Summary: You were tired, Bucky has been pulling away for months and you felt like you were drowning. But you couldn't tell him, too afraid to lose him. But maybe it's time for you to finally admit your relationship is too far gone to bring back to life? Inspired by Taylor Swift's You're Losing Me.
AN: it is angsty but i swear it's angst with a happy ending because i cannot for the life of me just end this in angst. I also wrote most of this instead of working lmao
Word Count: 5325
Bucky believed his past and his demons were an imposition. He was able to hide it well during the first few years you had together but slowly it wrapped the air thick with loss and indecision. He never wanted to burden you with it but he was selfish that he clung to what he could. Afraid to break up even if he knew it was for the best. Slowly he started pushing you away, despite it breaking his heart. He still tells you he loves you because it’s true, how could he stop? That was the one thing he was sure of. Although, how can he say that he loves you when he can’t tell you’re dying inside? Which brought you here.
Your eyelids flutter open in the bed you share. You woke up to him moving behind. His side is cold, and you’re glaring at him with storms in your eyes as you sit up, watching with a somber sensation as he ties up his boots on the edge of the bed.
Bucky can feel the hurt radiating off you, making his heart pang with guilt. He avoids eye contact as he laces up his boots in silence, knowing you can sense his impending departure.
“I’m going for a walk” he muttered, his voice quiet and graveled. He didn't want to look at you, not when he knew how the hurt would reflect in your gaze. Still, he could sense your watchful gaze, and it left a twisting ache to his chest. What more if he looked back at you?
“How long will you be gone?” You ask quietly, the blanket you shared brunched up underneath your grip as you watch him stand.
Bucky hesitated, his shoulders stiffening at the tension in the room. He didn’t want to turn around, to meet your gaze and see the hurt and disappointment in them.
“I don’t know,” he lied, his gruff voice betraying his internal struggle. “A few hours, maybe more.”
The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he could almost feel the weight of your unspoken questions and accusations hanging in the air.
“Okay” you mutter quietly, equally afraid to address the elephant in the room as you push down your own hurt, “be safe.”
You wanted to say more but you were afraid, you didn’t want to lose him but he was losing you.
As Bucky heard your resigned response, his shoulders slumped slightly, the guilt gnawing at him like an insatiable beast. He closed his eyes for a moment, warring in his head the urge to turn around and explain, to apologize for his distance, to hold you close like he hasn’t in months while he whispers apologies into your hair.
Your words, laced with a hint of sadness cut him so deep. He wanted nothing more than to tell you the truth, to explain what he was going through. But his fear, his guilt, and the weight of his pain kept him rooted in silence.
His voice was graveled and heavy as he made his way to the door. “I will.”
As you watch him walk away, you lay back down and turn your back on him. Not wanting him to see you break because you’d rather break silently than lose him.
He hears the soft sound of you shifting on the bed, Bucky’s heart sank even further. He knew you’d turned away, and he could almost sense the tears silently rolling down your cheeks.
He wanted to say something more, to turn around and apologize, to hold you close and wipe away those tears, but it was as if he were paralyzed. The weight of his own pain, his guilt, his fear... it all held him captive, leaving him helpless to watch as he slowly crumbled another piece of your heart.
Bucky hesitated at the door, his hand on the knob. He desperately wanted to look back, to catch a glimpse of you, even if he knew he was hurting you because he was selfish, his brain tells him.
But he didn’t. Instead, he clenched his jaw, his mind ridden with guilt of the image of your tear-stained cheeks, and murmured a faint, “Goodbye.”
With that, he turned the knob and stepped out that door without even so much as a backward glance.
His murmured goodbye felt like a final straw that left you in tears as he closed the doors. You feel the heavy sob boiling in your chest as you lay there.
As Bucky stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against his face, he couldn't help but freeze as he heard the muffled sound of your sobs coming through the door.
He cursed his enhanced senses, another curse Hydra has given him. His heart ached like never before, knowing he was causing you pain. Every fiber in his being yearned to go back inside, to chase away your tears. But he was glued to the spot, rooted in guilt and fear.
Every fiber of his being wanted to rush back inside, to gather you into his arms and whisper soothing apologies and confessions into your hair. He wanted, so badly, to reveal his fear to you, his pain, his guilt, everything he felt that he had kept hidden. But the words refused to come, stuck like thorns in his throat.
And he hated himself for it.
Bucky willed himself to move, walking away from the home he shared with you, leaving behind only his haunting silence and your heartbroken sobs that haunts him no matter how far he walked.
The night air, heavy with regrets, wrapped around Bucky as he wandered through the empty streets. His mind couldn’t escape the image of you, crying, abandoned to the loneliness of the bed meant for two.
His feet carried him on autopilot, while his mind battled with the guilt that consumed him. He knew he was hurting you, but the fear of burdening you with his pain had paralyzed him. Every step he took felt like he was leaving another piece of you behind, and it was tearing him apart.
In the heart of the night, Bucky finally came to a stop. He was in a quiet park, illuminated only by the pale moon and scattered streetlights. There, he let himself slump onto a bench, the cold seeping through his clothes, numbing his bones.
The night was eerily still, and he was alone with his racing mind and a heart filled with guilt and loneliness.
In those solitude moments of anguish, Bucky buried his face in his hands, letting the tears flow silently. The feelings that he’d held tight for so long finally broke, and a guttural cry escaped his lips, echoing through the empty park. It was like a dam breaking, years of unshed tears and unspoken pain flooding forth uncontrollably.
He thought he’d been protecting you, shielding you from the weight of his troubles. But all he had done was cause you pain and destroy the very thing he cherished most.
As the tears subsided, a wave of realization washed over him. He had been wrong. He had allowed his pain, his guilt, and his fear to take control, driving a wedge between the two of you and leaving you hurting in ways he never thought possible.
The weight of his actions crashed over him like a tidal wave, bringing with it a wave of desperation and regret. He wanted so badly to turn back time, to take back every silence, every cold gesture, and every withheld truth.
The regret and guilt clawed at his insides, making him feel like he was slowly being swallowed by a darkness he couldn’t escape.
He longed to hold you again, to feel your body pressing against his, to whisper soothing words into your ear, to make you feel as loved as you deserved to be.
But he could only sit there, the cold night air biting at his skin and the weight of his actions nearly suffocated him.
Hours later, tears dry over his face, Bucky walked home. Every step felt heavy because he didn’t know how to fix this.
Bucky’s steps were weighed down by the immense weight of his guilt, each footfall echoing through the silent streets. The journey home felt like a relentless march through a dark, lonely path.
As he approached your shared home, a sense of dread overtook him. He couldn't shake the image of you, cold and heartbroken, and the thought of facing you filled him with a mixture of fear and desperation that made his entire body tremble. It was as if his guilt was about to swallow him whole.
He hesitated at the front door, his hand hovering just inches away from the knob. He wondered if you were asleep, if you even wanted to see him. The uncertainty made his heart race and his palms sweaty.
Taking a deep breath, he finally turned the knob and stepped inside, bracing himself for the sight that would await him.
You were in the kitchen, back turned from the door as you heard him turn the knob. You were making tea to help you sleep when you heard his footsteps approach. You swallow down the hurt, your face still filled with dried up tears as you try to pretend that everything was still fine.
Bucky stood frozen in the doorway, his heart constricting at the sight of you, your back turned to him. He could see the remnants of your tears, the evidence of the pain he inflicted earlier.
He wanted nothing more than to rush forward, to envelop you in his arms, to whisper apologies into your hair, but he remained motionless, uncertain of how you’d react.
He watched you silently as you continued with your tea, the tension in the room almost palpable. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words remained lodged in his throat, stuck under guilt and fear.
He studied your form, the slump of your shoulders, the quiet way you moved, and he was plagued with the realization of how much he had hurt you.
“You’re home” you say quietly without glancing up as you mix the tea.
Your soft words sliced through the heavy silence like a knife, making Bucky flinch inwardly. He wanted to hear joy or warmth in your voice, but the flat tone only confirmed the damage he had done.
He took a tentative step into the kitchen, still keeping a safe distance from you, his eyes never leaving your hunched figure.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice sounding gruff and raw. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”
He watched you continue to mix your tea, feeling more like an intruder than an invited guest in your own home.
“Can we... can we talk?” he finally asked, his throat drier than sandpaper.
This was it, you thought. Your worst fear was coming to life.
You nod and sit down, looking at the tea. Afraid that if you saw him you would see the love he lost for you.
Your nod shattered Bucky’s heart even more. The sight of you, so quiet and resigned, made his chest ache with regret.
He took the seat across from you, his gaze fixed on the table rather than your tear-stained face. The silence between you was heavy, filled with tension and guilt.
“Doll…” he began, his voice cracking slightly.
“Do you love her?” you ask quietly not looking up as a tear falls. The hurt that has been festering up inside close to overflowing.
Bucky froze, the air being knocked out of his lungs. He hadn't been expecting that question, and it caught him completely off guard.
“Wh-what?” he stuttered, his heart thumping against his chest in guilt and dread. “What do you mean, doll?”
“Please don’t make me say it,” you plead as your lips quivered “I just want to know her name.”
His heart shattered into a million pieces at the trembling in your voice, the pain and heartbreak so evident in your words. He wanted to reach out but he knew he didn’t deserve that luxury.
He exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging with guilt and shame, before he finally answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
“There is no one else, doll. It’s just you... it’s always been just you.”
“Bullshit” you say hurt and angry “I just want to know her name” you plead as more tears fell “tell me who I’m losing you to.”
Bucky’s chest tightened at the anger and hurt in your voice. He could hear the pain, the sheer heartbreak in your plea, and it was like a knife to his wounded heart.
“Doll please,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. “You’re not losing me to anyone. There is no one else, I swear it. It’s just you, it’s always been only you.”
“Just tell me their name, I won’t be mad, I swear” You say hurt as you look at him through tears “I just wanna know how can I fix it. What I have to do to make you come back to me” You plead as more tears fall.
Bucky’s heart felt like it was being slowly torn out of his chest as he finally understood what you meant. The pain and desperation in your voice shattered him, tearing him apart from the inside.
He wanted to take you in his arms, to kiss away your tears, to comfort you, to assure you that there was no one, that he loved you only, but he remained motionless, frozen in the grip of his guilt.
“Doll,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “There is nothing to fix, because there’s no one else. It’s only ever been you…”
He watched as your tears continued to fall, each drop a dagger to his heart. He hated himself for causing you so much pain, for making you think there was someone else, when there was only ever you.
“Please baby” he pleaded, his voice catching in his throat. “You have to believe me. I love you. Only you. You’re the only one for me.”
“I’ve seen the photos” you say heartbroken, “I’m not blind James, I’ve seen the women you were with from the red carpet, the dinners, the banquets. They’re all online too” you add as your voice breaks.
Bucky’s heart sank further into despair at your words. He knew exactly what you were referring to, the countless dinners and galas and banquets he attended in the name of being a hero. The media often snapped countless pictures of him, pairing him with different young women and speculating about his romantic involvements.
He felt sick, knowing that those pictures had fueled your doubts, fed the fear that there was someone else because he started to pull away.
“Those pictures, baby, they’re not what you think they are,” he protested weakly.
“I’m not stupid” you say keeping your eyes on him “I know I put up with a lot but I would’ve preferred if you left me instead of lying to my face”
The pain in your voice, the hint of betrayal, felt like nails being hammered into his heart. He wanted to explain, to tell you that those pictures meant nothing, that he was nothing more than polite to those women because he had to be. But the guilt, the fear, held him back.
He remained silent, his gaze fixated on the table as the shame and regret welled up within him, threatening to drown him.
Quiet sobs escaped you as he remained silent, further cementing in your head that he was lying because he couldn’t even defend himself.
Bucky’s heart ached, each sob like a dagger to his heart. He wanted to scream, to protest, to make you understand that those pictures meant nothing, and it was all just part of the role he had to play for the press. But again, the guilt, the fear, the self-hatred, silenced him.
He simply sat there, his hands clenching into fists on the table, as he fought the overwhelming urge to cross the table, gather you in his arms, and drown himself in your warmth.
“Where did I go wrong?” you asked, your voice breaking through the tears.
The heart-wrenching question cut through the heavy silence like a hot knife. Bucky’s heart shattered into a million pieces as he heard the break in your voice.
He wanted to yell, to explain that it wasn’t you, that you did nothing wrong, that it was all on him. But his voice failed him, trapped by guilt and fear.
He remained silent, his eyes lowered to the table, his body practically vibrating with tension and conflict.
“Tell me what I can do to fix this, fix us.” you plead to make him look “I just want you to come back to me” you add with a sob.
Bucky’s heart shattered into a million pieces as he heard your desperate plea, the sheer heartbreak in your voice making his chest ache. He finally looked up, meeting your tear-filled gaze with eyes full of regret.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice raw and gruff. “I should have been honest with you from the start. I shouldn’t have let those pictures and rumors bother you.”
He took a deep breath, summoning all the courage he could find to continue.
“But there is no one else doll,” he insisted once more. “It’s always been only you.”
The words felt heavy in the air, echoing through the quiet space between you. Bucky’s heart felt as if it were being shredded into pieces with each passing moment, the anguish and remorse almost overwhelming him.
He could see the doubt in your eyes, the hesitation, and it made him ache even more. He wanted, no–he needed you to believe him, to understand that his heart was always, and would always, belong to you.
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes pleading for understanding.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please believe me.”
“You’ve been pulling away” you say quietly with a hiccup.
Bucky’s heart sank further as he heard your quiet, broken words. He knew it was true, he had been pulling away. Creating this distance between you, and it was killing him.
He fidgeted nervously with his hands, his eyes darting around the room, unable to maintain eye contact with you. The guilt and shame were almost overwhelming, and he felt like he was suffocating in his own silence.
“I know,” he finally mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been answering my calls less, even when you’re home without a mission you’re always leaving” you say quietly and hurt “you haven’t even held me in months” you add letting all the hurt you have been holding out.
Bucky flinched, the sting of truth in your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. The realization of what he had been doing, how he had been hurting you, shattered his heart, and he felt a deep, aching shame washing over him.
He clenched his jaw, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
He wanted to say so many things, to explain himself, to make you understand why he had been acting this way, but the words were tangled in the web of his guilt and despair.
He watched as the hurt and pain danced across your features, and it made him hate himself even more. He had caused this, he had made you feel this way, and he cursed himself for being so weak, so cowardly.
He pushed himself up from the chair and walked around the table, unable to bear the distance between you any longer. He stood before you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his heart aching with the need to touch you, to hold you, to make you feel loved again.
His hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white from the strain. His eyes fixated on your tear-streaked face, and he longed to hold your face and wipe away those tears as he begs for forgiveness, but the words stuck in his throat.
He stood before you, a man torn between wanting to hold you close and desperately not wanting to stain you with his tainted hands.
“Please James” you plead as you look up at him not knowing what for. "You’re losing me" You whisper as you finally break from the loneliness and hurt that has been eating you for months.
Bucky’s heart shattered at those words, the realization of the impact of his actions hitting him like a truck. The pain in your voice, the despair in your eyes, it was too much for him to bear. He closed his eyes tightly, his whole body tensing as a shudder rolled through him. He hated himself for causing you so much suffering.
“Doll…” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please... don’t say that.”
“I gave you all my best me’s” you say as tears fell “all i did was bleed as you ignored me”
Your words, laced with heartbreak and fatigue struck Bucky like a physical blow. He clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to fight back the overwhelming surge of guilt.
He opened his eyes again and looked at you then. Truly looked at you—your tear-streaked face, your slumped shoulders, your trembling lips—and for the first time in months really saw how much pain he had caused you.
He took another step closer until there was barely any space left between him and yourself. His hand hovered near yours on top of the kitchen table before withdrawing it quickly out of hesitation born from self-hatred; not wanting even something so simple to taint you as his brain tells him.
“Say something James” you plead brokenly as you laid down all your cards “I got nothing to believe unless you’re choosing me.”
Bucky’s breath hitched—really hitched—as your broken plea echoed through the kitchen, through his bones, into the very core of him. You weren’t just asking for words. You were asking for him to finally choose.
And he’d been too afraid to give it.
His metal hand clenched at his side with a soft whirl, fingers trembling as he finally dropped to his knees in front of you, no longer able to stand under the weight of what he’d done.
He didn’t reach for you, not yet–he didn’t deserve to hold you after what he had done. He just looked up at you, eyes glistening with unshed tears, voice raw like something cracked open and left bleeding in the cold.
“I am choosing you,” he whispered as if it was the breath that he needed to finally take, like it had been trapped inside him since the day he first pulled away. “It may not seem like it… But doll, I’ve always chosen you.”
A tear spilled over as his flesh hand slowly rose between them, palms open like an offering. Almost as if it was a surrender as he finally told her the truth.
“I pushed you away because I was drowning,” he admitted, voice cracking on every syllable. “I didn’t want to drag you down with me… I thought if I stayed quiet, if I suffered alone and give you space you’d realize that you deserve—you’d leave on your own because I’m selfish baby.”
A shudder rippled through his body, and he clenched his fist as if he was holding back a scream. He didn’t dare touch you yet. Not until he laid down all his cards.
“I couldn’t end it with you," he said, his voice breaking “because I do love you more than anything”
His entire being burned with the need to gather you in his arms. To hold you. To finally touch you.
To never let go.
“I broke your heart because you deserve better than me.” he finished quietly, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that seared through him. “I know I did. I saw it every time you tried to touch me or look at me or–or try to touch me. You reached out and I pushed you away. I watched you to reach for me and I… I didn’t reach back because I’m damaged. It was killing me, but I just… I couldn’t..."
Your hand reached out for him as the tears kept falling, "why?" you asked quietly.
He sucked in a sharp breath when your tremblng fingers touched his, and it felt like he’d been set on fire. His eyes flared, his entire body taut like piano wire, on the verge of snapping.
He wanted to grasp your hand, to cling to your touch with a desperation that bordered on desperation. But he just knelt there. He didn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve you. Doesn’t deserve your touch. Your warmth. Your love.
As he made no move you took a shuddering breath and extend the last chance. You sin kdown to his level on the floor “risk something Bucky” you plead quietly "cause you're losing me"
Bucky’s composure shattered in an instant, like glass breaking. He’d been holding it together this entire time, but those words and the look in your eyes as you knelt across from him, pleading with him… it shattered him like nothing else ever could.
With a strangled sound ripping from his throat, he lunged forward, both hands grasping onto whatever parts of you he could reach.
One hand threaded into your hair, the other clutching at your waist like he needed to keep you tethered to him.
He pulled you closer, until you almost fell off the chair, and wrapped his arms around you like he was trying to fuse your body against his. His face buried in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling, and he sobbed. Deep, ragged sobs that felt like they’d been torn from his very soul.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped brokenly, the words hot and wet on your skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
His hands were everywhere, desperate to touch any part of you he hadn’t touched in months... he needed to feel you, to confirm you were still here. You were still real. You didn’t leave. You were still his.
He was babbling into your hair, it was mixes of ‘sorrys’ and pleading blending with the sounds of his shuddering breaths. He was trembling. Every single part of him was just straight-up trembling, but he held you closer. Tighter.
You feel his body tremble and hold him tighter against you. More tears falling as you relished in the feeling that finally you got to feel his touch again after months of withdrawal.
Bucky inhaled your scent, and it was like being able to breathe again after so long. He’d missed this. Hell, he’d been desperate for this. He’d been going half-insane from the punishment he gave himself.
His hands slid down to your hips and clenched tightly, pressing you as close as physically possible, every line of your body flush against his.
He didn’t care that he was being selfish, that he was being greedy. He didn't care that he was taking so much while giving so little all this time. All he cared about–the only thing he cared about–was you. Your touch. Your body. Your presence.
Tears continued to stream down his face as he clutched you against him, his shoulders shaking with ragged sobs. It was like six months’ worth of guilt, shame and regret all pouring out at once, and in that moment he finally felt like the missing piece in his chest was gone.
Your hands were stroking his hair, cradling his face, and the contact alone was making him whimper into your neck. He ached under your touch, like a man dying of thirst finally feeling a drop of water.
He pressed his lips to your neck, inhaling your scent like it was the only thing keeping him alive. “I missed you…” he whispered, his lips brushing your skin with each syllable.
“I’ve been right here” you mutter as your heart constricted in your chest “I was always here waiting for you.”
Bucky’s grip on you tightened at your words, his hand fisting the back of your shirt as if he never wanted to let you go. He hated that you’d been waiting for him this entire time while he’d pushed you away, that he hadn’t seen just how patient and willing you’d been the entire time all because his head told him he didn’t deserve you. In truth to him, he knew he still didn’t but he had to fight for you.
“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “I know you were. I was just... just an idiot.”
He lifted his head from your neck, searching your gaze as he traced your face with trembling fingers.
Your eyes locked with his, and he winced at the hurt, the heartache swirling in their depths. He’d done this. He’d pushed you away, and he’d hurt you, even when you were just trying to love him. And he couldn’t even begin to explain, to apologize for all the time lost because he was too ashamed, too afraid.
So he did what he could.
His head dipped forward, his forehead coming to rest against yours as his fingers traced the curves of your features. “Please forgive me,” he pleaded softly.
He wanted to memorize every inch of your face, every curve and dip, to ingrain it into his own mind. He closed his eyes, his breath ghosting against your skin, and took a shuddering breath.
He leaned forward, his nose nuzzling against yours, desperate to close even the tiniest of spaces between your bodies, like he was trying to merge his atoms with yours. “Please,” he begged again, his voice cracking, “please don’t give up on me yet.”
“That’s the thing,” you say with a shuddering breath “I never did.”
You closed the distance and kissed him pouring all the heartbreak and hurt you felt into that kiss as if it would make up for everything.
Bucky's heart broke at your words. The sheer honesty, the simple weight of those few syllables. He'd pushed you away countless times, ignored you, even straight up refused to tell you anything, and yet here you were.
You still wanted him. You still loved him.
As you pulled away from the kiss, he felt his throat constrict and close up, and his hold on you grew impossibly tighter, pulling you even deeper into his chest.
“I don’t deserve you,” he choked out brokenly. “I never deserved your love.”
He was shaking, every muscle taut like he was trying to hold himself together. He knew he didn’t deserve you, especially not after everything he’d put you through. The silence, the avoidance, the distance… and in the end, it all came down to one thing.
He didn’t think he was worth it.
His head dropped, forehead pressing against your shoulder, as he inhaled another shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry…”
His shoulders were shaking visibly as his body trembled against yours, like he was seconds from falling apart. His arms encircled you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let you go. His head burrowed into your shoulder, and a ragged gasp tore from his lips.
He’d been holding back, burying his guilt and fear and hurt for months.
Now it all came crashing down around him. His shoulders heaved, his breathing sharp and broken, as the sobs finally overtook him.
You shush him as you hold him close, “I love you,” you whisper kissing his chest because he refused to let you go. And you do love him, maybe there were still things to address tomorrow but all you knew was you didn’t want to lose Bucky. At the end of the day, you will always stay and fight for this.
And so would he.
AN: I had a hard time writing the ending, unsure of how i could wrap it up in a way that i would like. Hopefully you like it. I wanted to finish this up before i went to bed since i'm watching Fantastic Four tomorrow. Apologies if there are mistakes as i didn't have anyone to beta read it anyways, i do hope you like this :)
People who say "Women only like Bucky because he's played by Sebastian Stan and good-looking" are inexplicable to me. Have they actually spoken to any women? Ever?
Women like Bucky because he's female-coded.
Women like Bucky because he's does't fit into traditional gender norms. He's not always in charge, in control, doesn't throw his weight around and doesn't use violence as a first resort.
Women like Bucky because his loss of autonomy and agency resonates with us in some way, but also his wish to regain that agency is aspirational.
Women like Bucky because a male character who speaks to the female experience is so rare.
(Also he's always polite and respectful to women and never objectifies them).
how the human torch spends his days off, in a makeshift tent in his garden surrounded by his little girl who looks up at him with her big beautiful eyes and a bag of marshmallows in the early hours of the morning- god, you've trained her well.
human torch! girl dad! husband! johnny storm x fem! reader
themes: fluff, domesticated johnny storm ( i fear that should be a warning ) campfire (at home)
masterlist.
its a smack of fairy wings to his face as he pulls his little girl closer to him.
she had woken him up an hour earlier than your alarm was set for and when he felt little fists tug at his hair and a small body slung on top of him, he was up in an instant. he had tried to settle her down, walk her around like he did when she was a baby, show her little flame tricks but as she bordered into toddler territory- johnny's powers had become less of a marvel and a distraction and more of a utilisation for her games. and that's how he ends up here in a makeshift tent with her blanket sprawled across a washing line, your favourite plant pots holding it down as johnny lies on the ground, trying to fall back to sleep.
he gets a few seconds of it, the breeze tickling his bare skin- his menace of a daughter (affectionately) hadn't even given him time to put a shirt on before demanding to play her favourite game- fairies have tea. which meant obviously, johnny had to wear his own pair to even be allowed entry to the fort he had built himself. he's fought aliens, travelled to space and universes, seen it all, done it all, but every single day with his own little family was a far tougher adventure- and he loved every single second of it.
she swats his knee and its his cue to sit up, sleepy time is clearly over and she means straight business. she shuffles herself into his space and he draws out his arms to make room for her on him. she sits just on his lap as his hands wrap firmly on her little waist to secure her- the edges of the wings just hitting his jaw but johnny knows it's futile trying to wrestle her out of them- he's tried before many times and has only ever been met with her ear-piercing screams- she's certainly taken after her father with her loud confidence. his fingers come through her blonde locks that reach just past her ears and he smiles to himself. he's always wanted a child of his own and you had gifted him the greatest blessing in the universe.
"daddy," and it's too confident to be a whine, more so a direct order as she holds her little teacup that takes up all the room in her hands where her milk has gone almost cold ready for johnny to heat it up. he grins, does it so much without a fuss because he knows she's picked up this little habit from watching you do the same every morning.
"okay, princess. what's on the menu today?" he lowers his voice, a softer tone reserved only for moments with you and her- but for her specifically, its a little slower to give her the chance to pace her. there's a wrinkle in her brow as she assesses her little play table and just shakes her head.
"just tea," she nods and sips her milk. johnny ignores the growing hunger settling into his stomach and takes a sip when she forcefully shoves her teacup into his direction. he isn't even sure it's clean- he has no idea where she's dumped it, if it was left out last night, where she even got the milk from but he takes a sip and then takes the cup from her hands. he's met with a whine but he'd rather her cry than plain die from poisoning.
"hey, hey, hey," he soothes, "come on, babydoll. you don't want to wake mommy right?" he tries to be stern, put his serious dad face on but the pout of her lips makes him want to fold instantly. she sniffles but nods and mumbles an "okay" which in turn makes him sigh in relief: god, that's the first win of the day. please, let me have some more, he prays.
"how about," he hums gently, "we go back inside and daddy makes us some breakfast?" its an enticing idea, mainly for him because he's damn near starving, but also he'd like to get it ready for when you get up too. she looks like she's thinking on it, biting her lip down he's sure she's going to give herself a bruise so he separates her lips with his fingers shakes his head, "don't do that," he murmurs, placing a kiss to her head and rocking her in his arms.
when she was younger and restless (more restless), johnny used to heat himself like a weighted blanket, rock her against his bare chest like he's doing now and the wrap of heat used to lull her to sleep instantly. it was his best trick in the book, but as she grew bigger and so did that brain of hers, it's like she knew her dad was playing a game and she wanted to be better than him at. so she'd pretend to fall asleep and just when johnny thought he had her, she'd widen her eyes awake with that infamous johnny storm smirk; a carbon copy of her dad. johnny had never been able to live that down.
but now, it seems like he's wearing her down slowly, her tiny body slumps in his as he bares all her weight. "daddy?" she mumbles and he brushes the hair sticking to her forehead out of the way, scratching her scalp in the way she really likes- kind of like how you'd stroke a cat.
"yes, my darling?" he hums right back without skipping a beat. she looks up at him lazily, ready to bargain.
"you can make breakfast but if you let me have a treat," and the glint is her eyes is pure mischief. he knows you've been strict on her sugar intake at breakfast times, worried she'll have an energy spike and crash out before midday- snacks during the day fine, but on an empty stomach? johnny can't help but thinks his little monster is trying to get him in trouble on purpose.
"fine," its a torturous decision but he really just wants to get breakfast going for you- you're due to wake up in the next half an hour. so she jumps up with pure glee and it makes johnny's heart burn with happiness and she grabs his little finger in her whole hand, dragging him the direction of the kitchen.
"up," she pleads, and he shoots her a look, "please?" she adds, "pretty please?" she ammends and johnny nods in confirmation.
"that's my girl, don't forget those manners ever, okay?"
"yes, daddy," she nods.
and johnny places his tiny twin on his shoulders, her little legs dangling from her necks as she points in the direction of the highest cupboard where you've hidden all the treats. her little fingers grip the knob, snatch the bag of marshmallows and johnny takes them from her hold instantly to do damage control but also because she's not very good at balancing. and its obvious in the ways he has to bite back a scream and wince when she tugs his hair for stability.
this and the stress? johnny storm is going to start balding.
he swiftly drops her down to the kitchen counter and opens the bag of marshmallows, the cupboards rustle and shake in search of a skewer which he holds up as a trophy and his mini me cheers esctatically, little fists pumping in the air. god, the ego his child has given him needs to be scientifically studied.
"daddy, make the fire! flame on!" she bubbles and he feels pride burst through him at the first flame. johnny fizzles the marshmallow, roasting it and hands it to his daughter which she takes with great appreciation, "thank you thank you thank you !!" she bubbles and johnny rolls his eyes playfully,
"and there we go, those wonderful manners again," he beams and with her occupied with a gooey sticky mess, johnny can finally get started on breakfast. it's lightning quick and he makes really good work of some toast, eggs, rashers and hashbrowns- a whole spread. and the entire time, his baby girl just sat there quietly, patiently, waiting for another marshmallow.
he rewards her with another one, "good girl," he whispers and ruffles her hair before he sets the table. he can hear your alarm go off and the shuffling of footsteps in your room above him and he decides its time to hide the secrets of their sunrise sugar rush. the marshmallow bag makes its way back into the cupboard, the skewer and her grubby little fingers washed and johnny carries his girl back out the garden fort like nothings happened.
"remember," he reminds her, "what don't we do?"
"throw the slugs?" she answers with great confidence and he pulls his head back in confusion.
"what? i mean yeah, we don't throw slugs but we don't tell ..." and he trails off letting her finish with a small "mommy!" and he highfives her, "i miss mommy," she finishes and johnny laughs, he gets it. he really does. you last saw her 45 minutes ago but it feels like a lifetime away.
she slumps her little head against his firm chest and johnny doesn't even wince at her little saliva that trickles- he's seen way worse and had way worse done to him by his little monster. but with her cheek smushes and her breaths slowing, a grin presses to johnny's face, "daddy?" comes her slowed call.
"yes, princess?- sorry, queen of the fairies," he ammends, seeing her little smile grow as a giggle leaves her.
"can we go sleep now?" she asks and he carefully takes her plastic wings off her back and lies her down on the blanketed ground.
"of course we can," he kisses her temple and she burrows herself into his hold and into the heat, just like when she was younger and johnny's heart soars. it doesn't take long for him to fall back to sleep either; identical little snores taking up the garden air of your home and they're both long far gone to hear your calls.
"johnny? darling?" you call out in confusion. you eat your breakfast alone which was incredibly unusual but as you pad your barefeet out into the open garden door you pause, there sleeps a gigantic shirtless fairy and matching little blonde locks tucked up against him.
it's scary how alike they are, how much love and light theyve taken up in your heart and you don't need to be close enough to feel the heat; you can just melt at the sight of it. you gingerly paddle towards them, entering the fort like its a sacred spot and johnny stirs at the noise.
"hey baby," his voice is gruff, husky with sleep and you kiss his lips gently, he makes room for you in an instant. he holds you and you hold your magnetic babygirl who at her mothers touch, lets out a little sigh and curls in closer, reaching out to grab onto your hair around her little fists.
"i made you breakfast," he mumbles and you thank him quietly, careful not to wake the little creature tucked under your chin,
"i made daddy make the fire," comes a tiny breath and you laugh, a slow grin taking over johnny's face.
"is that so, my little darling," you coo and she lifts her head once and then drops it immediately out like a light.
"if the world knew what the human torch gets up to these days," you click your tongue and johnny still with his eyes closed pinches your side in a tease.
"i am saving my world," he emphasises and just like his carbon copy of a daughter, he's gone in an instant.
riya saying hi: hi !! 🥺💘 thank you so much for all the love on the johnny fics so far you guys are truly incredible! the amount of love i woke up to this morning has me in tears! thank you, thank you, thank you! here's some girl dad! domesticated johnny that i dreamt about last night and god, i hope you like it and have a lovely day wherever this finds you, see you soon! 💋🙈
baby i could treat you so good you just have to get past my strange and off-putting demeanor and my kubrick stare and my inability to behave like a human and the 40 layers of icy fortress walls i have up and answer my riddles three
description: sue announces her pregnancy. johnny is elated for his big sister. but it makes you feel some type of way when you know he wants kids of his own. something you're not very sure you want.
warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no spoilers for f4 really, no use of y/n, reader is 18+, established relationship, basically pwp, talks of use of birth control, reader is afraid of being pregnant, johnny is a menace, johnny the Dom, sub!reader, uses of "daddy" and "momma", heavy on the breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering, exhibitionism, creampie, no real aftercare lol
authors note: hey..... this came to me before i even watched the movie. i watched that one clip and was like yeah.... i'm horny. anyway. saw the movie, loved it and needed to write more for this doofus. also coming up with the title made me giggle. if you get it, lemme know. hope y'all enjoy!
how to help palestine ~ dividers by @saradika-graphics
Johnny knew how to get under your skin. He loved it.
You and Ben had just completed dinner, working for over an hour on perfecting his famous red sauce. Johnny had been bothering you two the entire time, pestering you specifically on how much longer it would be.
“We have dinner at the same time every night, Johnny,” You bite as you butter the bread. He did not let up, asking you to elaborate. He loved seeing your face get red and your lips opening up to let out a long sigh.
Once everything was plated and the table was set, you sat down at the table. You turn everyone’s forks and knives the right way as Ben sprinkles some more Italian seasoning over the pasta.
Johnny slams down in the chair next to you, a big box of Lucky Charms in his grip. Ben immediately takes note of it before you can even say anything.
“What are you doing?” He asks Johnny, his voice sort of small with a slight offense to it.
Johnny takes a handful of the cereal and dumps it in his mouth. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”
You peer at him, annoyed, already on edge with him today. He had been extra irritating today after you rejected his morning advances. You swore the man needed you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“You are going to ruin your appetite,” You say, grabbing the box from him. His bright blue eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he dumped the rest of the handful he had into his mouth.
“‘M hungry, baby.”
You grit your teeth, ignoring the question Ben had posed about Sue and Reed being late to dinner. Everyone always arrived before the set time, and by the looks of it, they were about 5 minutes late. You check your small watch front, humming a response. You hear some footsteps from across the living room, and see the two of them looking like they just got caught with their hands in a cookie jar.
“You’re late,” Johnny shouts to them, dusting his hands off over his clean plate. You grit your teeth. Why was he like this?
Reed and Sue stop dead in their tracks.
“What, uh, what do you mean?” Sue poses, slowly walking forward to her usual spot at the table. Johnny rolls his eyes again, and you silently plot how you could get away to stab him with your fork.
“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re late for dinner,” Johnny explains, pulling his napkin into his lap, just like you taught him. Took him years to figure out how to prevent so many stains on his clothing until you came around and completely changed his entire world.
Sue and Reed go into an elaborate explanation as to why they took so long, but you sensed a shift. Reed never had a good poker face, his big brown eyes giving him away immediately.
Ben noticed, too, because he shot you a look.
“Why are you being weird?” Johnny asks, noticing their behavior to be rather off.
They go into more word vomit, and you cannot help but let a smirk spread across your face.
Ben quips up, “Are you pregnant?”
Sue’s face instantly shifts into a smile as she lets out some air from her nose, “Yeah, I’m pregnant.”
She and Ben stand up together, hugging one another in celebration. Reed gets up as well to join in on the embraces after he rattles off some weird and awkward gestures towards a flabbergasted Johnny. You shift out of your chair, grabbing him for a hug, whispering excited congratulations.
Johnny is sitting there completely astonished. “What? Really?”
You all look to him, still seated at the table. Sue nods, giving him a confident ‘yeah’. And then the celebration gets even bigger, with Johnny slamming his hands on the table. You are still half hugging Reed, slowly pulling away, watching Johnny lift his sister in the air, and telling her how great of a mother she would be. When he grabs Reed, he tells him how he’s going to be out of his depth. He’s always one to pull something mean out of the depths of his mind to lay into Reed. You pat Reed’s shoulder, whispering to him to ignore his jab.
You hug Sue and tell her congratulations. She gives you a squeeze, thanking you. Johnny grabs onto Ben as you pull away, “We are going to be the best uncles ever!”
You giggle, enjoying the excited look on Johnny’s face. He may be more thrilled than anyone else here.
-
After Johnny got his powers, you two decided it was probably best not to have children. With every scientist you know telling you it would be fine to have a mutant’s baby, you were still unsure. Even Reed had brought up the possibility, and that’s why he and Sue had given up on it for a while.
You did not know that they never really wanted to give up trying.
But you had done some semi-permanent things to ensure you would not get pregnant by your needy, insatiable boyfriend. Birth control. A small little pill you would take every morning with some orange juice and toast.
It had worked for the year that you two had been together, and you were confident that you would not have to carry his child until you knew 100% what you wanted to do.
But now a baby would be directly in your lives, and you had heard what baby fever can do to people. You were still sure you did not want a child, but the way Johnny is just blissful on the idea of having a nephew, you knew he would bring it up again.
And you were right. Seeing his sister and brother-in-law beaming over the prospect of their future child made him envious. He always wanted a little Johnny, a little you, but he understood your hesitancy. He respected it, of course, but there was now a nagging voice in his head that said if he didn’t do it now, it would never happen.
Dinner is finished in less than an hour, and you and Johnny take up the responsibility of cleaning up with H.E.R.B.I.E. Mainly, it was you cleaning off the table and stacking dishes while the robot did the rest. You still liked to busy yourself with tasks, making yourself seem useful to the team due to your lack of superhero abilities. You were essentially just their publicist and managed their daily lives at home while they went off to save the world.
You begin to wipe up the dinner table. Johnny creeps behind you, his hands shifting over your waist. He loved seeing you doing domestic activities. You were so pretty in your blue half-sleeved top, tucked into some high-waisted black trousers.
“You do not need to be cleaning, beautiful,” He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse point.
“Let me finish what I’m doing,” You demand, scrubbing off some sauce he had spilled off his plate. By the way his warm hands rested where your shirt rode up slightly, you knew what he was trying to do.
He could sense some tension off of you, but refused to move away from you, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Nothing,” You lie, your mind still settling with the exciting news, “I am just tired, is all.”
“I think you’re lying, sweet cheeks.” He pulls your hips closer to him, his back against your shoulder blades, “Tell me what’s on your mind, hm?”
You could not lie much longer, “I’m more worried about what’s on your mind.”
He halts any more movements, using his grip on your hips to turn you around. He was not expecting such a response. You knew he would never pressure you to do something you did not want to do. So you must be referring to something else. “What do you mean?”
You shrug, your eyes shifting towards the floor over his shoulder before reluctantly returning to his piercing gaze, “You seem excited about the baby.”
He furrows his brows. You always thought he was always so painfully clueless when it mattered most. But the truth was, he did not understand why your response would be so bitter about his excitement.
His head shifts down towards you, “Of course, I am. I know how much Sue wanted it.”
You groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah, I know.”
You were starting to feel a bit dumb and dramatic about the whole thing. At the end of the day, you are excited for them. You like children for the most part, and it will keep the public off you and Johnny’s ass for 9 months. They won’t bother you about the timeline of your future child. Truthfully, you just hated the questions. There is almost a demand to produce the next generation of the Fantastic Four.
“Then what’s the big deal, beautiful? Why are you being weird about it?” His hands press into your hips in a possessive and needy way. You brush those thoughts off, knowing Johnny is doing it without even thinking twice.
But then the look he gave you during dinner started to enter your mind.
The longing.
“'Cause it’s only a matter of time before you start asking again.”
His hands still, “Asking for what? A baby?”
You slap his shoulders in frustration, “Yes!”
H.E.R.B.I.E takes his leave, knowing this could get heated quickly. He beeps his goodbye, heading down the hallway to the charging port that is set up for him. You grit your teeth, looking at Johnny’s silly expression, watching the robot roll away.
Johnny cannot help but play oblivious, now. After you clarified for him, his mind was now plotting the ways he could sidetrack the conversation. He knew exactly what you were saying, but it’s so much sweeter when you lay it all out for him, your bubbling frustration only gets him off. And you knew that, which only annoyed you more. You usually fought spelling it out for him, but with a conversation like this, you wanted to be explicitly clear.
He sighs, shaking his head dramatically. “Of course I want a family with you, baby.”
“Well, we can’t. Not right now.”
Johnny smiles knowingly, slowly slipping into that cheeky smirk he gives you when he lets you win an argument. “Well, yeah, I know that.”
“Okay, good.”
Hands slip down your hips, reaching back to your rear and palming the flesh, “I would never put that responsibility on you. You know that?”
He drags out his fondling, his fingers rubbing closer and closer to your crack. His hands are wandering to places he only touched you in private. You want to smack him away, but he feels so good, you refuse to bother to reprimand him.
“Yes, I know,” You squeak, your hands now wrapping around the nape of his neck to almost pull him closer. After rejecting him this morning, you spent most of the day regretting not lazing in bed with him until noon. That option was always on the table, but today you were adamant about getting work done. What an idiot you were.
“Good…”
His head dips down to trail kisses on your jaw, down to your pulse point on your neck. Your fingers rake through his blond locks, holding his face close to you. His hands do not stop moving, tracing the line where your ass meets the top of your thighs.
“You know what, though?” He ponders, his lips cresting the edge of your ear. He returns you to your previous position with a quick pull of your hips. Your ass is now pressed against him as your front half is practically folded over the white countertop. “It’s not stoppin’ me from acting like I can put one in you.”
“Johnny,” you warn, eyes fluttering close at the thought.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss right below your ear on your already sensitive neck, “Come on, baby. We can do it in a hypothetical sense.”
You breathe out a long sigh, knowing this was a terrible idea. You give Johnny an inch and he runs a mile. Even pretending he could get you pregnant felt like manifesting it. “Why, though?”
“Cause it’s hot to imagine,” He states, his hands traveling slowly between your thighs. You can feel him growing in his pants with the way his hips are practically melted into your backside, “Just thinking about fucking you full until you are dripping and full of my seed.”
“Johnny, please.”
“Oh, now you’re begging for it?” His hands warm up, like a reflex to get the truth out of you. Fingers spreading over your lower tummy as he lifts your top. You cannot stop the moans that leave your lips.
“No,” you try to say with an ounce of confidence. He just giggles, his teeth starting to toy with your earlobe.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His hand dips under your pants, not even bothering with the button. “I’ll give you that baby I want so badly.”
His words are so filthy. They always were. But these ones held an odd amount of weight.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, feeling his fingers go past your panties and seeking out your soaked slit. Once his fingers slide between your lips, a choked-out gasp leaves his lips. His words were enough to get you this wet. It fuels his ego every time.
Your body jolts, hands finding a spot on the counter to grip onto. There’s nothing to grab onto, so you let Johnny take control.
“You would be so fucking beautiful pregnant, you know?” His fingers dip further into you, and you surrender, laying your upper body on the freezing marble. He fucks you slowly, dragging his fingers in and out of your wet center with precision, “God, I’m so fuckin’ hard imagining it. All round with my baby.”
His other hand pulls you upward, resting right where your womb is. You know how effective your birth control is, so you know his words are just words. But god, are those words making you a mess.
“Shit,” You gasp, practically out of breath as he toys with your hole, “I can actually see the appeal of these hypotheticals.”
“Yeah?” His nose bumps the shell of your ear, “You like imagining making me a daddy?”
“Jesus, Johnny,” You sigh, as his fingers pull out of you, the wetness of your core dragging up to your tummy. He finally pops the button on your pants and shoves them down around your ankles. Your pants were quite tight, so you decided a seamless thong would suit the outfit. Johnny thanks his lucky stars for your usually-dragging-morning-brain for being so brilliant.
“We are going to get caught-”
“Everyone is in bed,” He replies quickly, not letting you finish your thought. He’s already shoving his pants down with one hand still resting on your body. “Just let me do what you deprived me of this morning.”
“Deprived you?” you quip, turning to face him. He does not take kindly to your movement, grabbing your hips and pressing them into the edge of the counter again.
You hated to admit that you loved it when he dominated you in this way. He was such a playful presence in day-to-day life, but when the switch flipped inside him, you were like sand between his fingers.
His palm comes down, slapping your ass. “Behave.”
You bite your lip and nod, smiling at his actions.
“You would be such a good momma, you know?” He ponders, his right hand reaching down between you two. You feel his tip swipe against the skin of your asscheek, his precum trickling slowly down your flesh. His words send your brain into a tizzy. You wiggle in his grip, wanting him to sink into you already. “I’d get to see your tits even more than usual.”
You stop your movements, peering over your shoulder at him. The statement is almost so comically funny that you cannot take it seriously. “How does that even correlate?”
His face is deadly serious before that familiar grin creeps across his lips. He moves your thong out of his way, rubbing his cock between your sopping pussy lips, “Gotta feed the kid somehow.”
You close your eyes, letting out a depraved sigh. You can feel the smile on his face as he sinks into you, his length taking up every inch of your pussy. You squeeze him briefly, trying to adjust to his size.
“So tight. Relax a bit, honey.”
Johnny is always warm, so in turn, so are you. Especially when you fuck. The moment his hips shift inside you and he drags his cock in and out of you, you break a sweat. Even the coldness of the counter could not cool you down as his body hangs over you and completely overtakes your space.
Johnny may be hot, but your cunt was even warmer. It was like his own personal drug. He would spend the rest of his days buried inside you, listening to your desperate whimpers as his hips snapped into you.
“Faster,” You urge, wanting to feel that familiar build-up in your tummy grow. He presses one hand into your waist, the other holding that spot that he’s now hyper-focused on.
He speeds up his motions, his waist slapping against the fat of your ass, “Greedy momma, huh? You just want my babies so bad, huh?”
The pressure builds up only intensifies when the hand from your waist pushes your thong out of the way. His pointer and ring finger spread you wider as his middle finger swipes across your swollen clit. The mixture of meticulous work on your clit on top of the swiftness of his thrusts makes your ears ring.
You are being loud, and you both know it. Usually, soundproof bedroom walls protect your pretty sounds from being exposed to the rest of the family, but you are in the middle of the condo, bent over the kitchen counter.
Johnny takes the initiative to quiet you by slapping his hand over your mouth, leaving a warm spot on your tummy. His other hand does not let up on your clit, chasing that familiar feeling of you spasming around his sensitive cock.
He jerks your head back, curling your back up into an arch, “I want you to cum for me, momma. I’m close, wanna feel you first. Then I’ll give you what we both want.”
Fingers speed up as his hips falter in speed a bit, but it’s still enough for you. Your eyes roll back the moment the burning spreads across your nerve endings. You moan into his hand, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hips go flush with your ass the moment his cock twitches, emptying every last drop deep inside you. His face is pressed into the side of yours, his words a jumble of “fuck” and “yes, take it all, baby”.
You stand there on wobbly legs as Johnny recovers and moves his hand away from your mouth. He kisses your cheek a couple of times before his hands go back to your lower tummy again.
“I’m in no rush,” He mumbles, drawing circles into your skin. You know exactly what he’s talking about, and hearing him reassure you again makes your heart grow a million sizes, “I'd rather have you all to myself anyway.”
The giggle that escapes your throat is clouded by some phlegm. You clear your throat, “I like that it’s just us. Especially right now.”
“I’m not ready to share you.”
He slips out of you as he says it, making it sound so casual. His cum literally drips down your thigh as he removes himself. “Sorry, honey.”
You run your fingers between your hips and thong to straighten it back out over your ass. When you slap it against your own skin, you hear Johnny chuckle at the obscenity. He bends down, grabbing the waistband of your pants, shimmying it up your leg, effectively wiping away the white liquid he left on your skin. To him, it’s a job well done. All clean!
To you, it means you have to ensure you run the pants through the laundry twice.
“Johnny-”
“Sorry,” He beams as you spin to scold him, “Again.”
There he is. Embedding himself so deep into your skin like a lovesick leech. You want to smack him for annoying you so quickly after getting you blissed out on his dick, but instead, you just grit your teeth and pinch his cheek.
“Daddy is going to sleep on the hard couch if he keeps it up.”
His eyes light up at your words, completely disregarding the latter half of the sentence.
“So you did like that little fake scenario I mocked up, huh?”
You shake your head, buttoning your pants. He is a menace and he knows it. “Oh, you read me so well, honey. You’re on fire tonight!”
You don’t mean it to have a double meaning, but of course it does with Johnny. The expression he makes is so painful to your pride that you scrunch your nose in disgust.
requested! thank you.
content: domestic fluff, kitchen chaos, pedro being a hungry menace, reader being the talented cooking queen that she is.
Pedro tries. He really does.
But every time you cook, he turns into the human version of a starving raccoon.
It starts innocent.
You're at the stove, stirring something magical in a pot that smells like love and comfort and possibly the secret to world peace. The playlist is on low, you're swaying a little, humming, completely in your element.
Pedro walks in.
Immediate disaster.
“Hi,” he says, already opening the fridge like he’s got business in there. “Need help?”
“No,” you say sweetly. “You just got banned last time for trying to flip something with your hand.”
“One time!”
“One time with no spatula!”
He wanders closer. Arms around your waist. Chin on your shoulder. Nose in your neck.
“Smells insane,” he mumbles.
You smile, proud. “It’s not done yet.”
“What if I die before it is?”
“Then you’ll die dramatic.”
Pedro groans and presses a kiss to your neck before pulling back — only to immediately reach for a wooden spoon.
“Don’t you dare—”
He dips it in the pot and slurps a taste before you can swat him away.
His eyes close. He moans.
“Oh my God, baby.”
You roll your eyes, taking the spoon back. “You’re gonna ruin your appetite.”
“Too late,” he mumbles, already grabbing a chunk of bread off the counter and using it like a shovel for the sauce.
“Pedro.”
“I’m helping,” he says with a full mouth.
“You are not. You’re a blackhole in a hoodie.”
He kisses your cheek in apology, but his eyes keep drifting to the pan on the stovetop like it owes him money.
You push him gently toward a stool. “Sit. You get one more taste and that’s it until dinner.”
He holds up three fingers.
You squint. “One.”
He pouts. “You’re so mean to me.”
“You literally burned rice last time you touched the stove.”
“I said sorry.”
He watches you move around the kitchen, arms crossed, jaw soft. The way you chop with ease, how you know where everything is without looking. The rhythm of you.
He’s so in love it hurts.
“You’re so good at this,” he murmurs.
You glance up. “At what?”
“Making things. Taking care of me. Cooking like you're running a Michelin-star restaurant while I eat shredded cheese over the sink.”
You giggle, cheeks heating. “You're not that bad.”
He points dramatically to the pot. “That's not me. That’s art. I should be paying for this.”
“You can pay in kisses.”
He’s up and across the kitchen in two seconds flat.
