or an unimpressed yawn. She sniffed the phone, but the look of disgust was unmistakable in those bright blue eyes. 

Bucky sighed again, continuing his scrolling. “We’ll have to pick someone you know. I can’t leave you alone. Not because I don’t trust you, but someone has to make sure you don’t starve or dehydrate while I’m gone.”

Alpine stretched her paws out in front of her, tail in the air curled like a question mark before hopping up to snuggle onto Bucky’s lap. She watched his thumb flick across the screen, ears perked high like she was now just as invested. Until she let out a quick mmrp and tapped her paws on his thighs.

“Her?” Bucky asked, pausing on a picture of a woman, a giant smile on her face as she cradled a dark grey cat and a golden-colored puppy in her arms. She had hundreds of glowing reviews, something called ‘Star Sitter Status’, and over 10 years of experience. 

She was also – Bucky held the phone closer to his face – yeah, okay, she was kind of attractive. The kind that made something defrost in his chest.

“I really need to get out more,” he muttered. “Getting flustered by a woman holding an animal and talking to you like you can actually answer me.”

Alpine kneaded her paws again like she was confirming both his statement and choice of sitter. 

“Alright, you know best.” He murmured, scratching behind her ears and already typing out a message.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There hadn’t been time for a meet-and-greet – whatever that meant – not with Sam basically breathing down Bucky’s neck that their window for this lead was rapidly shrinking. You, thankfully, hadn’t seemed fazed. Bucky initially apologized for the awful timing, sending over a picture of Alpine as a bargaining chip, asking if you had any last-minute openings. You had responded nearly immediately.

Oh, she’s adorable! I had a cancellation last week, so the timing is actually perfect. I’d love to take care of her. 

After a bit of back and forth that mostly consisted of payment methods and shot records, Bucky ended up standing outside a stranger’s apartment with Alpine in her carrier, and a duffel bag packed like he was expecting to be gone months instead of just a week. The guilt nagging at the back of his mind as he felt more like a deadbeat cat parent abandoning his fluffy child to someone he only knew through text message. 

The door swung open to reveal you in an oversized blue pastel sweater and leggings, and a smile warm enough to melt asphalt. “Hi there!” you said brightly. Confident and friendly, like you’d known Bucky and his cat forever instead of less than 24 hours. 

“You must be James, and this must be Alpine.” Your voice had a calming lilt, breezy and dangerously charming as you bent slightly to peer into the carrier.

You stepped aside so he could enter. The apartment was bright and cozy, pastels just like your sweater dotted every throw pillow, blanket, and fuzzy accent. Bucky hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this much color or comfort. His apartment barely had a rug and a couch. But here? Every spot had a soft place to curl up.

“I set up a space for her by the window, a lot of the cats I care for like to watch the birds in the garden.” You added casually, closing the door behind him. 

Bucky nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction as he took in the space. He loosened his iron grip on the carrier once he realized it was creaking under stress. The quiet warmth of this place was the complete opposite of the dreary New York City sidewalk. It smelled like vanilla and citrus, like someone had just baked and then did a deep clean. There was a faint hum of music, something soft and instrumental, that made it feel less like a stranger’s apartment and more like an upscale spa reception area.  

A cream colored cat tree was set up right where you pointed, bowls were laid out along with a host of pillows. A basket of toys proclaimed “A house isn’t a home without a pet” in calligraphy in the corner.

“If you want to set the carrier down, and open it, we can talk while she gets acquainted with her surroundings.” The suggestion was gentle, with a confidence that may have been misguided considering the fluffy menace in the carrier wasn’t reacting the way Bucky had expected. He was fully prepared for mewling and screeching, though this could be the calm before the storm. 

Still, Bucky did as instructed, maybe grimacing more than he meant to as the hinges to the carrier creaked open. “She…really doesn’t like strangers.”

And she really didn’t. He’d seen full-grown men flinch when Alpine got into one of her territorial moods. So Bucky was bracing himself for the worst.

You smiled, relaxed and completely nonchalant, “That’s okay, I get it. It’s weird being in a new place. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends by the time you come pick her up. How long were you going to be gone again?”

Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck, “I know I said a week, but my…work trip may get extended.” He hadn’t wanted to tell a stranger where he was going or what he was doing. He figured a small white lie was best instead of saying ‘I’m going to go do some illegal shit and get shot at.’

Nodding, “That’s fine, just let me know. I have another client coming in 10 days, so if you’re still out I’ll make sure to keep them separate. And I work from home so I’ll always be around. Any medications or special instructions?”

He cleared his throat, now sheepish as he produced a paper with everything he thought you would need to know. Alpine had been kept on a strict schedule ever since Bucky had adopted her, finding it grounded him. “Figured this was easier. I know it’s kind of a lot,” he muttered, suddenly self-conscious. “The schedule helps…both of us, I guess.”

To his surprise, you didn’t laugh or tease him. Instead, your eyes lit up, taking it, but Bucky had noticed Alpine creeping out of her carrier. She padded right to your feet, sniffing at the socks you were wearing. He held his breath, waiting for the flurry of scratches and yowling, the puffed tail, or for her to bolt back into the carrier.

But it never came. 

Alpine weaved around your legs like she had known you forever. And you? You stood unbothered as you read through the care instructions.

“Promise I’m not ignoring her,” you said without looking up, like you could sense his question before he even asked. “With cats I always try to have them investigate me on their own terms before I start showing affection. I’m just letting her warm up to me first.”

“Smart.” Even though Bucky didn’t know if it was or not. Too busy transfixed on the way your lips barely formed the words as you read silently. He shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting over your face.

“Food and everything in the bag?” You asked, looking down as Alpine brushed her head against your calf, leaving a streak of white hair on your leggings. 

“Extra in case I am gone longer.”

You bent at the knees then, sitting on the ground. “I wish all my clients were as prepared as you.” Your smile could disarm a nuke with the softness behind it. Bucky grappled with the strange surge of feelings pushing behind his ribs. And then Alpine hopped into your lap, curling instantly against your thighs, and purring loud enough Bucky was sure the neighbors could hear. 

“See?” You offered, two fingers lightly stroking down Alpine’s fur. “No longer strangers.”

Bucky was rendered speechless at the sight of his cat who had hissed and puffed up at anyone he brought into his apartment laying in your lap as the picture of contentment. A part of him felt relieved, that this wasn’t going to end up with you – a complete stranger – bloodied from sharp claws and teeth. But the other part? Softened completely at the sight of Alpine burrowing deeper into your arms like she’d known you her entire life.

Your arms shifted under Alpine’s body, scooping her up as you easily came back to standing. “We’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll send you updates, even hourly if you like. And if anything goes wrong, which it won’t, the first call will be to the vet, the second will be to you on the way to said vet.”

“Thanks.” Bucky fidgeted with the edge of his leather jacket, not sure if he should just…leave or stay to make sure Alpine wasn’t going to pull a complete bait and switch. You noticed the way he was lingering by the door awkwardly immediately. 

“You want a minute to say goodbye?” You offered, holding her out to him.

“What?”

“To Alpine.” You grinned, lifting one of her paws. “I can step into the kitchen, let you have a moment. There’s no shame in crying, I totally get it.”

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Was not going to cry as he dropped off his cat. His eyes were just…a little scratchy from the scent of vanilla. That was it. 

Alpine let out a soft mmrp, completely unbothered as you handed her back to Bucky. “Just yell if you need a hug after.” You winked, disappearing into the kitchen like that was the most normal thing to offer a man with a vibranium arm and what Sam called ‘a resting murder’ face.

Bucky didn’t even dignify that with a response. Mostly because no one had offered him something like that in a long time, and the softness behind it had caught him completely off guard. It wasn’t with a trace of pity, more like…you actually cared about him too, not just his cat. Maybe you just weren’t aware of who he was. Instead of pondering too long on what an actual hug would feel like from someone who seemed to be sunshine personified, he scratched Alpine one last time behind the ears. “You be good, okay? I don’t want to hear how you became a terror after I’m gone.”

She yawned like she’d already forgotten who he was, and hopped down from his arms, trotting off to wherever you disappeared.

“She’s in good hands, I promise.” You reassured again, returning to the entry way, Alpine hot on your heels like a white magnet.

Bucky hesitated at the door still, fingers hovering just over the doorknob. He glanced back, not at Alpine this time, but at you. It had been a long time since he’d left something – or someone – he cared about in another person’s hands. Let alone a stranger. But something about the way you were looking back, casual and steady, made the guilt that had been in his chest loosen.

Then his gaze drifted, looking at how his normally standoffish cat sat obediently beside your feet, gazing up at you like she picked her new favorite human, Bucky couldn’t help but believe you when you said everything would be fine.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first few updates Bucky got from you were standard. Or…at least he guessed they were. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was in this situation. But you sent things along as promised to show that Alpine was settling in nicely. A picture of her, lounging on the cat tree by the window with the caption: ‘The queen has claimed her throne.’

A short video of her cautiously sniffing a piece of salmon you were cooking. Typical cat things. Though now he was mildly concerned he’d have to start buying fish to keep her happy.

Now, he was halfway around the world, holed up in a warehouse that reeked of mildew and rust. Sam was at a makeshift table, covered in blueprints and dossiers muttering to himself. Bucky was meant to be keeping watch. And he was, leaning near a window, eyes on the quiet street, trying to catalog anything remotely out of place. Until his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he just had to check it immediately. 

A selfie. You and Alpine curled up on the couch, her paws mashed into your jawline and a smug expression on her face, while you looked a little helpless and amused. You’d captioned it: ‘She’s refusing to move. Guess I’m stuck until dinner at 5 pm sharp.’

Another ping.

‘Also, she loves instrumental jazz. Didn’t expect her to have such good taste in music. She may wear out some of my records by the end of this.’

Bucky exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh, and closer to it than he’d like to admit. 

He scrolls back to look at the photo longer than necessary. Not at Alpine who was really meant to be the focus of it. But at you. How you had a halo of soft light around your shoulders, hair a little messy, and an oversized hoodie. There was a record player in the background, a little blurry, but Bucky could make out a few of them. Chet Baker, Ella Fitzgerald, John Coltrane. He really didn’t expect that. You with your pastel colors and sunshine smile screamed bubblegum pop music, not old jazz. 

It didn’t match, and that somehow made whatever feeling Bucky was having about these updates worse. Or better, he wasn’t sure yet.

Another ping, another photo. This time, a close-up of Alpine who had buried her body halfway inside your hoodie, paws sticking, and her head pushed into your chin. The caption read: ‘Resistance was futile.’

And maybe it was the fact that Bucky knew once Alpine got comfortable she was an immovable object that got him. Or maybe it was finally having someone else know what that feels like that knocked something loose behind his ribs. But he smiled, full and unguarded.

Across the room, Sam’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

Bucky didn’t move, schooling his features back into his normal glower. “What was what?”

“That little…smirk.” Sam stood then, waving a pen in his general direction. “You’re smiling. We’re about to infiltrate a den of mercenaries and you’re smiling about it.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are too, is this a cat thing?”

Bucky pocketed his phone, “Just focus on making the plan, Wilson.”

“Who could you possibly be texting? Last I checked you only had like three numbers. And none of them should put that big of a smile on your face.”

He clenched his jaw, “I’m getting updates about Alpine. That’s it.”

“Oh, since when did Alpine learn to text?”

“I’m not – ” Bucky sighed, running a hand over his hair. “Just…let it go.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “You’re acting weird.”

“I am not.”

“She’s cute isn’t she? That’s the issue, you picked an attractive sitter.”

“Alpine picked her.”

Sam chuckled, “Whatever you gotta tell yourself man.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The mission in Madripoor took a toll, both physically and mentally, and somewhere deeper Bucky didn’t want to even name. Zemo’s plan to infiltrate Selby’s bar to get information had worked, sure, but it had meant slipping back into a version of himself he’d worked so hard to bury. 

That part didn’t necessarily scare him. What did was how easy it was without the trigger words. That even without the Winter Soldier programming, violent instincts still lingered.

Bucky found himself scrolling through the updates he had missed, the room dissolving around him while Zemo and Sam argued about their next steps.

The most recent one was a photo of Alpine, but just her little white ears sticking out of the duffel bag Bucky had brought her supplies in. The caption read: ‘She found the snacks. I had to move them, but…she can also open drawers.’

“See? He’s texting his cat again.” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Can you focus up, man?”

“Again, I’m getting updates about my cat. She’s just…giving the sitter a hard time.” Bucky tried to make it sound casual. Like he wasn’t using these little check-ins and updates to keep himself tethered to something that wasn’t sharp and riddled with blood. Something normal despite how his day had gone.

He thumbed back up to a previous picture. You had Alpine swaddled tightly in the blanket Bucky had brought, only her nose and barely one paw sticking out, eyes half open. Her head was tipped back, looking up at the camera with adoration. ‘One of the only ways I could keep her from gorging herself in the treat drawer. But she seems to like it when I hold her, more so when I sing her lullabies.’

And just when Bucky was about to put his phone away, a new photo came in. You, curled up on the floor beside the cat tree. A book was open on your lap, and Alpine was perched like she was reading along with you. The angle wasn’t great, like you’d balanced your phone on the coffee table, but Bucky could just make out the title. The Hobbit. Well-worn and curling along the edges from use. You captioned it with: ‘Story time is mandatory in this household. She picked this one out herself. We’re starting a new chapter tonight.’

Bucky stared at the photo longer than he meant to. Not at Alpine this time, though it was cute how she seemed so invested. But at the way your fingers held open the book. At the way the light from the window provided a soft, dreamy glow to your figure. At the fact that you even owned a copy of The Hobbit, let alone one that looked like it had been read so often. 

He was certain he had had you figured out, but the more accidental glimpses he caught into your life, the more he realized how wrong he was. The fact that you liked jazz. Enough to have vinyl records of albums. The fact that you were reading to his cat from one of his favorite books without even knowing. 

He opened the message field, poised to type something. But the words just wouldn’t flow from his brain to his thumbs. He clenched his jaw, rolling his shoulders out like he could work the words free somehow. Started with: “She likes fantasy stories. What do you think of it?”

He deleted it with a grimace. Obviously you liked it or you wouldn’t have such a well-worn copy. You were watching his cat. He shouldn't want to ask about the book like it was a normal conversation with a normal person in a normal life. But that’s what you somehow felt like. A snapshot of a life that had nothing to do with mercenaries or war criminals or super soldier serum.

'Good choice. That’s one of my favorites too.'

Deleted that too. Because why would you care? 

Eventually, he settled on 'Thanks for the updates. Looks like she’s having a great time.' Before locking his phone and letting it rest on his knee. 

Zemo looked up from where he was lounging with a drink. “You have the smile of a man caught between two worlds.”

Bucky groaned, “Stop talking, Zemo.” 

“I’m only observing, James. You have a particular softness in your eyes I never really thought possible from a man who just punched his way through a bar. It’s easier to smile for people who don’t know your sins, no?”

Bucky felt a muscle in his eye twitch. “You’re just really itching to get thrown back in prison, huh?”

Sam snorted from the corner. “Are you two done? We’ve got leads to chase. Sharon says she knows where Dr. Nagel is.”

Bucky said nothing in response, tucking his phone back into his pocket. But not before he stole one last glance at the photo. You and Alpine in the warm halo of afternoon light. A quiet reminder that maybe the world wasn’t as far gone as he’d been made to believe.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Can’t believe he pulled an El Chapo.” Sam muttered, staring at the open hole in the tiled bathroom.

“Yeah? I can.” Bucky sighed, still reeling from the fight with the Dora Milaje. He had tried to keep it civil, tried to act as a mediator, but when the Wakandan guards want something, there’s usually no sense in fighting back. 

He found himself rolling his vibranium arm at the shoulder, testing to make sure it was still attached. He shouldn’t have been that stupid to think this piece of weaponry didn’t also come with stipulations. But having a person he trusted show that they had a fail safe if anything went wrong messed with his head a little bit. That even though he wasn’t the person he used to be, people still treated him like he was.

“I’m gonna make a call,” Bucky called over his shoulder as Sam typed out a message to Joaquin, who he thought would have some new leads. 

He opened the messaging app, a new update from you had just come across. Alpine sitting on the cat tower, one paw pressed against the glass at a blurred spot of color in front of her. ‘She made a new friend today. Didn’t get a good picture, but it’s cardinal. Only hissed at it once.’

His thumbs hovered over the letters to type out some message. Anything to form a connection. Asking for another update, but that felt too demanding. You’d been amazing at sending photos and updates so far, he didn’t want you to think you weren’t doing enough. He did, however, see the little green icon next to ‘Online’. An option for ‘video chat’ was right next to it. 

Leaning against a brick wall and out of the sunlight, he hesitated. He just wanted that glimpse into that life. Something that wasn’t life or death to counteract the thoughts pingponging around his brain. He hits the button before he can continue second guessing it and the one thread he can pull to ground himself goes offline. He didn’t know what he was hoping to get from this. Just…something steady. Someone who didn’t look at him like a time bomb or a weapon.

“Oh, hey! I was just about to send you an update saying Alpine was about to get tucked in for bed, but this works too.” 

Your face filled the screen, only the glow of fairylights behind you. A soft shuffling followed by an unimpressed mmrp could be heard as you adjusted the screen. “Sorry, it’s dark in here, I was just about to head to bed.” Followed by the flicking of lights one by one until Alpine could be seen, cozied up in a makeshift box under a canopy of pastel sheets.

“I built her a little fort today,” you continue, likely trying to fill the silence as Bucky just…watches. Mostly in awe of how calm Alpine looked, her tail flicking lazily in the soft glow of the room. “But she hated having her cat bed in there, so…random box it was.”

You turned the camera slightly to show Alpine more, curled up in a perfect loaf inside the cardboard box you had lined with pillows. Again, Bucky could hear the soft jazz playing in the background. Something he couldn’t quite place, but gentle and melodic.

“She misses you,” you added gently, fingers scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “She keeps going to the door like she’s waiting for you to come back. Paces a little just before dinner. But the second I start preparing her food, she’s racing to the kitchen.”

A small throb pulsed behind Bucky’s ribs. He leaned further into the brick wall, tucking his chin down to try to hide the look on his face. He wasn’t even sure what the feeling he was having was. Fondness? Heartache?

You hesitated before speaking again. “So, how's the work trip?”

That did something that somehow caught him off guard. You asked like you cared. No agenda. No digging for leads. Just…asked unprovoked. He studied you for half a second, “It’s…fine. Just been a long day.”

“We’ve all been there. But Alpine will be here ready to bug you for salmon when you get back. I really shouldn’t have given it to her. That’s on me.”

Bucky tried to respond, but words seemed to fail him. Eventually he settled for a quiet: “Thanks.”

He stared at the video on the screen, Alpine, purring loud enough to be heard over the tinny speaker quality curled in her stupid little box fort, and you beside her. No expectations behind your expression – well, maybe just the promise to come pick up his cat – just…there. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing out a laugh. “Alpine’s really out here getting the royal treatment isn’t she?”

You chuckled in response, “Only the best for the princess. But don’t worry, I’m charging her ‘meowster’ card for the additional fees.”

That earned the closest thing to a laugh Bucky had managed in days. 

“Glad to hear it’s at least going through, they must have upped her limit.”

You devolved into laughter then, with Alpine turning away from you with an unamused expression. 

“Anyway, I should let you go.” Bucky said, seeing Sam waving at him from the door. “I just wanted to actually see if she was behaving or if she was holding you hostage and making you send those updates.” 

“She’s been a perfect angel.” You reassured. “I’ll send more pictures in the morning.”

“Thanks.” Bucky said before ending the call. 

Sam walked up, a quizzical look on his face. “Were you flirting with her? Is that what that was? If we weren’t having to chase leads, I’d be flabbergasted.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The sun was dipping low on the Louisiana horizon, casting golden streaks across the dock. Bucky sat on an overturned bucket, a wrench flipping loosely through his fingers as he looked out over the water. Sam was beside him, leaning back on his elbows, eyes closed in the sunshine. 

The day had been filled with boat repairs and dancing around the looming fact that the Flagsmashers were still out there, and that all of their leads had dried up. The least Bucky thought he could do while Alpine was safe in your care was make sure Sam, his sister, and his nephews stayed safe until something came up after the threats on their life.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out, already knowing who it was. Another update from you. This time, a video of Alpine batting at a feathered toy that twitched in response to something you had hooked onto her collar. A familiar mmrp and the scratching of claws on hardwood echoed from the speakers.

“Sorry, I had to keep her distracted somehow. I was in the middle of an email and she deleted the whole thing. She’s kind of an attention hog.” Your voice flowed out. 

Bucky bit back a smile before typing out a message in response. ‘Sorry, she gets like that. Hope it wasn’t anything too important.’

Your reply came quickly: ‘Nah, I’ll survive. Hope you’re doing okay.’

Bucky stared at the message longer than he meant to. The water lapped quietly at the dock while cicadas hummed somewhere in the trees behind them. A part of him wanted to say more, do something more for you after Alpine had disrupted your day.

He typed out a message ‘I really owe you dinner or something for putting up with her for this long.’ 

No, that seemed too forward. Delete.

‘I know a good salmon spot.’

What was he doing, asking out a grizzly bear? Delete.

He let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back, squinting into the light like the sun was the main source of his problems. This wouldn't have been an issue in the 40s. That version of him would have already asked you out and he knew it. The issue was technology. 

Then, with as much forced casualness as he could muster – because he definitely hadn’t been rehearsing the question in his head for days – Bucky asked, “Hey…how do I ask out my cat sitter without it being weird?”

Sam’s eyes snapped open. He turned toward Bucky slowly, eyebrows raised. “You’re asking me for dating advice?”

“No, I can get by on my own.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Clearly not if you can’t even figure out how to ask her on a date.”

“There’s too many rules nowadays.” Bucky muttered, running his hand over his hair. “I can’t figure out how to not sound creepy texting on this thing.”

“Okay, then call her.” Sam said it as if it were that simple and Bucky hadn’t already deleted tens of iterations of ‘let’s go get dinner’. He could only imagine how awkward a phone call would be.

“No, that’s not – look we’ve only talked through cat updates. Is that enough of a connection to ask someone to dinner?”

“Well, do you want to ask her?”

As if summoned by the mere notion of romantic idiocy, Sarah Wilson appeared. “You two are just getting nowhere fast.”

She stepped down onto the dock with a tray of lemonade, raising one brow as she caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s this about a cat sitter?”

Sam grinned, “Bucky’s got a little crush and he’s trying to act like it’s a hostage negotiation.”

Sarah nodded at the phone still in Bucky’s hand. “You like her?”

Bucky nodded, half-shrugging, the tips of his ears now turning pink. 

“Then stop overthinking it and just ask her to dinner.” She waved a hand at him. “You’re a grown man. And she’s clearly into cats, so there’s your icebreaker.”

“But do it when you pick up Alpine,” she added, pointing a finger at him as she set the tray down. “Women like a face to face thing. Plus that way, if she says no, she can’t just dump your cat somewhere.”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Bucky defended immediately, turning the device over in his palm.

“Oh you’re so far gone, Barnes.” Sam chuckled, sipping on a drink. “You sure talk like you know her already.”

“I’m going to push you into the water,” Bucky grumbled, rewatching the short clip on mute.

Sarah huffed a laugh, “You’re both hopeless.” She turned then, and headed back towards the house. All the while muttering something about the “men” under her breath.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Flagsmashers had been dealt with, all either arrested or…otherwise indisposed. The world, for once, didn’t feel like it was actively ending. And Bucky finally had the space to breathe again. 

Which meant it was time to go get his cat. 

He didn’t send much when he let you know he was ready to pick Alpine up. 

‘Alpine’s going to be mad when I mess up her new schedule isn’t she?’

Your reply came almost instantly. ‘She’ll forgive you if you bring extra salmon.’

Now, standing in front of your door again, Bucky shifted from foot to foot, trying to give himself a pep talk. He had salmon – some fresh, some precooked – depending on what kind of night this turned into. He’d debated bringing a classic, like a bouquet of flowers, decided they were too forward, and instead settled on a thank-you gift bag Sarah helped him put together. Chocolate, a pastel pink pair of fuzzy socks, a lint roller because he remembered how Alpine’s fur had clung to your leggings, and a small hand cream in a scent Bucky thought might match the vanilla-citrus of your apartment.

He knocked once, and the door opened immediately. Like you had watched him fidget through your peephole in an effort to calm his racing heart.

You looked just as he remembered. Soft and bright, that sunshine smile still present, but a little more guarded. “She’s been clingy all morning,” you sighed, opening the door wider. “I think she knew you were coming.”

And as if on cue, Alpine strutted lazily into view, stopping two feet from Bucky, and sat down like a statue. No meow. No chirp. Just one very pointed glare and tail swish. 

He had expected Alpine to be a bit…disgruntled and standoffish. He had left her a little longer than he had said with a total stranger. But a stranger that she had picked. 

Bucky crouched down and reached a hand out, only for her to turn her head and dramatically sigh. But a moment later, she pushed forward, headbutting his knee and letting out a long mmrrrp like she’d absolutely suffered in his absence.

“She missed you,” you said softly.

“I can tell,” Bucky huffed, scratching behind her ears. “She’s laying on the guilt pretty thick.”

He straightened, handing you the gift bag awkwardly. “For you, just a thank you. I know she can be a little demanding.”

You peeked inside, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Is…are these pink fuzzy socks?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up into his cheeks, “They matched a blanket I saw. In one of the photos. I figured…y’know, you like that color.”

“That’s dangerously observant,” you said, smiling. “Thank you, this wasn’t necessary. She really was great, once she warmed up to me. She just kinda started following me everywhere.”

Bucky glanced down at Alpine, now doing figure-eights around his boots, occasionally sniffing at the other bag in his hand. “She chose you. I was scrolling for ages trying to figure it out until she just…tapped on your picture.”

“Well, she’s welcome anytime.” You hesitated, like you wanted to say more. “Though…hopefully next time it’s just a vacation, not an international incident.”

Bucky must have looked shocked, because for all intents and purposes, you thought he was just on a work trip. He had mentioned nothing of what he was up to. He didn’t even think you knew who he was.

“Saw you on the news with Captain America,” you said sheepishly, shrugging like it was no big deal. 

He tilted his head in surprise, “You mean Sam?”

“Yeah,” you said matter-of-factly. “He looked real good in that flying suit. People should stop giving him so much shit about it.”

That landed harder than it should have. Most people were unsure when John Walker was labelled Captain America, and even more people were hesitant and skeptical when they saw Sam holding that shield. You’d just said it like it was obvious, without a shadow of doubt. 

Bucky cleared his throat, “I won’t tell him you said that. It’ll go right to his already inflated ego.”

You laughed softly, nodding. “Noted. If I meet him, no more compliments.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled in return. “So…have you eaten yet?”

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening slightly. “No, not yet.”

Bucky lifted the second bag slightly. “There’s some food in here. I did bring extra salmon for Alpine, but also potatoes, broccoli, I think some kind of salad. Sam’s sister sent me off with enough to feed a family of six. I was just gonna reheat it at home, but…if you’re hungry, I thought maybe…”

“Yes,” you said, before he could finish. “I mean, sure. Yeah. Sounds good.”

Bucky relaxed a little, cracking the smallest smile. “Cool.”

Alpine let out a loud, impatient meow from between the two of your feet, rubbing around your ankles. You looked down at the little cat, “I think she either approves, or just wants her salmon.”

“Well, guess we shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Bucky said, nodding towards the kitchen.

“Right,” you agreed, taking the bag from his hand. “But just so we’re clear, I really enjoyed having Alpine around. I might demand visitation rights when I realize I miss her too much.”

Bucky followed, smirking, “We might need to get her approval first, but we can negotiate terms over dinner.”

You met at a bar.

It was on your friend’s behalf that you approached Arthur to begin with; an act of charity for a wallflower in need, who nodded wistfully towards the leather-clad, lonesome cowboy, with his haunted eyes and five o'clock shadow and said, "I wanna talk to that one."

Way out of her league, in your professional opinion. Looked like he'd eat any one of your brood alive and spit 'em out on the sticky barroom floor — but such was the appeal of men like him. Older. Rougher. An empathetic young woman's idea of a 6'1" DIY project in Stetsons.

Spurred on by your cohort's encouragement, with the suede fringe of your skirt swishing at your calves, you slotted yourself between him and some other stranger and ordered yourself a drink.

The introduction you had in mind was perfectly friendly — but then he had to go and say something stupid like, "What's a little girl like you doin' orderin' whiskey neat?" And, well — then you had to fight him.

Debating Jack over Johnnie, Jameson over Jim — it was the most fun either of you had out in a long time. He ordered you both shots on his tab and soon the offense was forgotten — along with your wallflower friend.

You asked him about work and he shrugged and muttered something vague like "construction." You explained that your cap and gown were collecting dust in the back of your closet. That the “gap year” you meant to take between walking the stage with your diploma and grad school became plural for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the bottom line on your loans.

Arthur didn’t relate, but he listened.

“Tough break.” He winced against his whiskey. Ever sensitive, he said, “Well — if you’re dumb enough to care for all that schoolin’, s’pose a few extra thousand at the end of it won’t make much difference. I say if you wanna go, go.”

You found it oddly comforting, his brusque compassion.

The night wore on, your friends dispersed as if spurned, and Arthur never touched you. Never even tried. Just saw you safely to your cab with a bid that you, "Get home safe, miss." Then he rapped his knuckles on the roof and sauntered off into the shadows of memory, where such strangers were meant to remain.

"This here's called the dipstick."

You tut in mock disapproval. "Don't talk about yourself like that."

Arthur snorts and shakes his head. “Shut it, smartass. Just listen n’ learn.”

Sullied handkerchief in hand, he swipes the stick dry before tucking the cloth in his back pocket. His work tee, once white, stretches snug over thick bands of muscles, the hem tucked in his belted Levi’s.

“Now what’chu wanna do is…get it so you can see them lines on the indicator…and then,” he says, sliding the stick in the engine bay, “we’ll see what we get.”

Rattling it around in the chamber's depths, he ignores the lewd smirk on your face as he slowly withdraws the rod to examine its end.

"Shit, girl."

"What?"

"You seein' this?" He sucks his teeth with annoyance at your clueless expression, waving the dipstick around haphazardly. "Hardly a drop on this thing — reckon your engine's damn near bone dry."

You grimace. "Whoops?"

"Whoops ain’t the half of it." He scolds, looking you up and down. "That's a one-way ticket to trouble. Don't let this happen again. Unless you're fixin' to torch the damn thing with you in it."

You frown at him as he turns toward his truck. “Alright, well, no need to yell at me…”

“Yell?” He scoffs. “Be yellin’ at yourself when you’re broke down on the side of the road with an engine that up and quit 'cause you ain't changed your goddamn oil. You're lucky I keep some extra...”

Arms folded, you watch him hop up on his truck bed and rifle through the utility chest in the back, suppressing a pout.

“Ain’t your daddy ever teach you better?”

“He’s a biology professor.”

“Right.” Arthur laughs darkly, returning with a funnel, a fresh quart, and a few other tools you have no hope of surmising their purpose. “So he ain't taught'chu nothin’ that matters.”

Jutting your chin loftily, you taunt, “Guess you’re my daddy today." And you quickly learn that Arthur Morgan can blush.

“Just — turn the damn car on.”

The second time you met Arthur, you were not at your best.

"Well, if it ain't Miss Smarty." Came that telltale drawl, warm and familiar like the echo of a honeyed dream. Scowling at your phone you bristled, prepared to tell this stranger where to shove it, until—

"Oh." You blinked at him with dawning recognition, his hair ochreous under the bright cinema lights. The air was thick with petrichor, fresh puddles splashing under the tires of passing cars, streetlamps rippling in the damp. He stood at a respectable distance, his hands buried in the pockets of that same leather jacket.

"It's you."

"Arthur." He reminded you with an incline of his head.

"Right. Sorry, I..." You shook your head, gesturing vaguely with your phone as you tried to muzzle the gnashing irritation in your gut. "Y'caught me at a bad time. I was supposed to be meetin' somebody, but he just...up and canceled on me last minute..."

"That's too bad." He said gently, genuine.

"Thanks...I just — I mean — y'know, not for nothin' but what is wrong with you men nowadays?" You snarl, quickly amending with a half-hearted wave of your hand. "No offense."

"None taken." He smiled crookedly. "Reckon that's what'chu get, makin' plans with boys you meet on that damn phone."

You reclined on your heel, eyes narrowing. "And who said I was meetin' anybody off an app?"

"Well, were you?"

"...Not the point."

He laughed quietly and scuffed the sidewalk with the heel of his boot. And despite yourself, you smiled.

"Don't know what I'm supposed to do now." You mumbled, shoving your phone out of sight, defeated. "I bought the stupid tickets and everything..."

An opinion seemed to flicker in Arthur's eyes about that fact, which remained unspoken.

"...You seein' a movie, too?" You asked lamely.

His mouth worked thoughtfully beneath his stubbled mustache as he tilted his head back to read the blinking marquee. "I ain't sure yet."

You shifted your weight. "Well...I got an extra ticket, if..."

His eyes flickered to you with reserved interest.

"Unless—" You stammered, your confidence already wounded badly enough for one night. "Unless you're waitin' on— "

"I ain't waitin' on nobody."

Silence, charged with the current of possibility.

Your lips curved. "You always go to the movies by yourself?"

"Sometimes." He replied. "S'pose there's no gettin' stood up if you always go it alone."

You laughed, though you weren't certain he was joking. From your pocket you pulled the ticket stubs for two, holding them up for him to see. "Well, if you want...it's now or never..."

He looked at you. Then at the tickets. Then down the street, a conflict brewing under the surface of his stoicism that you didn't fully understand.

Finally, he took one and jutted his chin towards the main entrance. "So...you like butter on your popcorn, or what?"

“Alright. Pull up on that curb a bit so I can get under you.”

The arc of your brow lifts suggestively towards your hairline as you tilt your head out the driver's side window. He swears under his breath, ears tinged pink.

“I mean under your car, Miss Smarty.”

You snicker and shift into drive, coax the front left wheel up on the curb, and cut the engine. The lift gives him just enough clearance to crawl beneath the car with a torque wrench and a drain pan.

“Careful not to throw your back out down there, old man.” You tease, hip-checking the door closed behind you.

Arthur scoffs, voice muffled from the underbelly. “Reckon I’m in better shape’n you, princess.”

“Is that so?” Your eyes linger where the hem of his tee has betrayed the firm planes of his torso and the appealing tussock of hair trailing south below his belt. You swallow.

“Sure. Nobody got strong from book learnin’.”

"Maybe it's your brain that could use the exercise."

He chuckles. "True enough."

After a few minutes of grunting and swearing Arthur re-emerges, dragging the pan of odorous engine tar (or what was left of it) out with him, smatterings of fresh grime staining his front. "And now—" He rises to his full height, clearly trying to conceal the protest in his joints. "You get to do the final honors."

You look worried. "Me?"

"Oh, yes you. C'mere." He clicks his tongue by way of beckoning you to the hood, and to your chagrined amusement, you obey.

He fastens a small funnel to an opening on the engine. "Unscrew that quart."

You do, sniffing the open bottle out of morbid curiosity, surprised to find it mostly odorless.

"Now pour that in here. And don't spill too much."

"How do I know when to stop?"

"I'll tell ya." He says patiently. "Now pour."

You tip the quart, slowly emptying its contents in the basin below. And as you do, Arthur's never felt closer — so close you can feel the heat radiating off his frame, smell the old oil mingling with sweat and leather and cigarette smoke...

"It's thirsty." You mutter nervously.

"Sure." He murmurs.

You don’t stop until the quart is empty and he leans in to secure the cap back on the engine. He pulls away, clapping those work-worn hands and fixing you with a boyish smirk of satisfaction.

"Well, that's all there is to it, princess. I reckon she'll run a lot happier now."

“Thank you, Arthur.” You say earnestly, pulling from your pocket a wad of cash. “Here. Least I can do.” Sensing his hesitation, you push the payment toward him insistently. "Take it — for supplies, at least."

He looks at it for a long, conflicted moment before shaking his head and closing the hood with a thud. “Nah. I don’t want your money.”

You give him a look. “Arthur—“

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he says, pushing your hand away with surprising gentleness — and you’re startled to realize that it’s the first time he’s ever touched you. “Save it for school.”

You soften and gesture towards your front door. “Well, c’mon in for a bit, then. You can wash up and I can make you somethin’ to eat, or…”

He looks at you — really looks at you, and his cerulean stare roots you irrevocably where you stand. “I ain’t sure that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

Your pulse pounds. "What, you nervous or somethin'?"

Jesus, he is. You can see it; the awkward shift in his weight, the unsure flexing of his hands at his sides — and that same look he had at the movies, glancing down the street as if he was debating whether or not to bolt.

"Arthur, what's wrong?" You press.

He wets his lips, eyes fluttering closed as if pained. "C'mon. Don't make me say it."

"Say what—?!"

"God damn it, I—" He rubs his face, heedless of the dirt he leaves behind, jaw working furiously. “I don’t — I don’t trust myself. Alone wit’chu.”

“...Arthur, you never so much as—“

“You think I don’t want to?” He interrupts, his voice as low and dangerous as you’ve ever heard him. “Think I don’t know what’chu been doin’, with your little jokes? Lookin’ good enough for me to eat? Like I ain’t over here, damn near givin’ myself a heart attack from tryin’ not to—to just take you in my arms and—“

You’ve never opened a door backwards before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything.

You and Arthur all but destroy your entryway, a manic scramble of lips and limbs. Graduation photos knocked askew from the walls — a bowl of keys and spare change sent clattering off the bureau. Your legs lock around his waist like iron vines as he stumbles forward — or is it backward? You can’t tell — and you tug his hair in what you hope is the direction of the den.

“To the left — the left!”

He groans against your mouth, his tongue sloppily seeking yours in a claiming kiss. And the next bit of solid ground you know is your back on the couch, with him towering over you, eyes dark with the unbridled lust of a beast.

His weight pins yours to the cushions, the hot plushness of his lips in stark contrast to the pleasurable rasp of his stubble as it scrapes ever downwards. Filthy hands ruin your pastel camisole as he yanks the scalloped lace neckline below your bust. He suckles one aching breast and then the other, nibbling the pebbling peaks just to soothe them with flat swipes of his tongue.

Down, down.

Your body is a canvas for the smear of his fingerprints. He curls his hands in the waist of your shorts and pulls, with scarcely the patience to see them past your ankles before he's kneeling before you like a sacrament and spreading you wide. With a deep-bellied groan he burrows his face in the heady slope where your thigh sockets your hip, breathing you, biting you.

You yelp and squirm and those hands hold you fast — flattening your thighs as far as they can open just to stare into the core of you as though transfixed. You tremble with a vulnerability that's nigh on unbearable.

And then he tastes you.

"Jesus..." He marvels under his breath, blue-green eyes all but rolling as he flutters his tongue against your center, savoring you like a glass of top shelf rye. He works you with the whole of his mouth. Spit and slick flows freely down the seam of you and he laps you up like a desiccated dog under high noon.

Arthur laves you like he loves you, eyes soft and glassy. Observing every quiver of your hips, which strokes and caresses make you hum and sigh. His nose burrows against the soft mound above your clit. He moans like a man starved, the rumble of it like heaven against your swollen heat.

“Taste so good.”

He cups your ass, lifting you against his mouth and devouring you like a bowl of sweetest fruit. Slurping. Suckling. Chin dripping. Mellifluous praise spills from your parted lips and your thighs form a spastic frame for his face as you come, hard and fast, from his passionate feasting.

“One more.” He begs, bearing down on you with renewed hunger. “Gimme one more, baby—“

You count two — at least, while you still have wits enough to count — before he’s flipping you on your belly and parting you from behind.

"Ah—! Arthur, w-wait—" You whimper raggedly, clawing your way up the back of the couch in a boneless attempt to get your bearings. And then you feel him climbing behind you, caging you against the upholstery, his cock rock hard and heavy as he grinds the length of it between your cum-slickened cheeks. Barely has he kissed your slit with his head before he's fucking the dripping vice of your sweet cunt. Fast. Hard.

Your vision blurs. You can't breathe. He locks his forearm across your collarbone, veins undulating beneath his skin with the effort. His breath comes in animalistic grunts in your ear, shivers skittering down your spine. Your back bows, ass smacking noisily in erotic time with his piston thrusts.

“Feel so good, pretty girl. So good f’me.”

In the din of your frantic fucking, he doesn't last much longer — not that you could stand it otherwise. His grunts turn to soft-throated whimpers of their own, his pace stuttering and erratic, and you feel him spill hot, fast, and clumsy on the backs of your quaking thighs.

All is hush save for your shared breath and the chattering of your teeth as your body reels in the aftershock.

"H-hey..." He murmurs shakily against your skin. He holds you, firm yet gentle, his hand stroking the back of your head. "Y'alright?"

You nod, still at a loss for words, turning as best you can to loop your arms around his neck. He buries his face in the crook of yours where he stays for a long while, your bodies cradled in one another's in such a way where it's difficult to discern where one begins and the other ends.

"Shouldn't'a done that..."

You pant, chest heaving as you still chase breath. "Huh?"

"Shouldn't'a let me." He groans miserably.

"If this...is your idea of pillow talk..."

"I'm serious." He pulls back to meet your gaze and you've never seen him look so...tortured. "You're — you're young. Funny. Smart. You got — dreams, and things comin' your way that I — I'll ruin 'em, sweetheart. It's just about the only thing I know how to do."

Your eyes sting. "That ain't true."

"It is, honey girl." He presses the back of your hand to his lips with the reverence of a self-loathing sinner. "Want you so bad. Tried to resist you, best I could. I'm sorry. But I — I oughta go and...and I reckon I shouldn't see you no more."

Ice settles in your spine. "No."

He blinks dazedly. "...No?"

"No." You say, more firmly this time. "Idiot."

"Oh." He blinks some more, eyes shifting confusedly. "…Okay…”

You thwack him in the arm.

“Ow.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You exclaim.

He rubs his bicep. “You want the shortlist or the whole damn bibliography?”

"We do all that and now's the time when you wanna drop some — some — self-loathin'-sorry bullshit on my lap?"

His mouth forms an exasperated line. "Ain't—"

"Y'know what, Arthur? When it comes to my car, you can boss me around all day — 'cuz I haven't a damn clue. What you're not gonna do—" You grab his face between your hands to force his shamed gaze, your own fiercely tender. "—Is make my decisions for me. Or — shoot our own damn happiness in the foot before we have half a chance to feel it. Okay?"

A storm of uncertainty clouds his expression, his eyes pools of sadness yet unspoken, hard-earned wisdoms he hasn't shared, grit that softens to reluctant vulnerability with your every word. Then the storm passes.

"Okay." He rasps.

"Okay." You echo, relieved. Your grip softens, thumbs stroking the arc of his cheekbones. He leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering closed.

"I like you, Arthur." You murmur sweetly.

"I like you, too, sugar." He replies. "I like you, too."

taglist: @anotheroutlaw; @babygirlarthur; @everlongingheart; @photo1030; @stupidgaynerd; @thedilfdiaries; @thorst; @vickylamborghini (thank you all so much for your interest and support! please lmk if you'd like to be added or removed for next time!)

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you said to JJ, who was getting out from her side of the booth to sit with Derek and Penelope. Presumably so you and Spencer could sit next to each other.

She waved you off and took her new seat. Spencer slid into the booth next to Emily, letting you have the end seat. Casually, your boyfriend put his arm around your shoulders, a casually intimate gesture that everyone at the table noticed but nobody addressed directly. “Are you okay?” Emily asked you, leaning over the table to see past Spencer.

Nodding, you propped your elbows up on the table and rested your chin in your hands. “She’s tired,” Spencer answered for you, squeezing your shoulders gently.

“Amen,” Derek said, tipping his head back in the booth and sighing.

You looked around a bit, noting that two prominent members of your party were missing, “Where’s mom and dad?”

JJ raised her eyebrows, “Hotch had to get home to Jack and Rossi claimed he wasn’t in the mood to drink poor man’s liquor.” Otherwise known as Dave-speak for he was going to drink some really old scotch, alone in his mansion.

Turning to Spencer, you nudged him gently, “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you want anything?” You shook off his arm when he declined your offer, gathering your bag and walking over to the bar. Waving at the bartender, he nodded at you in acknowledgment. While you waited, you glanced over your shoulder at Spencer. He was peeking around the booth seat, keeping a watchful eye on you.

After you placed your order and handed over your card, you leaned up against the bar, tipping your head back and perusing the different programs playing on the screens. It didn’t take long for someone else to notice your presence—two someone’s, in fact. “Look at that bod, man,” a man said from behind you, whistling softly. You could’ve brushed it off, pretended like they weren’t ogling you even though you had a pretty good hunch, but eventually, they described the way your jeans hugged your ass. They were right, but you wore these jeans so your boyfriend could ogle you, not some drunkards in a bar.

Tapping your heel against the floor impatiently, you were completely oblivious to the way all of your friends were watching the scene play out. The two men behind you making shapes with their hands that were meant to mimic your body, “I’m gonna go get her,” JJ said, pushing her glass away and starting to get up.

Before she could stand, one of the men made a motion like he was going to smack your ass, and Spencer stood up faster, practically jogging over to where you were waiting. “Hey, princess,” he greeted you, giving you warning that he was near before he slid his hand down your back, slipping his hand into your jean pocket and leaving it there.

That particular pet name was new, he’d spent the last several weeks trying out different variations—baby, honey, angel—and gauging your reactions to them. This one made you feel warm all over, sending blood pooling to your cheeks.

“Hey, man,” one of the guys tried to get Spencer’s attention.

You assumed Spencer wouldn’t be willing to give him the time of day, but you were surprised when he turned his head to face them. You stayed facing the bar, taking your lower lip between your teeth and giggling when Spencer pointedly squeezed your ass. “It’d be best if you just walked away,” he said pointedly, turning his attention back to you while you assumed they left.

Accepting your drink gratefully, you leaned over the bar to sign your receipt, and sighed, “That was hot.” You brought the glass to your lips, taking a sip from the straw and peering up at Spencer.

He groaned, quiet enough that only you could hear him, mostly rumblings that translated from his body into yours. “You have the eyes again,” he observed, moving his hands so they were stationed on either one of your hips, holding you possessively.

You lowered your glass and the corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement, “The fuck me eyes?”

Spencer rolled his eyes in response, “I still hate that you call them that, but yes.” He’d detested the phrase since the first time you used it three weeks ago, but he was completely silent when you asked if he had a better name for them.

Laying it on thick, you stuck your bottom lip out, “I can’t help it.”

“You need to before we go back to the table with all of our friends,” he said, he sounded serious, but his eyes were dancing with amusement, clearly pleased by the effect his heroics had on you.

You sighed, leaning into him so your bodies were flush with one another. “Spence, honey,” you started, “They know we’re having sex.”

He frowned suspiciously, “How much do they know, exactly?” He asked squeezing your hips.

Innocently, you took another sip of your drink. “What happens at girls’ night, stays at girls’ night,” you reminded him. The only exception to this being whatever Garcia decided to disclose to Derek the next morning.

“How about what happens in our bed, stays in our bed?” Spencer offered, now using his thumbs to rub nauseating circles over your hips.

Grinning impishly, you hummed curiously, “What about the couch?” You asked meddlesomely, “Or the shower? Your office chair? The kitchen counter?”

Your breathing hitched when he dropped his lips to your ear, “What don’t they know?”

“Most things,” you assured him, “Promise.” You weren’t one to kiss and tell, but you were one to kiss and gush about how phenomenal it was. They knew about what he gave, just not how he gave it. Some things were sacred.

“Uh huh,” he responded like he didn’t really believe you, but, nonetheless, he took your free hand in his and escorted you back to the booth. Pink flooding his cheeks when he was met with a round of applause by the rest of the team.

Garcia was clapping most enthusiastically, clearly enthralled by your relationship. “Very well done,” she praised him.

You faltered slightly when Spencer had you slide into the booth seat first, keeping you tucked inside while he sat on the outside. Moving on from the show the two of you’d just put on, the team continued their previous conversation.

Leisurely, Spencer joined the discussion, slipping his hand between your legs and splaying his hand over the inside of your thigh. Everyone noticed, but only one of them said anything about it.

Emily leaned over to whisper in your ear, “I’ll leave in about fifteen minutes, so it’s not obvious when you turn in too.”