characters. writings for bucky barnes, natasha romanoff, steve rogers, sam wilson.. etc.
disclaimers. absolutely no hate on my blog. that includes no racism, no violence towards anyone and no discrimination. my blog is purely about sharing my work with everyone and I won’t tolerate any hate.
asks. i ask that you be kind and respectful. some days are harder then others and it takes some time to get where things were. i work full time and have responsibilities but it doesn’t mean i won’t have time on here it just means that im doing my best!
reblogs/requests. reblogs are very lovely and encouraged!!! i love them hahahaha… please don’t hesitate to request anything unless i say otherwise
pairing: dean di laurentis x coachsdaughter!reader
synopsis: dean di laurentis is deep inside the only girl he's forbidden to touch. that should make it more exciting, right? except her dad is calling and he just has to pick up the phone. too bad she has no intention of stopping anytime soon.
words: 1k+
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: literally porn without plot, completely self-indulgent people! reverse cowgirl, p in v (unprotected), there's no physical description of reader whatsoever, she's wearing heels tho! second person. kinda dom!dean (not super heavy) and bratty!reader. dirty talk!!!! no beta, we die like men.
chye's corner: you must bounce on it... crazy styllllle. i read multiple coach's daughter x off campus men aus (i reblogged them all for your pleasure!) and i couldn't resist. pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
Dean Di Laurentis was not a religious man, but fuck if he wasn’t ready to drop to his knees and worship right then and there.
The low light of his bedroom cast long shadows across the sheets, and all he could see was the obscene arch of your back as you straddled him reverse cowgirl, those black patent heels still strapped to your feet like the filthy little trophy you were. The sharp points of the stilettos dug into the mattress on either side of his thighs, and every time you rocked forward they left tiny indentations in the fabric like you were branding the bed with your greed.
“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he growled, voice wrecked and low. His hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you open wider so he could watch every slick inch of his cock disappear inside your dripping pussy. You were soaked and the wet sounds of you fucking yourself on him filled the room like the dirtiest soundtrack he’d ever heard.
You rolled your hips slow and deep, grinding down until your ass cheeks kissed his pelvis, then lifting up just enough for the thick head of his cock to catch on your entrance before you slammed back down. The heels made your legs look endless, calves flexed tight, thighs trembling from the effort of riding him like you owned every inch of his dick. Each bounce made your ass jiggle, the imprint of his fingers already blooming across your skin from how hard he was holding on.
“That’s it, baby, fuck, ride your cock just like that,” Dean rasped, eyes glued to the way your pussy stretched around him, shiny and stretched tight every time you sank all the way down. “Look at how greedy you are. Taking every fucking inch while you’re still wearing those slutty heels. You gonna keep them on while you ruin me?”
You answered by bracing your hands on his shins and leaning forward, changing the angle so his cock dragged against that perfect spot inside you with every roll. The new position gave him an even better view of your dripping pussy lips gripping him, your tight little asshole winking every time you bottomed out, the obscene shine of your arousal coating his balls and dripping down to the sheets.
Dean’s head fell back against the pillow with a broken groan, but he forced his eyes open again because no way in hell was he missing a second of this. You were bouncing harder now, heels digging in for leverage, ass rippling with every filthy slap of skin on skin. Your moans were getting louder, breathier, but he wasn’t letting you finish yet. Not when you looked this fucking good using him like a toy.
“Slow down,” he ordered, voice rough as gravel, one hand cracking against your ass in a sharp smack that made you clench around him so hard he saw stars. “Yeah, just like that. Nice and fucking deep. I want to feel every inch of this tight cunt milking me before I let you cum all over my cock.”
You whimpered, but you obeyed, dragging your pussy up and down his length in long, deliberate strokes, agonizingly slow, letting him feel the way your walls fluttered and squeezed every time you took him to the hilt. The heels clicked together faintly as your legs shook, and Dean’s fingers dug harder into your hips, holding you right where he wanted you.
“Good girl,” he praised, voice dark and filthy. “Keep fucking me just like that. We’re nowhere near done yet.” Dean’s hands roamed greedily over your ass, squeezing and spreading you open, completely lost in the filthy rhythm you’d set. Until the sharp buzz of his phone shattered the haze.
Dean looked at his nightstand as if it was personally insulting him. Who dared call him now? The screen lighted up with a name that made his stomach drop.
Coach.
“Fuck,” he hissed, one hand instinctively reaching for the phone while the other stayed glued to your hip. “Baby, stop, ah fuck, stop moving. It’s your dad.”
You didn’t stop.
If anything, you rolled your hips deeper, grinding down on his cock with a filthy little smirk he couldn’t see but could definitely feel in the way your pussy clenched around him. Those black heels dug harder into the mattress as you braced yourself and started bouncing faster making your ass slap against his pelvis with every drop.
“Jesus Christ, I’m serious,” Dean growled under his breath, voice strained. He swiped to answer right before it went to voicemail, forcing his tone into something resembling normal. “Coach. Hey.”
Your dad’s voice came through the line, talking about some disciplinary meeting tomorrow regarding the team’s latest bullshit. Dean tried to focus, but it was impossible. Not when you were riding him reverse cowgirl like a fucking vixen, pussy soaked and gripping him tight, those shiny heels framing his thighs as you worked yourself up and down his cock.
“Yeah… yeah, I’ll be there,” Dean managed, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. His free hand flew to your ass, fingers digging in hard in warning. “Can you, fuck, can you hold on one second?”
He muted the call for half a second, voice dropping into a desperate rasp. “Baby, I’m not kidding. Stop. Your dad is on the phone. You gotta, shit, slow down.”
You ignored him completely.
Instead, you leaned forward once again, and started fucking him harder. The wet, obscene sound of your dripping cunt taking every thick inch filled the room. Your ass bounced faster, thighs flexing as you slammed down onto him again and again. Each drop made his cock disappear completely inside you, the head kissing deep against that spot that had you moaning softly under your breath.
Dean’s eyes rolled back for a second before he forced them open, unmuting the call with a shaky thumb.
“Sorry, Coach. Bad signal,” he lied, voice rough and low. “What were you saying about the suspension?”
You clenched around him deliberately, rolling your hips in tight circles while he was buried to the hilt. The slick heat of your pussy was driving him insane, milking him, fluttering, so fucking wet it was dripping down his balls. Dean’s hand slapped your ass sharply, trying to warn you, but all it did was make you ride him faster, chasing the angle that made his cock drag perfectly inside you.
He was losing it.
“Coach, I… yeah, I understand,” Dean gritted out, barely holding it together. His abs were tight, thighs shaking underneath you as you worked him mercilessly. “I’ll talk to the guys tomorrow. No problem.”
Your pace turned punishing, your ass was rippling every time you slammed down. The heels gave you perfect leverage, letting you fuck him exactly how you wanted. Dean’s grip on your hip turned bruising as his control snapped.
“Fuck… fuck, baby,” he whispered, barely covering the phone in time.
He came hard, hips jerking up off the bed as he spilled deep inside your pulsing cunt. Thick ropes of cum flooded you while he was still trying to sound normal on the phone with your father. His groan was barely swallowed, turning into a cough as he rode out the intense orgasm, cock throbbing and twitching inside your greedy heat.
“Yeah, Coach… I gotta go. Something just came up,” Dean rasped, voice wrecked. He hung up and tossed the phone aside, both hands grabbing your waist as he growled and sat up. His sweaty abs collided with your back. He was still half-hard and buried inside you.
“You’re so fucking dead, princess. Now it’s my turn.”
SYNOPIS— what happens when bob says something that leads to a prank war.
TAGS— established relationship. platonic relationship w/ joaquin, yelena, kate and bob.
PAIRINGS— johnny storm x fem!reader (hero)
WC— shortie.. 1.8k
The day had been simple enough. A couple missions done, a quick debrief, Joaquin and Johnny arguing about something minimal. That was until Bob had a made a comment.
You, Yelena and Kate all sprawled on the couch, their legs both on your lap with a couple of fluffy blankets wrapped around them as they sipped on some hot chocolate. The boys were all playing around on a new Nintendo console that Sam gifted them after they broke the last one.
“All I’m saying is the girls couldn’t handle a prank war.”
Immediate silence. The girls stopped sipping their drinks, Joaquin snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Kate sat up, “Excuse me.”
Yelena turned to Bob, “Bob. Stop talking.”
“Pranks require precision, strategy and execution. You three jump at the smallest thing like when someone knocked on a door a little too loudly.”
Yelena got up, “That person knocked like he wanted to die. Which could’ve happened if it was for this one.”
Yelena gave you a look. “It was the delivery guy.”
“And also, I don’t jump. I kill..”
Joaquin tsked, “See. Not prank worthy.”
Johnny was silent. Too silent.
He opened his mouth, “I mean they do have a point.. they are soft..”
You turned to look at him, like he physically hurt you. He might’ve. You opened your mouth in disbelief. Johnny widened his eyes.
He froze, “I mean, no. No. That’s not what I meant.” Stammering his words.
Yelena and Kate shook their heads.
“Soft? I’m sorry.”
Johnny chuckled nervously. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Kate scoffed, “He agrees.”
“A trained assassin, a skilled archer and this one who can move things with her mind. But we are too soft?” Yelena leaned forward.
“He’s bout to be in the dog house..” Kate whispered.
Johnny shook his head, “No, no. I did not say that. Just mean that pranks are..”
“Johnny..”
Johnny stared at you, “Please. They were peer pressuring me! Don’t hurt me.”
The boys both rolled their eyes.
“So, you think I’m weak and I can’t handle this little contest.”
“I think.. you are so pretty.” Johnny nodded.
Joaquin smirked, “Digging himself an early grave.”
Kate jumped up, “Prank war!”
Joaquin cheered, “Let’s go. It’s on.”
Johnny who was still looking at you with pleading eyes, “Baby. I love you. Okay?”
You just glared at him, Yelena leaned over and whispered, “Kill him.”
You answered with looking away, “Later.”
The prank war had commenced and just like everyone would think, the boys definitely underestimated the girls. But they paid for it. Yelena, Kate and you all inflated many balloons filled with a mysterious liquid.
Kate had used her bow and arrow to set off the balloons while Yelena triggered a sensor so when Joaquin entered the room it’d set off, exploding all over his floor.
They simply waited.
Joaquin screamed from the hall.
“Dude! What is this?” He started before gagging at the smell.
Yelena cackled before running away.
15 minutes later. Johnny entered the bathroom for his usual pee break when a loud explosion occured. Yelena, Kate and you all stood outside giggling, Johnny came out as he triggered a glitter bomb.
He stood covered in glitter, his hair sparkling and shirt all pink.
He stayed still and silent.
“Babe. This is definitely your look.” You grinned as you all walked away.
The boys decided to get you all back.
You went over to lay down on your bed after a long day. As you laid, you saw cockroaches all over your pillow. You let out a scream.
“Ah! Johnny!” Yelled, you tried to run but slipped and hit your head.
All was heard was laughter from the boys. You grunted and stomped your way to the males, “I hate you guys.”
Glaring at them. Joaquin shrugged, “Will survive. Still effective.”
Johnny tried to stifle a laugh but he let out a loud laugh. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Trying to hide a smile.
“I hate you.”
Johnny stepped forward, “Will a kiss make you forgive me?”
Yelena threw a throw pillow, “Hey, no flirting during war.”
Many more pranks happened. Yelena and Kate both poured down fake blood down to shower head. Bob screamed when he saw blood coming down his body.
“What the. Yelena!”
“Ha.” She snickered with Kate.
Pulling his head out, “Yelena, is this fake?”
No reply.
Kate paused, “You scare me.”
“Thank you.”
Joaquin set up a bucket with a gallon of melted butter, the bad kind. And white feathers he found from Sam, asking if he could have them. She stepped over a the sensor and looked like a white chicken. She gave him a glare.
“Uh. I regret it.”
She whispered, “Good.”
Later that night, close to midnight. You were sitting on top of the washer, legs crossed. Johnny entered seeing you giving the ‘look’.
He sighed, “Hey..”
You hopped off, “Come.”
“Uh, I don’t want to. Don’t hurt me.. remember I love you.” He bit his lip walking over to you slowly.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
He walked to you. You lifted your hand using your powers and grabbed some laundry scent beads and flicked them over his face, he flinched when it came into contact.
“That’s for putting cockroaches in my bed.”
Johnny nodded, “I deserved that.”
“You still think I can’t handle it?”
“Nope.”
He paused.
“But you are adorable.” He stepped closer and whispered close to your ear.
Kate gasped. “Hey. No flirting!”
Yelena groaned, “Gross.. we need to destroy them not make out with them.”
Johnny sighed, “I hate you guys.”
You leaned and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Love you too.”
Johnny sighed softly.
By Monday, the boys witched all the sugar with salt. Kate had coffee but it didn’t end well. She had a coughing fit. Then every hour, the girls made sure to put a series of heavy metal songs together everytime they’d enter the locker room.
The boys triggered air horn in the living room, Kate screamed, you screamed.
Johnny screamed because he was laughing.
And by the evening, Sam came to the tower and told them to meet him for an urgent meeting. They all grunted.
“I’ve heard about this little war. Knock it off. All of you.”
“They started it.” Kate immediately blamed glaring at the boys, Joaquin glared back.
“Not true!”
Sam sighed. “I don’t care who started it. I don’t care who is winning. I swear, if one more prank happens god so help me.”
Yelena raised her hand, “Who is winning?”
He gave her a look, “Yelena. Don’t piss me off.”
He left seconds later when Kate hummed looking at the boys, “Truce?”
“Guess so.”
Later that night, you were snuggled on the couch watching a tv show when Johnny came in. Holding your favorite drink.
“Am I allowed to sit?”
You shrugged, “Unless you try to prank me.”
He raised his hands in the air to show he didn’t want any trouble, “No pranks. Promise.”
You then moved aside, “Come then.”
Taking your blanket off, he soon took you in his arms laying next to you. You nuzzled your head onto his chest, “Cuddles are included in this truce.”
He chuckled, “Of course.”
“You still have glitter. On your face.” Trailing a finger across his cheek, holding up her finger which had pink glitter.
“I took like five showers. The glitter is inevitable.”
Resting his head on your shoulder, he hummed. “I missed you.”
“I miss you.”
Kate and Yelena saw you two cuddling on the couch, Kate gasped. “Dude!”
You looked up, “What..”
Yelena scoffed, “I knew it. You two would break the truce..”
Bob who came strolling in with a granola bar and Joaquin who had plopped onto the couch, “Damn it. Now I owe Kate 5 bucks.”
The next day. Bob was somehow bored at the tower, he did the dishes, did laundry, read some books but he needed something to do. He landed near a box of miscellaneous objects in the attic, no one knows why he was in the attic. He grabbed a mask.
It was a Halloween mask obviously. Bob was planning on scaring someone and that someone was no one other than you. He knew you’d get spooked easily, interesting that being very powerful you’d just not have any fears. But somehow seeing clowns kinda of scared you. Joaquin took to you a haunted maze one day and was a jerk and left you alone to freak out.
You were just a girl. You saw clowns and they chased you down until you got to the exit, you immediately made him pay for leaving you. He never did it again. Fast forward to now, Joaquin told everyone about that moment and you glared at them all.
So Bob, did exactly that. He wore the mask and hid behind any place you went, the laundry room, he was there. The kitchen, yup. The end of the hallway.. also there. The parking lot, he was there.
He made sure you saw him or the clown and immediately ducked when you did a double take. You were absolutely going crazy. You saw a clown, you could’ve sworn.
So that night, you looked around and saw nothing and wanted a snack so you went through the fridge, opening the door and bending down to grab a container of fruit. You hummed in delight biting into the melon, you got up and went to shut the door.
You saw the clown right there from the other side of the fridge door and let out a scream. Throwing the fruit onto the floor and falling onto the floor.
Bob let out a huge laugh, whining and covering your ears as he continued to laugh.
“I’m sorry. Why do you always fall when you get scared?” He hummed, smiling at you.
“You jerk.” You glared at him.
Joaquin shook his head, “Why is that your signature move? To fall like a possum..”
You grunted, “Listen jerks. You did this first.. now you!” Remembering the clown situation.
Kate sighed, “Don’t scare her. Her body just reacts that way..”
Yelena smiled, “Ah, yes. Like a sack of flour.”
Johnny came into the view, seeing you still on the floor. Giving you a look, “Did you get scared?”
You glared. “Shut up. You, three are on my dead to me list. Don’t ever talk to me again.”
Kate shook her head and tried not to smile. “Not the DTM list.”
You whipped your head, “Wanna be on it?”
“No ma'am."
Johnny nodded, “I’m sorry. I love you. But why do you just fall everytime you get scared..”
“I don’t know. I don’t tell my body it just does it.”
Johnny held his arm out, “Come.”
You took it and he pulled you in his arms and held you. “Bob, say sorry.”
Bob shrugged, “Sorry. But we won right?”
“No. You did not.” Yelena grunted.
“Yuh huh.” Joaquin rolled his eyes.
“You’re such a child.” Kate told him.
“Am not!” He yelled back.
“This all your fault. Hope you know that.” You mumbled to Johnny’s chest.
☆ semi based off this years archive of our own (ao3) prompts!
⚠︎ notes: my first kinktober yaayyy!! some of these will be longer, fully fledged fics, while others may be drabbles... i tried having an even amount for every piece of media but i fear my brainworms are worming for some of these characters clearly. hope these are still enjoyable, this'll be updated as the month goes on!
— OCTOBER 1: handjob, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 2: coming untouched, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 3: threesome, ft. yelena belova & bucky barnes.
— OCTOBER 4: voyeurism, ft. bucky barnes.
— OCTOBER 5: dacryphilia, finger sucking. ft. joel miller.
— OCTOBER 6: humiliation, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 7: chastity, ft. joel miller.
— OCTOBER 8: webcam, ft. joel miller.
— OCTOBER 9: shibari, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 10: oral sex, ft. caleb xia.
— OCTOBER 11: somnophilia, ft. joel miller.
— OCTOBER 12: kneeling, ft. sylus qin.
— OCTOBER 13: power bottom/submissive top, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 14: omegaverse, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 15: sex pollen, ft. clark kent/superman
— OCTOBER 16: remote control, ft. congressman barnes.
— OCTOBER 17: messy sex, ft. bucky barnes.
— OCTOBER 18: genital torture, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 19: creampie, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 20: mirror sex, ft. caleb xia. (office au.)
— OCTOBER 21: forced orgasm, ft. joel miller.
— OCTOBER 22: quiet sex, gunplay, ft. the winter soldier.
— OCTOBER 23: praise kink, ft. bucky barnes. (post-civil war)
— OCTOBER 24: anal, double penetration, ft. superman.
— OCTOBER 25: impact play, ft. congressman barnes.
— OCTOBER 26: intercrural sex, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 27: pet play, ft. xavier shen.
— OCTOBER 28: multiple orgasms, ft. bucky barnes.
— OCTOBER 29: body worship, ft. clark kent.
— OCTOBER 30: breeding, degredation, ft. dbf!joel miller.
— OCTOBER 31: power imbalance, ft. red kryptonite clark kent.
pairing | new!avengers!bucky x new!avengers!reader
word count | 8.8k words
summary | when a world-famous diamond vanishes during a mission, all eyes fall on you—former jewel thief, current new avenger, and the possessive obsession of bucky barnes—who will defend you to the grave, whether you're guilty or not.
a/n | i swear to you, chat, I really really tried to make this 4-5k words, idk wtf happened
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @uzmacchiato
“Do you always shuffle like that, or is that just for show?”
Alexei’s voice boomed across the living room like it had nowhere better to be. He leaned back in the leather chair with a grin too wide for someone three rounds down.
You didn’t look up. Just slid the cards through your fingers with practiced ease, the movement smooth, fluid — sensual, even, if you did say so yourself.
“I find the theatrics help distract lesser players,” you said, cutting the deck without so much as a glance at him. “Consider it a handicap, sweetheart.”
From her spot on the couch, Yelena snorted, one knee pulled to her chest, tablet glowing faintly in her lap. “More like an ego massage.”
“She has to entertain herself somehow,” Ava added, eyes still glued to the book in her hand. She hadn’t looked up once since you'd started the game, but somehow still managed to insert herself exactly where it annoyed you.
You dealt the cards slowly, deliberately, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel like power.
“Jealousy’s not a good look on either of you,” you replied mildly, flicking the final card across the table toward Alexei. “But keep talking — I win faster when I’m being underestimated.”
Alexei picked up his hand like he was holding a newborn. “You know, in Soviet Russia, we play with knives. Much more interesting.”
“I’m not opposed,” you said, crossing your legs, silk robe falling open just enough to make Alexei blink. “But then I’d have to clean blood off the carpet. And I’m allergic to manual labor.”
Yelena cracked a lazy grin. Ava turned a page.
The Watchtower’s common room was dimly lit, warm from the flickering fireplace that Yelena insisted made the place feel “less clinical.” The rain outside painted slow-moving shadows across the hardwood floors. No one else was around — just your little core, spread out like some mismatched after-hours club.
You leaned forward just enough to reach for your bourbon — untouched, but placed with intention. Every move was deliberate. You’d worn the silk for yourself, technically, but you knew exactly what it did to the room.
Alexei scratched his beard. “One of these days, you’re going to lose. And when you do—”
You cut him off with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “When I do, you’ll still be boring, and I’ll still be beautiful. It’ll be tragic, truly.”
Yelena let out a low whistle, muttering something in Russian under her breath.
Ava finally looked up. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you’ve managed to drag her into something that doesn’t sparkle.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” you said, “Not everything has to sparkle to be valuable.”
Footsteps echoed from the kitchen.
“Oh, you guys are playing?” John's voice cut through the warmth of the room like wet socks. “Deal me in.”
You didn’t even look up. “No.”
Alexei chimed in at the same time. “Nyet.”
Walker stopped mid-step. “Seriously?”
Alexei gave a lazy shrug, raising his glass like it might soften the blow. “Room already has enough energy. Don’t want to shift vibe.”
You finally lifted your gaze, eyes raking him up and down with a slowness that bordered on cruel. “Besides, I don’t play games with men who can’t take losing. And you, Boy Scout Barbie, are a sulker.”
Walker blinked. “I’m not a sulker.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Yelena muttered.
He muttered something under his breath and made his way toward the other end of the room, slumping into the seat next to Bob like a moody teen. Bob immediately stiffened like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Probably breathing too loudly.
“I mean,” Walker called out again, clearly not done, “what are you guys even playing for, anyway? Bragging rights?”
“No,” you replied, slow and dry. “We’re playing for dignity. You wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
Yelena snorted. Bob looked like he wanted to disappear.
Alexei chuckled beside you, swirling the last of his drink. “So, what I get if I win, devushka?” he asked, eyes narrowing with faux confidence. “Something real. Something good.”
You tilted your head, lips pursing. “If you win…” You let the pause stretch, dragging the silence like velvet. “You get to say you beat me. Once. And then I’ll let you frame the cards.”
Alexei groaned. “Bah. No fun. Okay, okay—what you want if you win?”
You leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms overhead just enough to make it distracting. “Hmm. What do I want from a man who has nothing I need?”
Alexei leaned forward on his elbows, cards fanned lazily in one hand, smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. “Okay, devushka. If you win… I get you something made of vibranium. Real Wakandan stuff.”
You scoffed, slow and unimpressed, barely glancing up from your hand. “I already have something made of vibranium.”
Walker twisted from his spot on the couch, scoffing. “No, you don’t.”
You turned your head toward him, the motion fluid, calculated. “Yes, I do.”
He raised a brow. “What, like jewelry? Pretty sure that’s not on the market for—”
“No,” you cut in, voice syrupy with disinterest. “Unlike you… with your cheap excuse for a shield.”
Bob blinked next to him. “Damn.”
Walker bristled. “My shield is—”
You held up a hand. “Please don’t embarrass yourself further.”
Ava didn’t even look up from her book. “Secondhand symbolism isn’t a personality trait.”
Walker opened his mouth again, then promptly closed it.
Alexei chuckled, sipping his drink. “So, what is mystery vibranium treasure you claim to own, hm?”
You looked at him over the top of your cards, shrugged one shoulder, and said casually, “James’ arm.”
There was a full beat of silence.
Yelena lowered her tablet slowly, blinking at you like you’d just recited an entire monologue about tax law. “I want you to really hear what just came out of your mouth,” she said flatly. “You just… took ownership of someone else’s arm.”
You didn’t even flinch. “Whatever’s his is mine.”
Simple. Like gravity.
Ava turned a page with a deliberate flick. “So, whatever’s yours is his, then?”
“I never said that.”
That earned a huff from Yelena, who muttered something in Russian under her breath that sounded vaguely like delusional but committed.
Walker looked between you all like someone had changed the language setting on the conversation.
Alexei exhaled, long and put-upon, setting his cards down as if they weighed something. “Okay, okay… what do you want, then?”
You tilted your head, lips curving slow, deliberate — the kind of smile that meant trouble and absolutely no regret. Feline and dangerous.
“The Orlov diamond.”
There was a beat of silence.
Alexei turned to look at you fully, eyes narrowing like he was sure he’d misheard. Yelena’s tablet dropped to her lap as she cut you a sidelong glance, brows raising.
You just blinked, perfectly serene.
“You’re not serious,” Alexei said finally, half-laughing like he hoped it was a joke.
“You asked what I wanted,” you replied, your voice light, almost bored. “I answered.”
Alexei sat up straighter, suddenly far more animated than any poker game warranted. “That is Mother Russia’s diamond,” he declared, gesturing like he was rallying a crowd. “It belongs in our history, our legacy. It is symbol of strength—of endurance! Stolen by the West, admired by the world, but born of Russian greatness—”
You didn’t even lift your head. Just slid a glance toward him, eyes half-lidded, unimpressed. “It’s originally from India.”
He blinked. “What?”
Yelena let out a sharp laugh, hiding her grin behind her hand. Ava didn’t even bother pretending not to smirk.
Alexei sputtered for a second, searching for a comeback. Finally, he puffed up his chest with exaggerated pride. “Well then, I simply make sure you don’t win.”
You gave him a slow, sweet smile. “You can try.”
And then, with your eyes locked on his, you slid another chip into the pot.
Alexei cracked his knuckles. You tapped your fingers against your knee, calm but coiled. The game shifted. The easy banter faded into something quieter, more serious — the room narrowing down to the felt, the cards, the chips.
Everyone else had settled in to watch.
Bob sat hunched over on the armrest of the couch, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was observing a bomb defusal. Walker sat stiff beside him, arms crossed, a faint scowl pulling at his mouth.
Ava leaned back in the corner, legs stretched out, expression unreadable behind her book. Yelena was the only one who looked remotely entertained, chin on her fist as she watched with open amusement.
The pile in the center of the table grew. Slow. Deliberate. Neither of you moved quickly now.
Alexei furrowed his brow as he looked down at his hand, chewing the inside of his cheek. You sat still, legs crossed, a fingertip trailing the rim of your untouched glass. Your eyes never left his.
He blinked. Put down one card. Drew another. Tried not to flinch.
You played your move a moment later — no theatrics. Just quiet, smooth certainty. You placed your final bet, then leaned back, completely relaxed. The kind of calm that made people nervous.
Alexei hesitated. Looked at you. Looked at his cards again.
He sighed through his nose. “I regret offering anything.”
“Everyone regrets something,” you said, your tone light.
Finally, he matched your bet.
Cards were laid.
Alexei’s face fell before the last one even hit the table. His shoulders slumped, and he gave a groan like he was genuinely in pain.
You only smiled.
“You’re kidding me,” Walker muttered.
Bob made a small, strangled sound that might have been applause or shock — hard to tell with him.
Yelena just shook her head. “Of course she won.”
Alexei leaned back in his chair, defeated, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was pure luck.”
You gathered your chips with graceful efficiency, not bothering to hide the satisfied glint in your eyes. “Mm. I don’t believe in luck.”
Alexei gave you a side-eye. “So you really want diamond?”
You stacked the final chip on the pile, then leaned your elbow on the armrest and rested your chin on your hand, gaze cool and certain.
“I want it,” you said. “By the end of the month.”
Alexei groaned again. “Ridiculous.”
Watchtower — Conference Room, One Week Later
Everyone hated when Val came to the Watchtower.
She never arrived quietly. Always in heels, always carrying too many opinions and too little respect for the people who had enough evidence to lock her away forever. If she wasn’t here to corner them into another PR gala or some glossy photo-op for the press, then she was here to rip someone apart with thinly veiled passive aggression and backhanded insults dressed up like “feedback.”
This morning was no different.
You were seated next to Bucky, like always, mind somewhere else entirely as she paced in front of the projection screen, throwing her usual mix of threats and barely tolerable sarcasm around like rice at a wedding.
You had one arm looped casually through his, hand resting lightly on his forearm. Your legs were crossed, posture relaxed, entirely unbothered by the stiff tension that filled the room like smoke.
It had become routine. You in his space, wrapped around him like a claim. Him, settled beside you like he belonged there.
“Hong Kong and Japan are furious,” Val announced, clicking her remote like it owed her money. “You know, the kind of fury that comes with lawsuits, diplomatic tension, and entire governments not returning our calls.”
Yelena arched an eyebrow from her seat beside Ava. “So, same as last time.”
Val didn’t bother dignifying that with a response.
Walker leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “We literally saved Tokyo from a nuclear detonation last week. They could’ve had another Hiroshima and Nagasaki on their hands.”
Silence.
It was instant. Heavy.
Even the hum of the projector felt loud in comparison.
Ava looked up slowly. Bob blinked. Yelena tilted her head at him like she was trying to figure out how much brain damage a person could suffer and still hold a government clearance.
Walker glanced around. “Was that too soon?”
You didn’t even blink. “It’s centuries too soon to make a joke like that.”
His jaw twitched, but he didn’t respond.
Val sighed, like she wasn’t even surprised. “This,” she muttered, waving a hand vaguely at Walker, “is why you guys need media training.”
She clicked through another slide she wasn’t even pretending to care about. The projector whined against the silence.
“And now,” she said, tone sharpening, “we have a completely separate mess to clean up — one that’s about to make headlines if we’re not careful.”
Yelena sighed audibly. “You say that like it's new.”
Val ignored her. Of course.
“Same day you all landed in Tokyo,” she continued, her eyes sweeping the room slowly, “something else went missing halfway across the world.”
She clicked again. The screen lit up with a high-resolution image — the glint of light catching on flawless facets.
“The Pink Star Diamond,” she said. “Gone. From its private exhibition in Hong Kong. Security footage? Wiped. Guards? Drugged. No signs of forced entry.”
The room went still.
And then — every head turned.
Toward you.
Slow. Simultaneous.
Ava didn’t even try to hide her stare. Yelena gave a soft snort. Bob blinked like he wasn’t sure if he should make eye contact or duck for cover. Walker just sat there, frowning.
You didn’t react. Not even a twitch.
Val folded her arms. “Coincidence?”
You finally turned to her, face cool, mouth poised in that bored sort of half-smile. “Absolutely.”
Alexei leaned forward slightly. “We were in Tokyo.”
You leaned forward slightly in your seat, arm still threaded through Bucky’s as you rested your other hand on the table, fingers tapping once — slow and deliberate.
“I was never in Hong Kong,” you said smoothly, voice level. “I didn’t leave Tokyo the entire time we were deployed. Ask the field team. Ask Ava. Cross-reference satellite data. Internal comm logs. Flight manifests. Movement trackers.”
Ava didn’t deny it — just narrowed her gaze slightly, studying you with that unnerving, analytical expression of hers.
Val arched a brow. “The diamond was taken by someone who avoided every sensor in a high-security vault. Who moved with precision and didn’t leave a single trace.”
Yelena gave a small shrug. “I mean… she didn’t leave the drop zone. That I saw.”
Walker snorted. “Please. You’ve snuck past tracking before. No one’s doubting your ability, that’s the problem.”
You looked at him like he was gum on the sidewalk. “If I’d stolen it, you think I’d be dumb enough to let it get traced back here? Have some faith in my standards.”
“Oh, we have faith,” Ava cut in, folding her arms and staring you down. “Just not the kind you’re hoping for.”
You arched a brow, waiting.
Val took a step closer to the head of the table. “You were a jewel thief when I found you. Let’s not rewrite history. You were halfway through smuggling the Laurent Emeralds out of Geneva when I made you an offer.”
You smiled slowly, almost sweetly. “Correction. I was halfway out of Geneva. The emeralds were already in Paris.”
Bob blinked like he wanted to take notes.
“Let’s talk logistics,” you added, sharper now. “You think I snuck out of Tokyo in the middle of a live operation, somehow got to Hong Kong, cracked a vault with no gear, took a priceless diamond, and made it back — all without being seen or throwing off the mission timeline?”
Silence.
Then, “…Yeah, kind of,” Walker muttered.
You stared at him. “You can’t even open your own locker without help.”
Yelena snorted again.
Ava narrowed her eyes. “Just because we can’t prove it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
“You act like this is personal,” you said, eyes skating over the room. “It’s not. It’s logistics. And none of you have a leg to stand on.”
Yelena didn’t even look up from her seat. “I can’t trust someone who doesn’t own a single pair of sweatpants.”
You turned to her with a lazy blink. “And I can’t trust someone who surrounds herself with rodents.”
Her head snapped toward you. “He’s not a rodent, he’s a hamster, and his name is Nathaniel. And you better keep that white she-devil away from him.”
Bob whispered, “I think Nathanial and Alpine are both adorable…”
Walker cut in, loud and self-righteous. “You’re a kleptomaniac. Just admit it already.”
“I’m selective,” you corrected. “There’s a difference. If I were a kleptomaniac, your watch would be missing.”
Walker looked down at his wrist instinctively.
Val stepped forward again, clearly running out of patience. “If you have the diamond, just give it back. We can clean this up before it escalates.”
You stared at her, jaw tight, smile gone.
“I’m not giving it back,” you said evenly, “because I don’t have it.”
“You know what?” Ava said sharply. “Even if you didn’t take it — which, let’s be honest, is a stretch — you still act like this team’s your personal playground.”
You didn’t respond.
“You don’t answer to anyone,” Walker snapped. “You don’t follow protocol. You steal. You lie. And we’re just supposed to deal with it because Bucky lets you crawl into his lap like a damn—”
Your head turned.
Eyes on Bucky.
No words this time. Just a look.
And that was all it took.
He stood like someone had flipped a switch — slow, calm, but absolute. A wall rising between you and the room.
“That’s enough.”
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
Everyone went still.
Bucky looked around the table, one hand still resting gently over yours, the other loose at his side — but the tension in his shoulders said he was ready.
“You’re accusing her with nothing. No proof. No data. Just gut feelings and guesses because you don’t like how she operates.” His voice stayed steady. “She’s not obligated to win you over with small talk and trust falls. She gets the job done. Every time. And if you can’t keep up with how she does it, that’s on you.”
Yelena opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“She was accounted for. We all saw it. And unless someone here can produce actual evidence that she left the mission zone, I suggest you stop throwing accusations like you’re on trial for your own insecurities.”
The room was dead quiet.
You sat back, watching the way his shoulders rose and fell, the way his jaw stayed tight.
Yelena leaned forward, voice sharp. “That’s so unfair.”
You blinked, tilting your head with faux innocence. “What is?”
“That.” She pointed toward Bucky — now standing like a sentinel at your side. “Every time we call you out, you don’t have to defend yourself. You just look at him like a Disney princess and suddenly he’s barking at all of us.”
You raised your brows, lips parting slightly. “Are you suggesting I’m not a princess?”
“We’re suggesting he’s your guard dog,” Ava muttered. “Trained, loaded, and ready to bite.”
Walker scoffed. “You say ‘James’ and suddenly we’re all the enemy.”
“Maybe don’t act like enemies,” Bucky said flatly, still standing tall beside you.
You let out a quiet hum, fingers gently brushing along his forearm. “You all seem very emotional about this.”
Bob, barely breathing at this point, whispered, “She’s doing the thing again where she pretends she doesn’t know what’s happening…”
Val looked like she wanted to rip her own hair out.
Alexei finally spoke, voice low and deliberate. “You say you want me to steal Orlov diamond for you — and we all laugh. But then Pink Star goes missing and suddenly it’s out of question?”
You gave him a look like he’d just said something painfully unoriginal. “It was a joke,” you said coolly. “One you're all now taking way too seriously.”
“Because it’s not unbelievable,” Ava shot back.
“And yet, still unproven,” you replied, voice even, unbothered. “So what are we really doing here? Group therapy?”
Bucky let out a quiet breath and finally lowered himself back into his seat beside you, arm brushing yours.
“The conversation’s over,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “She didn’t steal the diamond.”
A pause.
“Very sorry for Hong Kong,” he added, almost deadpan. “But that’s their own fault for losing it.”
Yelena threw up her hands. Walker stared at the ceiling like he was praying for divine intervention. Ava just blinked slowly, lips pressed into a thin line.
Val looked around the room like she was considering setting the whole table on fire, but finally closed the file in her hand with a tight snap.
“Fine,” she said, “Whatever.“
And no one argued. Not after that.
You leaned into Bucky just slightly, your tone airy as ever. “I thought I handled that well.”
He didn’t smile—not really—but you felt the way his hand found your thigh under the table.
“You always do,” he murmured.
Your bedroom, That night
“James, you’re not admiring me enough.”
Your voice came out in a lazy drawl, like it wasn’t the first time you’d said it tonight—or ever.
Bucky didn’t look away from you, not even for a second. “I am, baby.”
His voice was quiet. Rough. The kind of hoarse that came from restraint, not disinterest.
He was seated in your vanity chair, his long legs spread wide, arms resting on his thighs. The golden light from a dozen candles danced across his face—across the sharp set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his throat bobbed when his eyes dropped lower.
The room smelled like rose oil and candle wax. The windows were cracked open just enough to let the cool New York summer air creep in, stirring the silk curtains. The rest of the Watchtower was asleep—or pretending to be.
You were stretched across your bed like something out of a painting, legs bare, skin glowing under dim candlelight. The rose gold silk of your nightgown clung to you like it was made for this moment, slipping dangerously off one shoulder.
And on your right hand—on your ring finger—the Pink Star Diamond glittered in a way that could never be mistaken for synthetic.
It sparkled as you moved, slowly dragging your hand down the curve of your own body, letting the diamond catch the light—your collarbone, your sternum, the dip of your waist.
Bucky's jaw clenched.
“Do you like it?” you asked, eyes meeting his through your lashes.
“You know I do,” he murmured.
“Mm. You haven’t said it.”
“Sayin’ it doesn’t do shit compared to what I wanna do, sweetheart.”
You stretched just enough to shift the way the silk slid over your skin, the gown riding high over your thigh as you tilted your chin toward him. The diamond caught another sliver of candlelight as you turned your hand, admiring it like it was a museum piece.
“I think it pairs nicely with this,” you said, voice honeyed, fingertip grazing the diamond choker around your neck — icy white, square-cut stones sitting flush against your collarbone.
Bucky’s gaze dropped instantly, breath catching in his throat.
“This one,” you murmured, drawing your hand slowly down between your breasts, “I stole in Prague. Four years ago.”
His tongue swiped along his bottom lip. His fists clenched on his thighs.
You watched him watch you. Watched his restraint unravel one breath at a time.
The gown dipped as you rolled one shoulder forward, then the other. Silk slid down your arms, slow and fluid, catching briefly on your wrists before slipping away entirely.
The fabric pooled at your waist.
You made no move to cover yourself.
Instead, you lifted the hand with the Pink Star and cupped your breast — a subtle arch of your back pressing into your own touch, thumb brushing lazily over your nipple as you let out a soft, unaffected hum.
“I think it looks best like this,” you said, eyes locked on his. “Don’t you?”
Bucky looked wrecked.
Absolutely still.
Like touching himself would be a sin, but staying still was agony.
His voice broke low. “Jesus, baby…”
You adjusted your hand slightly, the Pink Star flashing as your fingers squeezed around your breast just enough to make him twitch in his seat.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
Just stared — like you were sacred and obscene all at once.
“You’re being very well-behaved tonight, Jamie.”
Your voice was soft, mockingly sweet — the tone you used when you wanted to draw blood with sugar. You dragged your thumb in a lazy circle, making your breath hitch just slightly, enough for effect.
“Is that for me?” you asked, tilting your head, eyes dropping briefly to the very obvious, very strained bulge in his pants. “Or are you just always that hard when you see me with something expensive on my body?”
His jaw flexed, a vein in his neck twitching. He still didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
This wasn’t new. Not for either of you.
Every time you acquired something rare — something stolen, expensive, yours — you made him sit like this. Made him watch as you modeled it, draped in nothing but luxury and intent. A necklace, a bracelet, a pair of earrings you'd lifted off a diplomat's mistress in Vienna.
Your thumb dragged over your nipple again, slow, absent, like you were just adjusting—like you hadn’t just knocked the breath out of him. The diamond on your finger flashed with the movement, sharp and pink and impossibly perfect.
“I think,” you said softly, “it deserves to be seen on something beautiful.”
Bucky was dead silent. Tense. Hard. Eyes fixed to your chest like he couldn’t look anywhere else.
You pinched your nipple between two fingers and let out a quiet, breathy sound that wasn’t quite a moan—just enough to let him feel it. His throat worked as he swallowed hard.
You let your hand trail down the center of your chest, past the soft dip of your sternum, fingers skating over your stomach before curling over the edge of your thigh. The candlelight made your skin look warmer, shinier—like satin layered over heat.
You shifted on the bed, spreading your legs just enough for the silk to fall open between them.
And then you smiled — slow, satisfied, dangerous.
“Don’t worry,” you purred, lifting your chin slightly. “You’ll get to touch.”
A beat.
“When I say.”
You watched his throat bob, the way his metal hand gripped the arm of the chair like it might snap.
You bit your bottom lip and let your legs fall a little wider.
“But for now…” your fingers ghosted across your inner thigh, just high enough to make his breath catch again, “you can keep watching.”
You let your knees fall wider, silk gathering at your hips, the cool air licking at the wet heat between your thighs. You could feel how soaked you already were—just from him watching, from the look in his eyes like he was praying and dying at the same time.
His breath was shallow now. Barely held.
You brought the hand with your diamond down, the weight of it glinting across your knuckles as your fingers brushed through your folds, slow and slick.
Bucky exhaled like he’d been punched.
You dragged your middle finger through your wetness again, slower this time—gathering everything at your entrance before circling your clit with the kind of practiced ease that made you hum in your throat.
“See?” you murmured, eyes locked on his. “Looks good with everything.”
Your finger dipped lower, slid inside—just the tip—and then pulled back out, glistening under the candlelight. You let him see it, held it up briefly like you were about to taste yourself, before trailing it back down again.
His legs shifted like he might stand, but you shook your head once, gently. “Stay.”
He froze. Swallowed hard.
You pushed two fingers in this time—slow, deep, your wrist angling to curl against that soft spot that always made your thighs twitch. You let out a quiet breath and arched, back pressing into the mattress as your palm flexed against your own heat.
The diamond caught the candlelight again as your hand moved—subtle, steady, your breathing picking up as the slick sound of your fingers filled the room.
“Do you know what turns me on the most?” you said softly, your voice catching on a gasp as you pressed deeper. “Knowing you’re sitting there, aching, while I get myself off with your favorite view in the world.”
Bucky’s hands gripped the chair again—one flesh, one metal—white-knuckled and silent, his eyes glued to your fingers moving in and out, knuckles glistening, thighs flexing.
You rolled your hips into your hand, thumb circling your clit now, pressure building fast.
And still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You looked at him—sweaty, wrecked, waiting.
And you smiled.
“Good boy.”
You barely had time to pull your fingers out before he was on his feet.
The chair scraped back against the floor, and then Bucky was moving—fast, silent, like a man pulled off a leash. He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, hands braced on either side of your thighs, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he’d been running.
You tilted your head, smug even now. “Took you long enough.”
He didn’t respond.
He just hooked his hands under your thighs, yanked you closer in one hard pull, and buried his face between your legs.
Your gasp hit the ceiling.
His mouth was hot, wet, desperate. There was no easing into it—no slow, teasing warm-up. He licked you like he needed it, like he’d been starving for it. Tongue flat at first, dragging up your folds, collecting the mess you’d made on your fingers. Then he sucked your clit into his mouth, slow and firm, moaning like he was the one getting off.
You fisted the sheets, eyes slamming shut as your hips jerked up into his face.
“Fuck—James—”
His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, dragging you closer, his nose pressed right against you as his tongue worked in tight, devastating circles. The stubble on his jaw scraped against your skin in the best possible way. Your breath hitched with every pull of his mouth, every little sound he made like he was drunk on the taste of you.
And when he shifted lower, dragging the tip of his tongue down to your entrance, you felt him moan—felt it, the vibration of it buzzing right through your core as he fucked you with his tongue, messy and slow and deep.
“James—” you breathed, your voice breaking. You reached down, hand tangling in his hair, diamond flashing as your fingers curled against his scalp.
He groaned again, the sound raw, needy, and gripped your hips tighter, rutting his face into you like he was trying to drown. One hand slid up—flesh—and pressed down firmly on your stomach, pinning you to the bed like he knew you were about to come.
And he was right.
You shattered in seconds.
Your thighs clenched around his head, your hand dragging through his hair as your orgasm ripped through you sharp and fast, your hips jerking under his mouth as he kept going, licking you through it like he needed to make sure you felt every second of it.
He didn’t stop until you pushed at his head with a shaking hand, breathless and ruined.
Even then—he kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and reverent, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry. Your slick was smeared across his chin, his lips red and glistening.
“Fuck,” you murmured, voice hoarse.
He looked up at you like you were holy. “Now let me fuck you.”
You lay back against the pillows, your thighs slick and parted, the diamond catching flickers of candlelight as your hand dropped to your side. Breath steadying. Body humming.
Bucky stood slowly, still panting slightly, eyes never leaving you. You watched him reach for the hem of his shirt, grip it tight, and pull it over his head in one smooth motion.
You always loved watching him strip.
It wasn’t even about the muscle—though that was perfect too, buff and scarred and solid—it was the way he offered himself. Like the moment his skin was bare, he belonged to you again.
He unbuckled his belt next. His pants hit the floor in seconds, and your eyes dropped to his cock—already flushed, thick, twitching, and leaking for you.
You bit your lip, letting your legs fall wider.
“Come here.”
He climbed onto the bed without hesitation, crawling between your thighs with a low grunt, hands already spreading you open again like he couldn’t get enough.
But he didn’t line up just yet.
No—he stared.
Then he reached for your cunt with his flesh hand first, sliding two fingers through your slick, watching them glisten. He dragged them up, circled your clit lazily, and then brought them back down to tease at your entrance—slow, just enough to make you twitch.
“Still so wet,” he rasped, his voice thick with awe. “Fuck, baby…”
You lifted your chin, smirking through your haze. “That’s what happens when you use your mouth instead of your attitude.”
He huffed a laugh against your inner thigh, then pushed his fingers in—two at once, filling you with ease. Your back arched slightly, the stretch so much bigger than your own touch had been.
He curled them just right. Pressed deep. His thumb rubbed at your clit again in tight, controlled circles as he watched your face like it held all the answers.
You moaned, soft and breathy. “Just like that. Fuck—James.”
He groaned, forehead pressing to your thigh for a second, then looked back up at you, pupils blown wide.
“I can’t wait anymore,” he said, voice rough, honest.
You just smiled and tilted your hips toward him, cunt still fluttering around his fingers. “Then don’t.”
Bucky pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching the way your cunt clenched even after they were gone. You were still dripping, the insides of your thighs slick, the scent of your arousal thick in the air.
He shifted forward on his knees, hand wrapping around the base of his cock.
Thick. Hard. Heavy. The head flushed, already leaking pre-come.
He didn’t thrust in right away.
No.
He dragged the tip through your folds first, slow and deliberate, groaning low in his throat as your slick coated him. Up and down, again and again, catching on your clit just enough to make you jolt.
You sucked in a breath, thighs twitching, but didn’t tell him to stop.
He pressed his cock against your entrance—not pushing in, just resting there, teasing you with the weight of it—then pulled back to glide through your heat again, slower this time.
“Fuck,” he breathed, jaw clenched. “You’re so wet. I could slide in without even trying.”
You grinned, your voice low and mocking. “Then stop trying so hard.”
He huffed a laugh, his free hand gripping your thigh, holding you open.
Another slow grind of his cock through your folds.
And then—
He lined up properly. Pressed forward.
And sank into you.
Your mouth dropped open, a breath catching deep in your chest as he filled you in one steady, unforgiving thrust. No rush, no hesitation—just a smooth, deep slide that had you gasping by the time his hips met yours.
“Fuck—” he groaned, head dropping for a moment, his forehead brushing yours. “You feel like heaven.”
You clenched around him, pulling him deeper, dragging your nails across his back.
“You feel like mine,” you whispered.
And then he started to move.
He started slow—just for a second—dragging his cock out until only the tip remained inside you, then slamming back in with a force that knocked a sharp moan out of your throat.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
Relentless. Deep.
The sound of his hips slapping against your ass filled the room, loud and filthy, mixed with the wet drag of your cunt pulling at him like your body knew it was built for this.
You gripped his arms tight, nails digging into muscle and metal— and for a split second, your eyes caught on the contrast of your hand against his vibranium bicep.
The Pink Star flashed.
The diamond, shining and delicate, pressed against matte vibranium.
“Oh,” you gasped, laughing breathlessly even as he fucked you through it, “that looks so good together—”
Bucky grunted above you, hips stuttering just a bit. “Baby—”
You squeezed tighter, legs wrapping around his waist, dragging him in deeper, tighter. “Don’t stop. Just—god, sweetie—look at it.”
He didn’t.
He couldn’t.
His face was buried in your neck now, teeth scraping your skin as he rutted into you, desperate, panting, gone.
“Fuck, you feel so good—so fucking tight, always—can’t—”
You clenched around him on purpose, smiling through your moans. “You gonna come already, baby? Or do I have to ride you ‘til you cry?”
He groaned—deep and broken—his thrusts growing erratic, harder.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’re mine.”
You arched beneath him, the diamond catching one last flicker of candlelight as he slammed into you over and over, the bed creaking, your body singing.
“I’m yours,” you gasped. “Yours, baby. Just don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
Not until he was buried so deep inside you it felt like you were one breath away from breaking apart completely.
His vibranium hand pinned both your wrists above your head, the cool metal firm against your skin, holding you open, helpless beneath him—not that you ever minded. You loved when he held you like this. Controlled you like this.
You felt his rhythm stutter for just a moment—his breath catching as his eyes flicked up, just barely—
To your hand.
To the Pink Star glittering on your ring finger, pressed tight beneath his palm, your fingers flexing under his grip every time his cock punched into you deep.
“Yeah,” he rasped, letting out a breathless, wrecked laugh. “You’re right, baby. That does look good.”
Then he slammed into you, harder, rougher—dragging a cry from your throat as your back arched off the bed.
“Fuck, baby—this pussy’s mine,” he gritted out, jaw tight, fucking you like he needed to brand it into your body.
“You are mine,” you panted, breath breaking into soft, frantic sounds as your orgasm coiled sharp in your gut. “All of you—this cock—your mouth—your fucking arm—mine.”
His head dropped to your shoulder as he groaned, full-body shaking, thrusts messy now, erratic, hips slamming into you over and over. The head of his cock dragged right against that perfect spot inside you, over and over, until your legs trembled and your cunt clamped around him—until suddenly he pulled out, slick and heavy, leaving you gasping at the loss.
You didn’t have time to complain.
He grabbed your hips, hands rough and urgent, flipping you with practiced ease. His metal hand pressed into your lower back, firm but not harsh, guiding you down to the mattress until your spine arched perfectly, ass up, face against the sheets.
You loved when he got like this.
When the control slipped just a little. When his restraint cracked open and you could feel the desperation underneath.
“Just like that,” he muttered, voice hoarse, reverent. “God, look at you…”
You felt him stroke the head of his cock through your folds again, dragging it through the mess between your thighs.
Then—he slammed back in.
Hard. Deep.
You let out a choked moan, fingers clutching the sheets as he gripped your hips and fucked you harder than before. The angle was brutal — his cock hitting deeper, faster, the sound of skin on skin now filthy and loud.
“Fuck, darlin’, you’re so tight like this,” he growled, pounding into you with sharp, perfect thrusts. “You love it—don’t you? Letting me bend you. Letting me take you.”
“Yes—yes, James—fuck, don’t stop—”
He grunted, grabbing a fistful of your hair with his flesh hand, pulling you up just slightly, your back still arched, mouth slack and moaning. His other hand stayed locked on your hip, keeping you in place, keeping you right where he wanted you.
Your whole body was shaking, orgasm coiling tighter, your cunt clenching around him again and again.
“You gonna come for me like this?” he rasped against your shoulder. “Bent over like my perfect fuckin’ toy?”
You nodded, nearly sobbing, hips pushing back against him. “Yeah—I’m—fuck, James—I’m gonna—”
“Come,” he growled. “Do it for me.”
And you did.
Your orgasm hit hard, but Bucky wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
He pulled out just long enough to haul you back against him — one strong arm wrapping around your waist, the other anchoring your thigh as he dragged you into his lap. Your back met his chest, slick skin to slick skin, his cock sliding between your folds again as he settled you down on top of him.
You let out a sharp gasp as he thrust up into you from below—hard and deep—the new angle making your whole body jerk, your cunt already pulsing from how wrecked you were.
He held you there, tight against him, your legs spread wide across his thighs, his metal hand gripping your jaw as he turned your head.
You didn’t resist.
Your mouth found his in a hungry, desperate kiss — your tongues tangling immediately, breathing each other in like you needed it. His kiss was filthy and soft at once, the kind that tasted like devotion wrapped in lust, the kind that said I’d die for you, but first I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name.
He fucked up into you hard and fast, your bodies slapping together, your breasts bouncing with every thrust as he moaned into your mouth.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, lips dragging to your jaw, your neck, kissing everything he could reach. “You take it so fucking good… tight little cunt just pulling me in—fuck—I’m so close—”
You could barely breathe, your head dropping to his shoulder, one hand gripping his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as he fucked you through another aftershock, your body shaking in his arms.
“James—fuck—I want it—want you to come inside me—”
His whole body jerked.
And then he did.
With a broken groan against your neck, his cock throbbed deep inside you, pulsing hard as he spilled into you, hips stuttering with each twitch, his arms wrapped around your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.
He held you there. Still. Breathing hard.
Your cunt still fluttered around him, your whole body sticky and spent and trembling.
You smiled against his shoulder, breathless, boneless, full.
And he kissed the side of your face like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Then his breathing slowed, heartbeat thudding heavy against your back as the last few pulses of his orgasm faded. You stayed there, slumped against him, skin sticky with sweat, his arms still locked around your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go.
But then he shifted — carefully, gently — kissing the curve of your shoulder as he pulled his cock from you, slow and deliberate.
You whimpered softly at the loss.
The stretch, the heat, the fullness—all of it slipping away as his cock slid free, dragging through your soaked folds one last time.
And then you felt it.
Warmth.
His come leaking out of you, thick and heavy, trickling slowly down the inside of your thigh.
You sighed, content. Possessed. Ruined.
Bucky let out a soft, wrecked sound behind you—half groan, half awe—as he looked down between your bodies and saw it.
“Fuck,” he breathed, voice low, reverent. “Look at that.”
His metal hand drifted down your stomach, tracing over your pelvis before his fingers slipped lower—collecting his own spend as it spilled from your cunt.
He rubbed it in. Slow. Gentle. Almost like he was marking you with it.
“Messy girl,” he murmured, kissing the side of your neck. “You love when I fuck it this deep, don’t you?”
You let out a soft, satisfied hum, still dazed, your hand reaching back to curl around his thigh. “Just like I said…” you whispered, voice lazy, lips curling into a small smile. “Everything that’s yours is mine.”
His chest rumbled behind you. And he didn’t argue.
You exhaled slowly as you slid off his lap, your legs wobbly, your thighs still sticky with him. He caught your arm gently to steady you, but you were already shifting back onto the bed, sprawling lazily across the sheets like a queen returned to her throne.
You stretched, just a little, then sighed.
“Run me a bath,” you murmured, voice hazy but firm. “And bring me another nightgown, please. One of the white silk ones.”
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question.
“Yes, baby.”
He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder, then stood — naked, flushed, his cock still glistening with you as he padded toward the bathroom first to start the water.
The soft sound of running water filled the space.
Then he disappeared into your closet.
The doors opened into a space almost as large as your bedroom — walls lined with mirrors, plush carpet underfoot, the scent of your perfume hanging faint in the air.
One side was filled floor to ceiling with clothing: dresses, robes, gowns, coats arranged by fabric and color. Beneath them, rows of heels, boots, and custom shoes in velvet-lined cubbies.
The other side?
Glass cases and open displays sat under soft lighting, each one housing a piece that could bankrupt a small country. Famous jewels that had vanished off the face of the earth—now resting silently in your private gallery.
The Luxembourg Sapphire.
The La Peregrina Pearl.
The Florentine Diamond.
Bucky walked past it all with the quiet, familiar interest of someone who’d seen it all before… and still felt like he wasn’t supposed to.
He didn’t touch anything.
He just found the white silk nightgown you asked for—thin, sleeveless, soft enough to slide over your skin like water—and brought it back to you.
You were still on the bed, eyes half-lidded, legs open, the candlelight dancing on your still-exposed skin.
“Bath’s almost ready,” he said softly, offering the gown.
You took it without a word, slipping it on slowly, deliberately. And smoothed the silk down over your thighs, the fabric catching just slightly where your skin was still sticky and flushed.
You looked up, and there he was.
Still watching you.
His body was relaxed, but his eyes were locked on yours — heavy-lidded, reverent. Like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to touch you again or just stand there and thank god you let him breathe the same air.
You lifted your arms slowly, languidly, wrists loose, fingers curled just slightly.
“Take me to my bath?”
Your voice was low. Barely a question.
His mouth twitched, lips curling into something soft, a little wrecked.
“‘Course, darlin’,” he murmured.
And then he stepped close, bent down, and slid his arms under your legs and behind your back — lifting you like it cost him nothing.
You sank into his hold, arms curling around his shoulders, nose brushing his neck as he carried you into the bathroom.
Later That Night
The room was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the city through the barely cracked window and the occasional creak of the bed shifting under your bodies.
The candles had mostly burned down, little pools of wax cooling in their glass bases, shadows soft and heavy across the walls. The sheets were a mess beneath you—kicked halfway off the bed, damp with sweat, and still carrying the scent of sex and silk.
You were naked again, your white nightgown discarded somewhere on the floor after round two had turned slow and rough—deeper, more desperate.
Now, you were draped half on top of him—chest to chest, your thigh slung over his hips, toes brushing his shin. His cock lay soft and spent between you, trapped under the weight of your thigh, resting against the hard plane of his stomach, still tacky with the evidence of just how hard he’d come inside you.
Your cheek was pressed to the side of his throat, your nose brushing lazily along the sharp line of his jaw as your lips planted slow, wandering kisses.
His arms were around you, one hand splayed wide on your lower back, the other lazily gliding up and down your spine—not really comforting you, more like soothing himself. Like keeping you close was the only thing holding him steady.
Your fingers toyed lightly with his hair, the weight of the Pink Star still glinting faintly in the low light as it caught against the strands at his temple. You hadn’t taken it off.
You never took your newest prize off the first night. It was a rule. Possession needed to be felt after all.
But this?
This was the part of the night no one else ever got to see.
No cruelty. No teasing. No commands.
Just you. A little sleepy. A little warm. Nuzzling his neck like a cat in her favorite sunspot, soft kisses trailing down his pulse point.
Bucky didn’t speak. He never did first. He just let you have this—his body, his warmth, the silence.
Because this was the closest thing you ever came to asking for comfort. And he knew that.
Your lips brushed his neck again, slower this time—less a kiss, more a lingering press of your mouth against his pulse. Your breath was warm on his skin, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw.
You didn’t lift your head. Didn’t change your tone. Just whispered.
“You won’t make me give back my diamonds… will you, James?”
The question hung in the dark between you—delicate, heavy, threaded with something that wasn’t quite fear but not far from it.
It wasn’t about the Pink Star.
Not really.
It was about the whole closet of them. The ones you stole before you met him. The ones you wore like armor. The ones no one ever understood. The ones that made people think they knew you—when they didn’t.
But he did.
You didn’t look at him as you said it. Just buried your nose in the crook of his neck, lips brushing his collarbone as you pressed another soft kiss there—almost like an apology.
He was quiet for a moment.
Then his arm curled tighter around your back.
His vibranium hand slid up the length of your spine with that same slow rhythm, fingertips dragging gently, almost reverently, like he was tracing the edges of something precious.
“No, baby,” he said softly. “I won’t make you give back anything.”
Your lashes fluttered against his skin as you breathed him in—warm and steady and always there. You didn’t answer his words. Didn’t say thank you. You just pressed another kiss to the hollow of his throat, your hand now lazily tracing down the slope of his chest, not teasing—just feeling.
It was quiet again.
But you weren’t done. Your voice was barely more than a whisper.
“You love me, don’t you?”
It wasn’t coy. It wasn’t playful. Just soft. Raw. Honest.
Like if he didn’t answer, the silence might fill with something too sharp to swallow.
He turned his head just slightly, lips brushing your temple, breath fanning across your hair.
“I do,” he whispered. “God, I do.”
Your hand stilled against his chest.
Then, a little quieter—
“You need me?”
His grip on your back tightened for just a second, like his body responded before he could.
“Yeah, baby,” he whispered. “More than anything.”
You didn’t speak right away. Your mouth just trailed lower along his jaw, pressing the kind of kisses you never gave anyone else. Slow. Thoughtful. Like you were imprinting yourself into his skin.
And then—
You breathed it into the space between his throat and shoulder. Quiet. Dangerous.
“You’ll never leave me…?”
His hand lifted to the back of your head, cradling it gently, thumb brushing your hairline.
“Never.“
His voice was firm now. Steady. Certain.
“Even if the whole world turns on you,” he murmured, “I won’t. I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
You didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.
His hand stayed at the back of your head, stroking slow, mindless circles as your body finally started to sink against him—your breathing evening out, your leg still thrown over his hips like you were anchoring him to the bed.
The Pink Star glinted faintly in the low light, still on your finger, resting against his ribs as your hand settled over his heart.
And somewhere, in that half-conscious haze between desire and sleep, your mind wandered.
Diamonds.
You had hundreds of them.
Tucked away in velvet and glass, sealed behind locks and systems no one could break.
Each one rare. Priceless. A little dangerous.
But none of them compared to him.
He wasn’t flawless. Wasn’t carved or polished. He was scarred. Weathered. Real.
And he was yours.
Your most precious diamond.
You wouldn’t give him back either.
Ever.
Not even if the whole world demanded it.
You smiled against his neck, the last of your thoughts slipping into sleep as his arms tightened just slightly around you.
And you didn’t need to say you’re his.
That part was obvious.
Bucky when his girl is so obviously guilty and in the wrong:
READ PART 1: The Wonder of You : ̗̀➛ Johnny Storm x Reader
Pairing: Johnny Storm x Reader
Summary: Falling in love with Johnny Storm was easier than it should've been. Loving a superhero, though, is never easy. But he's worth it. He's always been worth it.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (making out, oral m. receiving, shower sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, hint of temperature play again), porn with a LOT of plot, sequel, slight hint of some angst, fluff, lovers who haven't put a label on it, Johnny is a massive flirt, hopelessly in love losers, SPOILERS! for The Fantastic Four: First Steps, female reader but no characteristics described, maybe some incorrect stuff regarding the 60s and how it worked but it's a fantasy world, VERY lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes (message me if you find some big ones)
One month without Johnny Storm and you were, slowly, going insane. Truthfully, you were going insane without the entirety of the Fantastic Four in your life while they were in space.
The Baxter Building lab was quiet. You had the entire, elongated room to yourself, from the workstations to the monitors. It felt like you had spent every waking moment since the Excelsior went up into space in that damn room. Every inch of Reed’s notes had been combed through, you’d made some minor adjustments to the bridge teleportation devices based on Reed’s notes, and had reached the point of rereading old notes and studies to try and fill the void.
Sue’s warm presence couldn’t be felt in every room of the building. She wasn’t sneaking into the kitchen to grab yet another craving during the day, even though she muttered to herself loud enough for you to hear that she was going to spoil her appetite. The scent of her perfume had slowly fallen from the air, it no longer clung to the cushions of the living room couch, could no longer be smelled simply from stepping past her bedroom door.
The kitchen felt lonely without Ben. There was no one to taste test your dishes, make recommendations of the perfect blend of spices to add to your sauces. Even picking up Maisie’s cookies felt sad, knowing you didn’t need to grab any of those delicious black and white ones for your friend to enjoy.
Even Herbie’s missing presence could be felt in every room. No little beeps down the hallway in the morning, his little arguments with Reed in the lab, or the little humming he would do when he’d help Ben in the kitchen.
The Baxter Building felt cold without Johnny Storm.
You felt cold without Johnny Storm.
Four years of working with Reed, of knowing this family, and it was after they’d been gone for three days that it finally hit you. Over the course of those four years, you had never been apart from any of them for more than a week. Every day of your life was spent in that building, working at Reed’s side, cooking with Ben, talking with Sue over the dinner table, or curled up beside Johnny on the couch for whatever movie Channel 2 was playing that night.
It took that long for you to realize that the line between your work and personal life, the one that you had been trying so hard not to muddle up, had blurred a long time ago.
At that realization, you hadn’t left the tower since. Your apartment was long forgotten. Instead, Johnny’s bed became yours.
His warmth didn’t flood the sheets anymore, not without him to lie in them. They were cold, the silk pillowcases cool to the touch every time you laid your head upon them. Fall was quickly winding down, though, winter on the horizon, and you craved the warmth your favorite flame boy gave off. One night to love him how you truly did wasn’t enough. His closet very quickly became your own, too.
Lynne hadn’t said anything the first time you met her in the boardroom for a meeting, but the glance she shot your way said it all. Heels, highwaisted black pants with a tucked in white blouse, but the oversized off-red jacket thrown over your shoulders was the dead give away. That, and what you knew was the faraway look in your eyes.
Reed had left you in charge to speak on his behalf, which prompted Lynne to drag you into any and all meetings for the Future Foundation. You attended, wore a smile, spoke when spoken to. Every other minute was spent staring out the windows, eyes on the skies, praying to see the Excelsior. All while the faint smell of Johnny’s jacket, whether it was his cologne or just simply him, reminded you that he wasn’t here with you.
One single night with Johnny Storm and you were a goner.
Today was no different than the last thirty days. An 8 a.m. meeting with Lynne and the Future Foundation, followed by hours holed up in the lab, trying not to let your brain wander.
The bridge teleportation device sat in front of you, the soldering fixed to strengthen the energy arms, while the other sat across the room at Reed’s workstation. The dress you had worn for the meeting was discarded, replaced instead with a pair of sleep pants you kept in the guest room and Johnny’s faded Elvis t-shirt he’d had as long as you had known him.
Johnny. What if he was dead? What if they all were-
A quick bang of your hand against the workstation was enough to break you from your thoughts, those terrible thoughts that you tried not to have. It was impossible to outrun them, though. A month of no contact from the Excelsior, no updates, no word from the four up there in space. Complete radio silence, and it only had your nerves growing by the minute.
There was a beeping across the room, the same beeping that had been occurring for the last 45 minutes. With one swift press of your keyboard, you silenced it, keeping your attention entirely on the device in front of you. It was just the alert for a message, most likely from Lynne trying to bring you into yet another meeting. You didn’t have the energy for that, not now.
Not when your mind was constantly repeating those final moments one month ago.
Johnny’s hands were warm, they were always warm. But with you, they were warm in a different way, a softer way. He cradled your cheeks in his hands, thumbs running a smooth line back and forth over your flushed skin. All you could do was press a small kiss to the part of his palm exposed, while your eyes stayed trained out the glass panels beside you leading up the walkway to the Excelsior. Reed, Sue and Ben stood with Lynne, the cheers of the city all lining the sidewalks booming through the walls.
“Can you look at me?”
You did, but it felt like a gut punch to do so. There he was, the man you loved, standing before you in that blue and white spacesuit. “J. Storm” embroidered over his right chest.
“It’s not fair,” you said after a moment, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. “I tell you I love you and now you’re just jet setting off to space.”
Johnny’s lips quirked up slightly at that, his fingers pinching at your cheek.
“I’ve got a reputation, baby, I can’t be falling in love. Have to run away before you suck me into your orbit,”
The swift punch you laid to his abdomen did nothing but force a laugh from his throat, the layers of the suit stopping the force of your outburst. His hands caught yours, still balled in a fist, as he laid a gentle kiss to each knuckle cradled in his hands. You did your best not to melt at the sight alone.
“I think we remember last night very differently, Johnny. You were the one who said I love you first,”
His lips hummed against your knuckles, and you could feel the smirk growing on his lips as those blue eyes darted back to you.
“Oh, believe me, I remember last night perfectly. Especially the moment I had my head buried between your le-”
He caught your other fist easily, laughter ringing through the air. Using the leverage of both of your hands in his, Johnny tugged you into his chest with ease, curling his arms around your back with a squeeze.
“Don’t go flirting with the herald while you’re in space,” you tried desperately to lighten the mood, chin resting on his chest to look up at him. Even as you tried to lighten the mood, you knew the tears forming behind your eyes were inevitable. “Don’t forget about me up there.”
One of his arms left its place around your waist in an instant, holding it up straight for you to see. The edge of his suit sleeve fell down just slightly, letting the overhead lights glint off that familiar silver bracelet around his wrist.
“You remember this? You got it for me for my birthday two years ago, and I haven’t taken it off since,” his arm fell back down, hand curling around the back of your head to press a kiss directly to your hairline. “You’re always with me, I couldn't forget you even if I tried.”
Fuck Johnny Storm and those stupid lines once again. Burying your head into his chest, wishing the suit wasn’t there so you could feel his heat, the smile that crawled onto your lips was inevitable as you hugged him tightly.
“Just come back to me,” your words were muttered out against his chest, silently willing your tears to stay at bay until he was gone. “If you die up there, I’m just going to regret ignoring this for four years even more.”
His body shook with laughter. Johnny’s glove-covered hand left the back of your neck and curled around your neck, just slightly tugging on your hair to pull your head back. He didn’t say a word, barely gave you a chance to think, before he tugged you up into a kiss–gentle, soft, but pressed to your lips with every ounce of love in his body. A love so overwhelming you were sure your knees would give out right then and there.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, baby,” his words were whispered against your lips like a promise. “You’re stuck with me now.”
But what if you’d already lost him? A month with no contact…there was no telling what could have occurred up there.
“Alright, bridge teleportation test six,” you muttered to yourself with a shake of your head, running a hand down your face and trying to rub the sleep from your under eyes and fight away the intrusive thoughts plaguing your mind. The switch was placed in front of you, a new egg balanced on the stand in the middle, and one of Reed’s many notebooks open beside you. Safety glasses on, you took a deep breath. “Let’s hope this data calibration doesn’t fry the entire eastern seaboard.”
A simple flip of the switch in your hand, and the pulsing white energy of the device was lit up. Three beams of energy, encasing the pearly white egg in a misty sphere of white energy, before it was gone in the blink of an eye. The energy dissipated as you threw your protective glasses down onto the table, whipping around just as the egg reappeared across the lab.
The power flickered off, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you counted quietly to yourself: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven-
The power to the building flickered back on the second you got to seven. It was enough to bring a miniscule smile to your face, turning to jot that down in your notebook.
“Alright, power back on automatically at seven seconds, up from 15 seconds, which is up from manual breaker override,” your words were mumbled to yourself once again as you noted the new development in your notebook. “I’m pulling power from, at least, seven different boroughs, but at least it’s automatic-”
“Is talking to yourself a new development, or do I not come visit you enough to notice?”
That voice was enough to stop you dead in your tracks. Your body froze at the sound, the sound you knew well. For four years, you’d heard it every single day: moaning about something Reed had done, flirting up a storm with you around every corner, ranting on and on about space. You had heard it moan your name, whisper “I love you” into your skin in the dead of night like a sacred promise.
When you turned, there he was. Still in that blue and white spacesuit he donned the day he left, as if he’d just left yesterday. But that look, the one reserved only for you, was still soft on Johnny Storm’s face, even as his lips ticked up into that impeccable smile you knew so well.
It took a moment of silence, just staring, for your voice to finally find you again.
“Is this real, or am I sleep deprived?”
Johnny laughed, a sound that skipped your heart almost immediately. But that smile softened as your voice broke on every word, sobs already threatening to escape your throat.
“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m real, but how sleep deprived are you? Lynne said you’ve been sleeping in my bed, and as far as I know that’s a damn comfortable bed-”
“You’re actually here?” your voice cut through his words again, eyes wide as you took that most cautious of steps forward. “You’re…you’re alive?”
If it was even possible, Johnny’s smile softened even more at your words. His arms stretched out, an open invitation.
“I’m here, baby. I thought I told you already, you’re stuck with me,”
That was all you needed to hear before practically flying across the room, launching yourself into Johnny’s arms. He caught you, with ease. He’d always catch you, and you knew that.
The warmth. It was the first thing you felt. His warmth enveloped you in its own separate hug, seeping into your skin and bones. A choked sob fell from your lips before you could stop it, arms curled around his broad shoulders and one hand desperately clinging into the short strands of Johnny’s blonde hair. The wet trail of tears that soaked your cheeks was inevitable, soaking the skin of Johnny’s neck as you buried your head into the crook of it, sobbing through each inhale of that familiar smell of just him.
A month of no little touches. No hugs, no hands brushing your lower back, no thumb dancing over the apple of your cheek. Johnny’s arms felt like home, and god, you never wanted to leave them.
Johnny’s voice was soft as he wrapped your body just as tightly into his own arms. One of those gloveless hands found its home right at the small of your back, while the other cradled the back of your head like something precious. Little whispers of “shhh” accented every phrase muttered directly into your hairline, with every little kiss peppered to your skin: I’m here. We’re okay. I love you.
When the tears subsided, when the worst of the sobs left you, you finally managed to pull back from the now soaked crook of Johnny’s neck. Hands resting on his chest, one over his heart and one over that embroidered “J. Storm”, you finally got a good look at those blue eyes prettier than the sea itself.
Then, you shoved him.
“Whoa–okay, what the hell?” clearly caught off guard, Johnny stumbled back just slightly, eyes wide as he looked at you.
“A month!” you practically shrieked, hands quickly shoving at his chest again. Johnny was slightly more prepared for it this time, but still stumbled back slightly. “A fucking month!”
“Whoa-! Okay, okay, I know, I know!”
“No contact for a fucking month, Jonathan!”
“To be fair, we were literally lightyears away-”
“You could’ve been dead!”
“As you can see, I’m very much not dead,” his hands were ready this time, catching yours as you moved to shove him again. He clutched them in his, holding them tightly against his chest as he shot you an unimpressed look. “If you could stop shoving me for two seconds, that would be really helpful.”
“I won’t stop, because I’m fucking pissed at you-”
It was Johnny’s turn to cut you off with a single tug on your hands. Stumbling into his chest, you didn’t get another word out before he surged forward, connecting his lips with yours.
Your brain didn’t want to give in, but it very quickly lost that battle to both your heart and your body. The air knocked straight from your lungs didn’t matter the second you both collided, the feeling of Johnny’s lips on yours better than oxygen itself. You tore your hands from his, curling them up around his neck in a desperate attempt to hold him as close as possible. Your body curved, molding itself into every part of him.
Johnny was no better. The desperation, the longing in each of his movements was prevalent. His hands grasped at every part of you they could: your arms, your waist, your hips, your thighs. No piece of you seemed good enough for him, no way to hold you close enough, as those heated and slightly chapped lips moved against yours as if devouring you whole. A meal he couldn’t get enough of.
With every semblance of willpower left in your body, your fingers tugged on his hair slightly, separating you for even just a moment. Panting heavily, in sync with one another, you didn’t want to know what you looked like to anyone else. Flushed skin, t-shirt falling off of one shoulder, eyes blown so wide the color almost couldn’t be seen. Johnny was no better.
“Y-You can’t just keep kissing me every time I’m pissed at you, Johnny,”
“It’s such an effective way at shutting you up, though,” he quipped, the stupidly handsome smirk back for just a moment as he dove back in for another kiss before you could retort. When he pulled away, the smirk was gone though, replaced with a face full of guilt as his lips pressed a featherlight mark to the tip of your nose, your forehead, and then to your cheek. “I’m sorry. We made the jump, shit went south, and we lost the FTL engine in the process. Ben had to slingshot us around a neutron star–a literal neutron star–just so we could jump again. We didn’t have comms until just a bit ago.”
“Someone could’ve at least told me you were back,” you weakly tried to argue back, but all the fight had left you now that your brain had finally caught up with the present and accepted that Johnny was here. He was alive, he was okay, and he was with you.
His little smirk was back in seconds at your words, his glance turning to look back toward your workstation.
“Honey, I was standing right outside of that elevator watching you ignore Lynne’s hundredth call of the last hour. She’s been trying to tell you since we made contact with the Foundation that we were landing soon,”
You froze, cursing yourself in your head for ignoring that incessant alert, giving the man before you a sheepish smile in return.
“Well…oops?”
He laughed again, the sound like music to your ears. Johnny took one of your hands in his, bringing it to his lips as he ghosted small kisses over every knuckle of your hand. You just wanted to melt at the sight, a new round of tears threatening to fall as his gaze stayed locked with yours.
“I’m here, you’re okay,”
“I was so scared,” your admittance came out in a hush, sucking in a deep breath to try and stave off the tears again. “I was so scared you guys weren’t coming back.”
“No way I wasn’t coming back to you, not when I’ve finally got you,” his words came easily, like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to say. With a single flick, he uncurled your fingers from your palm, placing a kiss there instead as his next words were mumbled straight into your skin, into your very being. “I wouldn’t leave you. I promise.”
The way he said it, the conviction in his tone, you knew he meant it. A promise he couldn’t keep, one he wouldn’t know he could break until it happened, but a promise he’d fight tooth and nail to keep. For you.
“I’m amending my no flirting in the lab policy. I’m adding in no public displays of affection,”
If your heart had broken to see Johnny in front of you again, it shattered once more when you turned to see Reed and Ben standing outside the elevator doors. Both still clad in their own blue and white space suits as well.
“Come on, we’ve been waiting for these two to figure it out for ages,” Ben tried to reason with his best friend, the semblance of a smile pulling at his rocky lips for just a moment. “He only talked about her every day for a month straight. Give them some leeway, Stretch.”
“Maybe,” Reed commented after a moment after humming in thought. “It is quite nice to see Johnny so soft with someone-”
You hadn’t let your mentor get another word out, crossing the room in seconds to tug him into a tight hug just like you had with Johnny.
The laughter of the boys in the room could be heard as Reed definitely froze in your arms, giving you a light hug back with a short pat against your shoulder blades. Deciding not to torture the man too much, you pulled away after a moment, before quickly slotting yourself into the hold of Ben’s rocky form.
“God, you guys can’t do that to me again,” you muttered just loud enough for them all to hear, rubbing frantically at your face to try and keep another round of tears at bay. “I thought I was going insane.”
Ben shook his head, throwing a pointed look over your shoulder in Johnny’s direction. “You thought you were going insane? That one wouldn’t shut up about you for a month. Love you, kid, but my God I was ready to toss him into space.”
“Uh, given the way she just beat me up for almost not coming home, she probably would’ve found a way to turn you from rock into dust if you did that, buddy,”
The noise of the two’s playful argument was nothing to you as you locked eyes with the one last person you’d yet to see. Blonde hair pulled back, clad in the jumpsuit you knew she always wore under her flight suit, cradling something to her chest as she stood quietly behind the boys.
“Sue,” her name fell from your lips in a breathless huff as you ducked under Ben’s arm, walking quickly toward the woman. Sue smiled in your direction, turning just slightly to the side as she unwrapped the emergency thermal blanket bundled up against her chest.
“Before you get ahead of yourself, there’s someone you should meet,”
And God, was he beautiful. The most perfect little baby cradled right up against Sue’s chest. Wide little eyes like a doe’s, as blue as the ones you had fallen in love with years ago, taking in every little detail of the room. Little tufts of hair matted down to his forehead, body still cradled in the confines of the thermal blanket tucked around him.
Just before Sue, you came to a stop, resting a single hand on her arm. Eyes full of wonder, you couldn’t take your eyes off the little baby now looking up at you.
“Sue…oh my god, you gave birth in space,”
There was a short echo of laughter through the room. Sue joined in, before quickly maneuvering the little baby into her hands, passing him off into your own without warning.
“This is Franklin. Franklin, this is your aunt,”
Holding little Franklin Richards in your arms was surreal. Cuddled into your chest, as if seeking out your warmth, those little blue eyes looked up at you like you were the greatest thing he’d ever seen. It was impossible not to let a little laugh slip past your lips, a tear leaving its trail down your cheek.
With just a single finger, you brushed the little hairs on his forehead back, trailing it down the side of his face. His little hand came up, tiny fingers wrapping just barely around your finger, holding it in his grasp as he babbled in your arms.
A hand wound its way around your hip, your body tugged back into the warmth of the one you’d come to recognize so easily. Your tear gaze met Johnny’s. The softest smile you’d ever seen was on his face, an emotion swirling in his eyes, as he looked down on your and his nephew, that you’d only come to put a label on a month ago: love.
He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, fingers flexing against your hip, before he placed another kiss to the same spot: firmer, longer.
That was the moment you looked up to the rest of the team, your family, as they stood in front of you now. Behind the tiredness in their eyes, the bags under Reed and Sue’s eyes, you could finally see it written across their features. The notes of terror in Sue’s eyes as she looked down at her son in your arms. The way that Ben looked as if he’d aged a thousand years, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders suddenly. The guilt that racked each of Reed’s features, followed by a quiet determination you’d come to know so well.
That’s when the pieces of the puzzle finally snapped together in your head.
“Oh god…you couldn’t stop him, could you?”
❤︎
If you had thought that Reed was obsessive over scanning Sue repeatedly while she was pregnant, you had yet to see this side of Reed Richards.
The side that came out when a being predating the universe itself, who hailed himself as the Devourer of Worlds, was threatening to destroy the Earth in what could only be mapped out as a matter of weeks, or even days. Top that off with that same being wanting little baby Franklin Richards for himself, to use him as some kind of successor to his power…yeah, maybe you could slightly understand Reed’s obsessive nature in this sense.
Reed hadn’t let you leave the lab in a matter of three days since they had returned from space. Not that you tried to, wanting just as badly to find a solution that didn’t involve having to give up a child to some kind of space god. Every night you’d passed out on the couches in front of the chalkboards, long after you had forced Reed to retire for the night and go see his wife and son, promising yourself that you’d scan every note, every equation of his, in hopes of seeing something the smartest man in the world couldn’t see.
Every morning, you’d awoken on the lab couch instead of the floor, draped in the blanket that you knew usually sat folded at the end of Johnny’s bed. Even his scent clung to the fireproof fabric, invading your senses, your body begging you to simply go upstairs to him.
You had just gotten him back and now you’d been without him again for three days. It was worth it, though. You had to help Reed find an answer, something that would protect this little family you had found. Your DNA was as normal as it could be, untouched by cosmic rays. You couldn’t help protect them in the way they could protect you, protect the world, but you could do this: help them find a solution. Comb every ounce of data available to you, find something, anything, that could point them in the direction of a solution.
“And you see that building over there? That’s the Empire State Building. Almost 1,500 feet to the very tippy top, and I once watched your uncle fly circles around the top of it,”
Little Franklin Richards babbled some kind of nonsense in your arms, tapping his tiny hand against the glass overlooking the skyline of New York from the living room.
Sue had practically dragged you out of the lab somewhere around 8 at night, telling you to get proper rest somewhere that wasn’t the floor or couch of the lab. You chose to ignore her side remark about how she assumed that wasn’t going to be in the guest room. Reed had gotten a scolding next, a promise from his wife that if he wasn’t upstairs by 9:30 she was coming back for him, too. And the beautiful, innocent sight that was little Franklin in your arms was enough for your break from the lab to be worth it.
“Central Park is that way,” you guided the little baby’s gaze to the right of the darkened skyline, smiling as he followed your gaze. Sue was in the kitchen just feet away, preparing something for Reed to eat when she inevitably dragged him out of the lab. “Way over there, streets and streets away. One time, I watched your uncles throw hot dogs at each other on Bethesda Terrace for ten minutes. They just kept buying them to throw them at each other, your mommy was really over it.”
The cutest of noises left the little baby. That grabby hand came back to you, clutching to the edges of your blouse as those blue eyes looked up at you, wide and beautiful. The sight alone stretched your smile even wider, reaching up a single finger to swipe against the edge of his nose.
“Don’t worry, your uncles are trouble makers when they’re together. You’ll get to see all their shenanigans for the rest of your life,”
If we live that long.
“Seeing you holding a baby is invoking some feelings I didn’t know I had. Is this, like, a secret kink or something?”
The thought that infiltrated your head was gone in seconds, replaced with a playful eyeroll as Johnny stepped up to your side. He leaned over your side, pinching at his nephew’s cheek, before meeting your waiting gaze.
“Really? Can you not be inappropriate around your nephew for, maybe, three seconds?”
The second the words left your lips, you regretted them. Johnny dramatically began to count to three as she shoved your hip as hard as you could into his. It only drew a laugh from him, his hands coming to curl around your hip with a squeeze.
“He can’t understand it, there’s no harm! See, watch: Franklin, do you care that I’m trying to explain to your aunt how incredibly sexy I find her at all times?” even your eyeroll was accented with a grin you desperately tried to bite back. Franklin simply blinked up at Johnny, who threw his hand out to the side in a shrug. “See? No harm, no foul. He’s none the wiser.”
“Doesn’t mean you should talk like that in front of him,”
“Sweetheart,” god, you hated how easily he could make your heart skip a beat. “He’s, like, a month old. He’s not going to remember this conversation in the slightest, until I inevitably repeat it for the rest of my life.”
That drew a laugh out of you. His hand never strayed from its place against your hip as you turned in his hold, now facing him head on so you could fully see that shit-eating smirk on his lips.
“You’re lucky I love you, Johnny Storm,” that simple statement was enough to turn that smirk into a softened smile, reserved just for you. It didn’t stop the pointed look you shot him, though, as you adjusted your hold on baby Franklin. “But get those thoughts out of your head. We said I love you, that doesn’t mean I’m having a baby with you.”
“Right, right, makes sense. I’m thinking we revisit that conversation in about a year,”
“Johnny-”
“You’re so right. God, you’re just a genius, baby,” he cut in again, snapping his fingers as that smile shifted back to that playful smirk. “It's too soon, I have to put a ring on it and keep you all to myself for a bit first. I’ll have to ask Sue where mom’s ring is, though, she always said mom wanted me to give it to someone someday. We’ll put the baby conversation on track for the year and a half to two year range.”
As absurd as a conversation it was, it was enough to draw short laughter from you once again.
He was so good at doing that, so good as simply shifting your train of thought, of making you laugh and smile until your cheeks hurt. He’d always been good at it, and you were ready to forever curse yourself for being so scared that you deprived the both of you of this for four years.
“I…really do love you. So much, it’s kind of concerning,”
“And I’ve missed the hell out of you these past few nights,” Johnny turned to Franklin quickly, whispering a quick ‘sorry’ for his swearing as he dropped a kiss to his little forehead, before one of his hands cupped your cheek. You leaned into the feeling as if it was second nature already. “I finally come home and my girl locks herself away in the lab with my brother-in-law? Sleeps there, too, to the point where I have to carry her to the couch every night. You’re killing me, baby, my entire room smells like you but you aren’t in it!”
“Well, someone has to try and keep Reed in line while he’s trying to decipher the composition of Galactus and find a way to stop him from devouring the world…”
You hated talking about it. Knowing he was out there somewhere in the universe, slowly moving his ship toward Earth on his conquest to destroy the world you knew. To take the innocent child in your arms away.
“Hey, we’re all helping,” Johnny cut in, fingers squeezing at your jawline just slightly as you brought your attention back to him. “I’m trying to find him some kind of a crank-shaft thing to solve the problem.”
“A lever, Johnny,” laughter bubbled out of your as you shook your head at him. “The law of levers. We talked about this.”
“Yeah, law of levers. From that Achilles guy-”
“It’s Archimedes-”
“It started with an A, I was close enough. Point is, we’ll find a way to solve the problem, just like we always do,” your chin was pinched between Johnny’s thumb and forefinger as he dipped his head closer to yours, breath fanning out over your lips. “Doesn’t mean you can hide from me for days, baby. You’re like a drug, and I’m having some serious withdrawals.”
When he stole a kiss from you then, silencing the laughter that once again tumbled from your lips, you didn’t hesitate to melt into him. The warmth of his hand as it cradled your jawline, thumb rubbing the most gentle circles against your cheek. The soft touch of his lips as they slanted over yours, pressing into you with every ounce of love he could convey in a single touch.
It was enough to hate yourself for locking yourself away for three days, trying to solve a problem larger than life itself. Because if the world was going to end, you wanted to know every spare moment you had was spent in his arms, with his kiss searing itself into your skin.
The kiss was over much sooner than you ever would’ve liked it to be, Johnny’s lips practically torn from yours. Your eyes popped open just in time to see Johnny now just two feet away, pressed against the windows of the living room, that familiar rainbow shimmer hovering in the air in front of him to hold him in place.
When little baby Franklin clapped his hands, you had to cover your mouth with the one hand not holding him to conceal your laughter.
“Absolutely not,” Sue’s voice cut in, now just a few feet away from you both. Her hand was stretched toward her brother, still holding him in place against the window, with her eyes narrowed. “No funny business in front of my son, Johnny.”
“Sue, he was literally made with funny business,” the unimpressed look that you and Sue both shot at him was practically identical. “What is life without funny business? Speaking of–Reed can stretch…everything, can’t he? When you guys were making Franklin, did he-”
“Jonathan, I advise you don’t finish your sentence,”
You laughed at the antics of the Storm siblings, joining Sue at her side to hand her back her wiggling son. It was then that she finally dropped her hand, letting Johnny off of the window to take Franklin into her arms again. The way his little smile seemed to brighten just from being in his mother’s arms was unmistakable.
“Thanks for finally figuring out whatever is going on between you two,” Sue nodded her head toward Johnny with a soft smile to you. “I’ve been rooting for it. Plus, maybe you’ll be able to actually keep him in line.”
“Come on, now, she always has!” Johnny called after his sister, who was stalking back across the room to grab the food she’d made for Reed, no doubt to take it down to him in the lab. The warmth of Johnny’s hand rested against your lower back as he found his way to your side once more.
Left alone in the living room with just the man behind you now, you didn’t hesitate to lean back into his touch. You could feel the rumble in his chest from his laughter, a gentle kiss placed to the side of your head,before suddenly you were swept straight off your feet.
A yelp escaped your throat as Johnny threw you over his shoulder like it was nothing. Arms locked around your thighs to hold you in place, Johnny didn’t say a word and simply stalked across the room toward the stairs
“Johnny!” you exclaimed, bracing yourself against his back and shoulders so that you didn’t slip out of his hold. “I should get back to Reed, you can’t just kidnap me!”
“Uh, I can, and I did,” was his simple response as he began the trek up the staircase toward the bedrooms. “He’s gotten enough of your time, it’s my turn with the pretty assistant.”
You couldn’t argue with him. Truthfully, you didn’t want to argue with him. You missed him, and if this was the end of the world, right here in his arms was exactly where you wanted to be. It’s where you needed to be.
It was impossible to decipher the look on Ben’s face when you both passed him in the hallway, fresh out of the bathroom. Johnny gave him a simple greeting, walking past him as if there was nothing unusual about the sight before him. When you were face to face with him, you could only offer the rocky man a sheepish smile.
Ben only shook his head, mumbling something about “keeping the noise down”, before he disappeared to his own bedroom.
Johnny dropped you at the foot of his bed, grinning down at you as your back jumped against the mattress below you. With one hand on his hip in a mocking stance of authority, he pointed down at you.
“You make yourself comfortable. You basically made my bedroom yours while I was gone, so just pretend it is yours anyways,” you could only roll your eyes fondly in response. “I’m about to take the world’s quickest shower, and if your adorable ass isn’t in this room when I get back I’m going to burn Reed’s lab to the ground.”
You didn’t have the heart to argue that burning Reed’s lab was impossible, given that Reed had custom designed everything in this building to be fireproof in the last 4 years. Instead, you only gave him a mock salute, one that seemed to satisfy him, before he practically ran back into the hallway with a slam of the bathroom door.
The only thing saving your mind from wandering was the linens beneath your skin, still teeming with the unmistakable scent of Johnny that lingered everywhere in the room.
With your blouse and pants discarded into a pile on the opposite end of the room, you didn’t hesitate to slip into one of Johnny’s grey sweaters that he typically wore in the winter. It hung loosely around your shoulders, the one side almost slipping off your arm, and hung low enough to just barely cover your panties-clad bottom half.
One glance around the room was enough to calm your mind for a moment, too. You’d stayed there for the month without him because it was the only place in the entire building where you could just be surrounded by him. The shelving by his closet, decorated with memorabilia and the framed photo of him taken before their first launch into space. The bookshelf of records, with The Wonder of You perched right on top. The record itself had been played almost on a loop some days when you missed him the most, one phrase of his stuck on an endless repeat in your head.
I don’t ever think I’ll get over the miracle that is you…loving me.
There was also the obnoxious painting of him on the wall opposite of the bed. A pretentious gesture to have a painting of your own face hung on your bedroom wall, but such a Johnny move that deep down inside you found it endearing.
The moon hung high in the sky over New York as you stepped up to the window of the darkened room, letting its light bathe over you. It hung just behind the Excelsior, highlighting the damage across the ship in its light. A frown crawled its way to your lips at the sight: the siding torn, the windows cracked, the hull misshapen from the pull of lightspeed space travel. A reminder that they barely escaped, that they barely came back to you.
Your eyes flickered down to the streets, so far below. Even from the high vantage point in the building, you could still make out the people below. The mobs that had begun to form since they had returned, demanding Sue and Reed give up their son in exchange for the planet. The talk shows that called them selfish, the radio hosts who spoke as if they knew what had happened in space, the impossible position your family had been put in. The people who would never understand your family, who would never understand the lives they’ve sacrificed in order to protect them these last four years. What they’ve given up to become the world’s protectors.
These people didn’t know shit, and they’d been pissing you off since they’d begun to form outside on the streets below.
It was the papers hanging on the far window that caught your eye, dragging it away from the ship and the people below. You took a step over to stand before them, flicking on the lamp sitting just beside the window to get a better view.
Johnny’s handwriting had never been the neatest, but you knew it well. The alphabet was strewn across multiple pages, lines connecting certain letters to a phrase written in a language you had never seen before. Taking a glance around all of the pages, that alien language seemed common among every page, as if Johnny had been building new words the more he connected that one phrase to certain letters.
As if a lightbulb went off in your head, you turned on your heel quickly to step up to the record player behind you. Thankfully, under a few other records, lied the one you had handed Johnny that day in the lab a month ago. The second you dropped the needle down onto it, as it slid into the grooves etched into the record, that same alien language sounded through the room: the same thing written across the papers in front of you.
Her language. The Herald’s. Johnny had said something about it on some trip into the lab the day before, before Reed had gathered everyone to explain the little information the two of you were able to gather from Herbie’s samples from their trip to converse with Galactus. She’d said something to him…now, he was reconstructing her entire language from a single phrase.
“You genius, genius boy,” you couldn’t help but mutter to yourself, overwhelming love and pride blooming deep within your chest, before you turned on your heel to stalk back into the hallway.
You didn’t bother knocking on the bathroom door. Shutting it quietly behind you, a soft smile overtook your face at the sound of Johnny humming to himself from behind the curtain.
Whatever was driving you right now, you didn’t even know. Whether it was seeing the lengths that he’d go to in order to protect the people he loved, like reconstructing an entire alien language, or the threat of the world ending in a matter of days, all you wanted was him in the end of it all.
Sweater and panties discarded into a heap with Johnny’s own clothing by the sink, your fingers curled around the edge of the bathroom curtain, pulling it back just slightly. The humming ceased as Johnny looked up, startled for just a moment before his gaze landed on you. His gaze trailed down the length of your body, and you could almost see his pupils dilate in real time. That handsome, heartbreaking smile of his returned as he held out a soapy hand in your direction. You took it without hesitation.
The water was hot, almost on the verge of scalding since Johnny didn’t understand the concept of what was truly hot or not anymore. The water temperature didn’t matter to you, not in the slightest. Johnny only watched quietly as you curled yourself around his bare body, hands sliding up into his wet strands of hair. His own hands curled around your waist, tugging you under the stream of water with him.
“This is a bit of a surprise appearance,” his voice was quiet in the intimate moment under the pouring water from the shower head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your gorgeous company?”
“Just wanted to be with you,” was all you could manage to say. You were too wrapped up in those blue eyes, the gaze that was entirely fixed on you since the moment you appeared around the curtain. “And…wanted to tell you that you’re a genius. I saw the papers on your window.”
The smile on his face immediately turned sheepish. It always had over the years whenever you complimented him like that. Johnny Storm was used to being complimented on the way he looked, but when it came to someone complimenting him on that genius brain of his, he never did quite know how to take it.
“I-It’s probably stupid and won’t help-”
You surged forward, slotting your lips against his in a passionate kiss. Your fingers tugged just so on the strands of his wet hair threaded between them. His chest rumbled with a groan at the feeling, his grip against your hips tightening as he pulled you until every inch of your bare skin was pressed to his. You didn’t miss the twitch of him pressed against your abdomen.
“It’s not stupid,” your words were mumbled against his lips, stealing another breathtaking kiss from him before you fully pulled away to look up at him. If his eyes were dilated before, then you hadn’t seen them after a kiss.
Johnny stood silently for a second, mouth dropped open just slightly in shock.
“Did…did you just kiss me to shut me up? I thought that was my thing?”
“No, you keep kissing me when I’m mad at you. I kissed you to stop whatever self-deprecating thing you were about to say,” one of your hands slid back down the side of his neck, over his collarbone, and came to rest right over his heart. The thump against his chest was comforting to hear, even as it beat slightly faster than it ever would normally. “It’s a genius idea. To know what it is she might be saying, especially when her language is all over those deep space transmissions we’ve been receiving, you could be well on your way to figuring out the exact piece we didn’t even know we needed to figure out a solution.”
That smile, full of wonder, quickly shifted up into a smirk for just a moment. Your eyes were already prepared to roll, even though your smile was still bright across your lips.
“So, what you’re saying is…I found the lever?”
You laughed: lighthearted, free, full of the most joy you had felt in weeks. You swore you could feel Johnny’s heart skip a beat under your hand.
“Yes, Johnny. I think you may have just found us a lever of some sorts,”
His laughter mixed with your own as he pulled you back into him, peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin in his reach. Your cheek, to your neck, right over your pulse point, and down to your collarbones and across your bare shoulders. The water from the showerhead still beat down on your both as you curled your hand further into his hair, nails trailing over his scalp.
“You're one of the only people who has ever believed in me like that,” his words were soft as they were mumbled into your shoulder, almost drowned out by the water. “Sue always has, but not the way you believe in me. You have since the day you walked in, and always made sure to remind me around every corner.”
With a little tug to his blonde hair, you brought Johnny’s face back to yours. He didn’t seem sad, per say, but there was the slightest hint of melancholy throughout those handsome features you adored so much. Like he was thinking back on all the times he was belittled by someone, the times when the press reduced him to nothing but a playboy.
“Because you deserve to hear how brilliant you are. You don’t have the absurd amount of degrees that Reed has, but you are one of the brightest people that I’ve ever met,” the tip of your nose just barely brushed against his as you leaned in, beads of water trailing down the side of your face and dripping from your chin. “It also didn’t help that I was quite taken with you from the get go.”
“You did a semi-decent job of hiding it for four years,”
“Did I, though?”
“Yeah, or else I would’ve fucked you years ago,”
“Well-”
Any retort that could’ve possibly fell from your lips was swallowed by Johnny’s heated kiss.
As long as he always kissed you like this, you’d happily let him shut you up mid sentence forever.
Johnny’s hands were greedy, trailing over every inch of your skin that they could. His tongue dipped just past your lips, mingling with yours as his hands made their way up your sides. Even in the heat of the shower, those heated hands of his still left goosebumps along your skin as they traveled up.
It didn’t take long for one hand to cup your breast fully. His thumb flicked over your already hardened nipple as his fingers squeezed into the plump flesh around it. The moan that cascaded from your lips was swallowed by his own groan of pleasure, and hopefully drowned out by the water itself. His lips found your jawline, nipping at your skin before they trailed a heavenly heat down your neck. His teeth sunk in gently, but firmly, leaving a mark right where the last had just finally fully healed over.
“Missed this. Missed you,” he practically groaned the words into your neck. Johnny’s free hand quickly found its way lower, taking hold of the back of your thigh in order to hike it up around his waist, giving himself the perfect opportunity to ground himself up and into your core. Already soaked, already desperate for him, your head fell back with a moan, thankful for his hold on you keeping you upright in the midst of the water beating down on you both. “Thought about you every day up there, just you. Holding you, kissing you, telling you how much I love you.”
God, you loved this man. More than anything. You weren’t sure words could accurately explain it anymore, so instead you chose the Johnny route: show him.
Dropping your leg from his hold, you were just barely able to find the leverage to spin the two of you out from under the showerhead. The cold never hit your skin, too warmed up from the heat that radiated from Johnny himself. With a gentle push, his back met with the shower wall.
His wide blue eyes never left you as you slowly sank to your knees between his legs. You didn’t miss the twitch in his cock either the second you were level with it.
“Baby, what are you doing?”
“What you did to me before you left: showing you how much I love you,” one palm splayed across his thigh for leverage, your free hand came up to hold his length. A shudder visibly ran through his body the second your skin touched the sensitive skin of his pulsing cock, your gaze locked onto his. “You told me to save this for when you came back. A “saving the world” gift, I think is how you described it?”
His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, laughing lightly to himself.
“Yeah, but Galactus kind of told us to fuck off. Also, he kind of induced Sue into labor and tried to steal my nephew, so I’m not sure I’ve really earned this-”
Johnny cut his own words off the second you gave a single squeeze to the length still resting in your hand. Leaning in, you rested your cheek directly against it, lips so tantalizingly close, eyes still innocently trained up on him, even if every thought in your head was far from innocent anymore.
“Do you want me to get off my knees, or do you want the blowjob, Jonathan?”
He huffed out another laugh. His one hand came to cup your cheek for just a moment, fingers pressing firmly into your skin.
“Baby, if I ever say no to you on your knees, I want you to douse me with a fire extinguisher"
You buried your laughter in the kiss you placed right along his v-line. The tufts of blonde hair that trailed down the pronounced lines tickled at your skin as you lavished kiss after kiss into his skin, desperate to show him your love just like he had to you that night.
The hand that was on your cheek left, finding its place instead against the back of your head as he let out a sharp intake of breath as your lips glided over every inch of his skin along his lower abdomen. Johnny fingers didn’t curl into your hair, didn’t tug, his hand simply sat there and caressed you. Still holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. It lied in wait for you to give him the okay.
Johnny’s moans mixed with the beating of the water against the floor of the shower, half of your body still positioned under the stream of water. That cock, hot with need and throbbing in your hand, twitched the second you gave him a single tug along his entire length. You swiped your thumb gently–but firmly–over the tip, spreading the beads of precum that had collected there across the sensitive, flushed deep pink head.
“I-I don’t remember teasing you like this,” he stuttered over his words, something Johnny didn’t do often. It brought a smirk to your lips in seconds.
“You didn’t,” was your simple answer. Your gaze met his through hooded eyelids, thumb still rubbing just perfectly against the head of his cock, allowing you the perfect sight of his mouth dropping open in another low moan. “Consider this retribution for disappearing into space for a month.”
“I thought we talked about that-”
Johnny's own words were cut off by his own loud, uncontrolled moan the second your tongue darted out to lick a stripe straight up the head of his cock. Sweet, smooth, and addicting the second you had a single taste.
Whatever quip dared to fall from Johnny’s lips ended the second your lips closed around the tip, his cock laid flat against your tongue as you took as much as you could in a single go. It wasn’t enough–it would never be enough–you wanted more. You needed more.
“Fucking hell, baby,” he rasps out, breath hitching the second your tongue reaches further down his length, swiping along every inch of him you can take into your mouth. His hand still lies on the back of your head, still hesitating there, still hovering. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
You want to argue back, about how that’s the exact opposite of what you wanted. What you wanted was him alive, for a very long time, so you could spend the rest of your life showering him in praise and love.
Saying any of that would mean removing him from your mouth, though, and you were already too lost in a sea of pleasure to let go. Not until he was bursting with pleasure at the seams, until you’d shown him how much you loved him. How much you adored him.
Johnny was big, you’d known it the moment he’d entered you and filled you in a way that surely ruined you for anyone else on this earth. In the entire galaxy. You’d never be able to take every inch of him, as much as you wanted to. Even though you wanted to devour him whole, to have him writhing in ecstasy in the palms of your hands.
Instead, you let your hand work over the rest of his length–twisting, caressing every part that you couldn’t sloppily take within the warmth of your mouth. Your tongue salved over every stretch of skin it could reach, gliding down the prominent vein throbbing along the side of his length as your head bobbed back and forth along his shaft.
“Baby–Jesus fucking Christ–I think you’re actually trying to kill me,” he groaned out, words lost in the sound of rushing water and the sound of your head bobbing back and forth.
His fingers curled again, before unfurling, still not crossing that line. The hand you were using for leverage against his thigh came up to grasp his hand in your own, forcing his fingers to curl into the soaking wet strands of your hair without ever removing yourself from his twitching, aching shaft.
For just a moment, you stopped, the groan he let out indicating just how badly he didn’t want you to. Johnny hips canted forward just slightly, as if he was still restraining himself.
Your eyes glanced up at him, his cock still enveloped in the warmth of your mouth and resting against your flattened tongue. You didn’t need to have a mirror to know how much of a mess you were in the moment–remnants of makeup strewn across your cheeks from the water and steam, skin flushed red from the heat, spit dribbling out of your mouth and down your chin.
Johnny was no better. He was unraveling, and it was clear in his eyes. They were blown wide, hiding any semblance of the blue you loved so much. His mouth hung open in bliss, chest heaving with pants. His fingers flexed into your hair just slightly.
You forced him to grip them tighter, and he finally seemed to get the hint–you trusted him completely. There was no one else you’d rather be at the mercy of.
His fingers curled, tugging on the strands. For a moment it stung, but that pain soon gave way to pleasure. The moan that fell from your lips vibrated around his shaft, causing his fingers to flex once more against your scalp, dragging you even closer, forcing himself just slightly deeper within your mouth and profanities to fall from his lips like a song.
“Fuck–shit–fuck baby,” Johnny threw his head back against the tile of the shower, hand against your head guiding you back and forth, keeping the rhythm you had already set the pace for. “If this is what I get for not saving the world, I kind of want to find out what happens when I do.”
You wanted to roll your eyes at his antics. Instead, you pressed yourself forward further, inviting him deeper into your mouth until he filled every crevice of you that existed. That was enough to shut him up for the moment, as his moans grew louder.
Letting go of control, you let him guide the pace. Everything about it was sloppy–obscene–the way your head bobbed back and forth along his shaft, slick with your spit. Your lips were swollen, puckered around him as you sucked in your cheeks just a tad, feeling the twitch of his cock within your mouth once again at your sudden change in pressure.
“Sweetheart–oh my god–I’m not going to last like this,”
It only spurred you on. Taking back just a bit of the control from the hand gripping your hair, you bobbed your head up and down along his length as quickly as you could.
The furthest parts of him were still enveloped in your hands, still being twisted and tugged and now slick with your spit as well. You lost yourself in the pleasure, tongue gliding up and down every ridge and vein of his throbbing cock. Your chest heaved with a gag, the head of his cock reaching as far back as your body could possibly allow him to. All it did was spur you on, another moan falling from your lips, gargled by the sound you made as you dragged yourself back and forth across him.
Another moan fell from Johnny’s lips–your name. It was sinful, the way your name sounded on his lips in this moment of pleasure. The coil of heat within you that had been winding itself up since you’d dropped to your knees tightened, and you knew without ever touching yourself that you were completely soaked, aching for this man you loved more than anything.
“Fuck–baby–I can’t. I can’t, I’m going–I’m going to-”
Pushing yourself to your absolute limit, you took him as far back as you could, forcing back that gag that your body tried to heave from you. Hands taking hold of his thighs, nails digging into his skin, both of his hands found your hair in an instant as the downright delicious moan was practically choked out of him. His cock twitched, his hands gripping to your hair as tightly as possible, before he finally spilled every drop held within him into your awaiting mouth.
Slightly saltier than the precum you had licked straight off of him, but still with a hint of sweetness to it. Still just as addicting to you–the proof of how good you could make him feel, of how good you had made him feel. And, eagerly, you swallowed every drop that he gave you.
Johnny’s hands within your hair tugged you back gently, letting his cock slide back down your tongue before it fell past your lips with a slight pop. Your body heaved, taking in a deep breath of air once again, trying to catch your breath. Johnny heaved above you, too, the sound of your heavy breathing mixing with the shower, the temperature of the water having dropped slightly now with how long you’d been under the running water.
“Come here,”
In contrast to everything else he’d said in the heat of the moment–so raspy, so riddled with pleasure and desire and lust–his words were soft. That coil of heat in you was still wound tight, but that familiar sound of his softened voice had your heart skipping a beat. Something he could so easily do.
His hands grasped yours as Johnny tugged you slowly back up to your feet. Your knees buckled just slightly on the way up, but Johnny’s arm was quick to wrap around your waist, molding you to him to hold you upright.
“Was that good?” your question left your lips quietly, his lips pressing a series of kisses to your temple.
“Better than every dream I’ve ever had about it,” was Johnny's quick response. Hand cradling your cheek, his thumb drawing over the outline of your lips as soft laughter bubbled up from you at his comment. “God, I love you so much.”
Both of your lips found one another, searching blindly with eyes already closed as the constant stream of water beat down over you both. Johnny’s teeth dragged over your bottom lip, taking the skin of your lip between his teeth in a quick bite, his kiss there to soothe the sting before you could utter a single groan.
Johnny’s lips never left yours as he spun you, pressing your back up against the cool shower wall this time where he’d just been. A shiver ran straight up your spine from the coolness of the tiles against your skin, before those heated hands trailed up and down your sides. Around your hips, to your lower back, filling you with warmth as his lips greedily moved against yours still slick with your own spit.
The heat that spread through your body was unbearable. It was driven by lust, by love, by the pure need to feel him in every sense of the world. To have Johnny Storm as close to you as humanly possible. You hike one leg up around his hip, ankle pressing into his lower back, as you ground yourself into him.
An almost primal growl seemed to emit from somewhere within Johnny at the sound, a warning as his hands flexed against your hips to lock you in place against the tile wall. His mouth found your jawline, nipping just barely at your skin.
“You’re going to have to give me a minute to recover here, baby. Think you sucked my soul straight out of me,” your chest rumbled with another round of laughter as he nipped at the skin right beneath your jawline again. You could feel his smile against your skin. “You did! If you don’t give me a minute, I won’t be able to ravish you the way I want to.”
A retort died on your lips as his own moved down, laying kisses against your neck. Soft, gentle, filled with love and passion in every single press of his lips to your skin. You let your hand curl into his wet hair, to glide through the strands and let you nails scratch against his scalp, immersing yourself in the feeling of simply being held by Johnny Storm. Being loved by Johnny Storm.
Then, it happened again: he hummed. You heard it, you felt it right against your neck, and it was impossible not to let tears prick your eyes as you recognized the song once again. That same song–your song.
I guess I'll never know the reason why you love me as you do. That's the wonder, the wonder of you.
“Did I ever tell you?” Johnny's voice cut through his own humming, head still buried into the crook of your neck. “Did I tell you when I knew I was in love with you?”
You willed the tears away as they threatened to fall, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love you felt in your heart. All you could manage was a shake of your head, answered with another kiss to the column of your throat.
“I thought you were the prettiest thing in the world those first few months you worked for Reed. Turned on the charm, pulled out every trick in the book, and none of it worked,” another open-mouthed kiss was pressed to your neck. “Then, I came into the lab one day. I had an idea for the suits before we went up that first time. Drew up some shitty looking plans for my idea, too, was just some extra strapping around the legs to give us more mobility. I thought the current ones wouldn’t let us move our legs much. Reed dismissed me, telling me nothing else needed added to the suits. Then, I came back down for a fitting one day, just to see those exact straps I designed added to each of the suits, and none other than you shuffling your papers at your workstation to cover up my designs that I’d left down there.”
You remembered it well, as if it had happened yesterday. The look of dejection on Johnny’s face was clear as day as Reed dismissed him, already happy with the design of the suits as is. That look was burned into your brain as you stayed the night that night in the lab, looking over every aspect of Johnny’s terribly drawn plans to execute them perfectly on the suits.
Reed had come down that following morning and seen the changes. He’d said nothing at first, just examined them, before he gave a little nod of his head and approved of your changes. You’d been quick to tell him they were Johnny’s changes, the ones he had dismissed.
That was the same day you were sure Reed’s opinion on you changed as well, that maybe he didn’t resent the idea of having an assistant anymore. Not when you went out of your way to do something like that for his family.
“That’s when I knew,” Johnny continued, lips following his same trail back up to your jawline before ghosting over your cheek. Still cradling you as if you were the most precious treasure the earth had ever seen. “I took one look at you, hiding those papers, and my heart skipped a beat. And suddenly I was just thinking to myself…shit, I’m about to fall in love with this girl.”
You took a deep breath, letting his words settle within you, before you spoke.
“It started a long time ago, but…I admitted it after the funeral,” his eyes came back to yours as he pulled his head back to look down on you now. You let your hand stray from his hair, fingertips ghosting over every feature on his face–from the curve of his brow to the outline of his lips, memorizing every single piece of him. You weren’t sure if it was a tear that fell down your cheek, or another droplet of water. “I admitted it to myself, and then I locked it away. It terrified me.”
“It terrified you to love me?”
“Yes, because I knew you could break me,” a short laugh left your lips, accenting your words. “The names the media always called you weren’t who you were, but you did always have a reputation. I knew that. Johnny loves space, Johnny loves women…how could Johnny ever love me? If you didn’t, I knew it would break me, shatter me like I was a fragile pane of glass.”
Those blue eyes trailed down to your lips, his thumb tracing your lips, fingers holding your chin within their grasp.
“What changed?”
“The end of the world. It made me realize…I’d let you break my heart if it meant I got to love you, even if it was only for a moment,”
Johnny’s lips found yours without another word, slotting them right where they belonged. Where you never wanted them to leave.
His hand curled around your neck, the other your hip to mold your body to the tiled wall, his own fitting perfectly into the space against yours. One leg still hiked over his hip, his length pressed into your core with a single roll of his hips–hard, hot, and throbbing once more.
Your mouth opened on instinct, inviting him in. Johnny took the invitation in seconds, letting his tongue delve in to mix with yours, to taste every inch of you available. The moan that tumbled from your lips swallowed by his own, drowned out by his own deep groan.
The hand cradling your neck trailed down your body: from your neck, to your chest, along your hardened nipple, and down your abdomen until it curled around your thigh. The heat trail left along your skin bloomed, goosebumps traveling up and down your arms. His hand splayed across your thigh, fingers finding purchase in your skin as he hiked your leg around his waist, allowing your ankles to cross behind his back. Suspended, pressed against every inch of him, at his mercy.
“I won’t break it. I’d never break it,” his words were moaned against your lips, his cock dragging through your soaked folds with every drag of his hips against yours. You desperately tried to conceal the mewls that fell from your lips with every delicious drag of him against you, every catch of his head against your opening. “Not sure if I made this clear yet, but you’re it for me, sweetheart.”
“That’s a bold statement to make,” you whispered, breath fanning out over his lips as your eyes locked with his.
Johnny smirked, eyes never leaving yours, as the head of his cock caught along your opening with another roll of his hips.
“I know, you make me do some crazy things. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you,”
Your brain couldn’t even reflect, to think back on that night in the kitchen weeks ago when he’d said those words to you the first time, before he sunk into you with one single push of his hips.
There was no adjustment needed. No sting. No need to prepare. Your body welcomed every inch of him with a single stroke, like your walls were already carved for him and him alone. Cried left your lips in seconds, hands curling into his hair once again for something to hold onto as you messily slammed your lips back to his, melting into the feel of him as his hands dug marks into the skin of your hips.
“Please–please, please please,” were the only words you were able to cry out, babbling them over and over as you clawed at him, trying to bring him even closer, as if it was possible. It was your teeth that then took his bottom lip between them, biting down just hard enough to bring a groan from his mouth. “Please, Johnny, please, please-”
He pulled his hips back without warning, just the tip barely lodged within your walls, before he drove back in. Hilt buried as deep as your body would allow, his hips pressed to yours, grounding up against you as you threw your head back against the tiled wall. Johnny’s heated lips trailed back down to your neck, a place you were sure he’d live if he could.
“I got you, baby,” he muttered through gritted teeth, another mark placed upon your neck by his mouth. His hips snapped back again, driving along the heat of your walls, star forming in the corners of your vision once more. “Fuck, baby, I got you.”
Your hands never left his hair, curled around the dampened strands. Tugging in time with every gasp of pleasure that tumbled from your lips, with every cry of his name like a prayer into the streaming water over your bodies.
His hips drove into you at a maddening pace. Pulling himself almost the entire way back before driving to the deepest depths that he could reach. A chorus of profanities tumbled from his lips into your neck, littering your skin with calls of pure pleasure and ecstasy. Johnny hands heated themselves just a hint, enough to draw another gasp from your lips, as they curled around each cheek of your ass, gripping the flesh beneath his palms like it was the only thing keeping him going. His handprints surely seared into your skin, marking every piece of you as his.
Body pressed back against the tiles so tightly they were sure to leave indents along your skin, his rhythm never faltered. His throbbing cock, twitching with need, dragged along the warmth of your walls with every bruising thrust into you. The ache was already prevalent in your bones, in your hips, from the snapping of his body into yours without care. You didn’t care, though, not when the pain felt this good.
“Fucking perfect,” his lips found yours again, cutting himself off to lay another open-mouthed, heated kiss to your lips. It was sloppy, filled with the shared moans that dripped from both of your lips, a string of saliva hanging between your mouths when he pulled back by just a hair. “Made for–fuck–made for me, baby. Made just for me.”
“A-All yours. Only yours. Just for you,” you repeated his words, crying out between them, choking on them through mewls of pleasure.
Locking your ankles tighter, dragging him just a tad closer to your body, Johnny’s thrusts changed. Shorter, deeper, but still driving in just as quickly, just as frantically as before. The choked gasps that escaped your throat only increased in volume, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes as you shut them. Head thrown back in ecstasy, you weren’t sure if you were even in the room anymore. Too lost, too deeply buried in your own pleasure to care.
That coil of heat burned deep within you, tightening, threatening to snap at any moment. One of Johnny’s hands made its way back up your body, fingers tweaking at your nipple as you groaned at the sensation into his mouth. A smirk crossed his lips, pressed into yours as he licked his way inside once more, still toying with the sensitive bud rolled between his fingers.
You retaliated, pushing yourself off the wall to drive your hips into his, meeting his thrusts. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, lips finding your ear as his teeth tugged down on the earlobe. The profanities that fell from his lips sounded like pure sin, mixed with the huskiness and raspiness of his voice, sending another shot of pure heat straight to your core, soaking you more than you already were.
“I-I’m not going to last,” he stuttered out, hot breath fanning over your ear as he rutted into you, pace still brutal and addicting. “Not when you’re so warm, when you feel this good.”
“I’m n-not going to last either,” you barely got the words out, tugging on his hair as you buried your own head into the crook of his shoulder, crying out as another pang of pleasure shot through you with another drag of his cock against your walls. Another press of his hips to yours.
With the end in sight, creeping up on both of you, Johnny renewed his efforts.
One hand grasped onto your ankles behind him, hiking your legs up higher. The angle of his thrusts shifted, somehow burying him deeper within your walls, hitting a part of you he hadn’t yet touched. A sob of pure pleasure tore through your lips, the sound only growing louder when one of Johnny’s hands snaked its way down your front, thumb rubbing little circles directly to your sensitive clit as your body was thrown into overdrive.
You keened at the feel of him, at every snap of his hips as he drove himself into you. Every sink of his cock, every time it nestled deep within your walls. You met his thrusts back with as much force as you could, throwing your hips off the tiled wall and into his, slamming yourself onto him with every ounce of strength you could muster.
That coil of heat only got tighter, threatening to snap with every throb and twitch of him inside of you. Every little circle that his thumb made around that bundle of nerves, every firm press he gave to it. The squelch of your arousal around the place in which you were joined together was loud, louder than the running water still beating down on you both.
The waves of pleasure were threatening to crest over you, and you knew Johnny was right there with you. His hips were faltering, his rhythm shaky, barely able to maintain himself as he still fucked into your with reckless abandon, chasing his own high.
Fingers curled into his hair still, you tore your head from his neck, surging forward to connect your lips with his. Messy, a clatter of teeth together as he tried to pull at your bottom lip and vice versa.
“Johnny–Johnny, I can’t,” was all you could manage to mumble against his lips through your high pitched squeals, his rhythm faltering and his thrusts growing shorter, but still just as deep. “I can’t, I can’t I’m–I’m going to–I’m so close-”
“Me too, sweetheart,” his own words were clipped, mumbled through his fervent attempt to place a thousand kisses to your lips, digging in his hips as deep as they could go. “Let me feel you. Please–please, let me feel it, baby.”
The crest of your orgasm hit like a shockwave, like a rippling wave of pure pleasure moving through your body.
Every cry that left your lips was his name, just his name falling from your lips like a mantra you wanted to repeat for the rest of your life. Your thighs shook, muscles tightening as every ounce of your own pleasure gushed out of you, practically dripping from you, pooling into a ring around his cock as it still drove frantically into you, chasing his own release.
Your name fell from Johnny’s lips, too, as they pressed to yours. His hips dragged in short, deep thrusts before they still, buried to the hilt inside of you. He twitched within your walls–once, twice–before that familiar warmth pooled within you again, every drop of him collecting deep inside of you.
Quiet filled the bathroom once more. Just the sound of your heavy breathing mixing together, accented by the shower. Water still rained down, your skin surely beginning to prune after all this time, the water having turned cold.
You never dropped your ankles, nor tore your fingers from his hair, or let your forehead stop resting against his. Johnny never moved either, not from within you, not even an inch back to fully look at you. He simply leaned in, stealing a kiss from your lips with all the gentleness in the world, reminding you that you were still the most important thing in the world to him.
“Have I mentioned that I love you?” you managed to speak after a few moments, as the charged energy within the room finally dissipated. He laughed, pressing his lips back into yours.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again-”
A loud bang sounded through the bathroom, coming from the doorway into the hallway. Both of you jumped just slightly at the unexpected noise booming through the walls.
“Look, I’m all for young love, and I’m glad you two are done with your back and forth game that’s been going on for years,” Ben Grimm’s voice carried through the walls, muffled only slightly by the door. “But I’m about ready to tell Reed to put saving the world on hold so he can sound proof every wall in this building. Come on, kid, Johnny can’t be that good.”
Ben muttered something else from beyond the door, something about his earlier comment about keeping the noise down and how he meant it. When you and Johnny locked eyes again, though, all either of you could do was laugh.
“Sound proofing the building,” Johnny managed to say within laughs, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek as he shot you a cheeky smirk. “Not a bad idea. Gives me plenty of other places I could ruin you.”
“You’re impossible, Johnny Storm,” was all you said, even as you tugged him back into another kiss. A feeling you were certain you would never get enough of.
❤︎
Reed Richards was insane, that was something you knew long before you began working for him. Just how insane, though?
Well, he’d never attempted to teleport a planet to a different point within the universe, that’s for sure.
The idea was crazy, certifiably insane…but just insane enough that it could work. The same teleportation bridge you’d worked on together, able to teleport an egg just across the lab, was about to be applied on the largest scale possible in order to teleport the world to another point in the galaxy. The only idea just crazy enough to maybe save the Earth from the impending doom that was Galactus.
Somehow, in just 36 hours, this crazy group you were lucky enough to call your family was able to mobilize the world, teleportation bridges built in every major city across the entire world. The power consumption was another problem, but one that Reed’s brilliant mind had been able to solve. He’d praised your work, shortening the length of the power outage from bridge usage to just seven seconds. That mind of his made it smaller, sending the world into a worldwide energy curfew, enough to conserve enough power to move the world without a hitch.
In that dark of that night, you had laid with Johnny in the bed you were slowly calling your own. Those usual plaid pajama bottoms, white t-shirt with that bright blue 4 over his chest. One of his sweaters covering your body, which was curled into his arms.
“Galactus had been reported by the team at the Future Foundation to have passed Mars just hours ago,” the radio across the room, sitting on a bookshelf, sounded through the quiet of the room. “The window of time to save the earth is slowly closing in, as we await the hail mary of Dr. Reed Richards and the Fantastic Four.”
“This is going to work, right?” you had whispered out into the quiet of the night the second the radio had stopped, eyes trained across the room on the sliver of Excelsior you could see through the windows across the room. Most of them were covered by sheets upon sheets of papers, scribbled in an alien language by Johnny’s handwriting.
His grip around you had tightened, a kiss pressed to your forehead.
“We’re going to make it work,”
You hoped that Johnny was right. You needed him to be right.
Nerves wracked your entire body, the sound of Reed, Sue and Ben moving through the lab sounding through your ears. You felt far away, though, like you weren’t truly in the room as you looked up at the giant lab screen before you.
A map of the entire world, markers one by one flickering on as bridges went live across the world. And you? Stationed at the main panel, overlooking the four workstations in which the Fantastic Four would ready the world in, preparing to make the final call. Your hands, shaking, tugged on the oversized sweater you’d stolen from Johnny’s closet, fiddling with the ends of it that rested against the top of your black slacks, trying to find a way to ground yourself in the unfamiliar territory.
“Nervous?”
Sue’s voice cut through the haze in your mind, pulling your gaze to her. Her smile was easy, like this wasn’t the most nerve wracking moment of her entire life, as she slid a coffee onto the table in front of you, her other hand holding the portable baby monitor that looked down on sleeping Franklin Richards upstairs. You took it without hesitation, giving her the tiniest grin you could muster as you took a sip.
“Oh, you know, just the end of the world and whatnot,”
“Take a deep breath, kid,” Ben appeared at your other side, sliding a little paper bag your way: one of Maisie’s snickerdoodle cookies sitting wrapped inside of it. He shot you a large grin as he moved past toward his workstation. “I want it on the record that one is from me, not Johnny!”
“He’s right, though,” Sue chimed in, bringing your attention back to her as your laughter subsided at Ben’s little comment. Her hand came up to your upper arm, resting there in comfort, her thumb sliding back and forth over the fabric of the sweater. “This is going to work.”
“I know. It has to,” you said back with a nod. “Doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying. I haven’t felt this terrified since you four went into space the first time.”
Sue laughed, a sound that somehow managed to instantly bring peace to you. Like a sense of comfort that only she was ever able to bring. Her smile was still soft as her hand squeezed your upper arm gently.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever properly thanked you for everything you’ve ever done for us. None of this is possible without you, you’ve been with us every step of the way,” she gestured around the room as she spoke, to the operation you were about to attempt. “Plus, I think I have to thank you for loving Johnny. Lord knows he was pining for you long enough, I’m the one that always had to hear about it.”
You laughed, bringing over your hand to rest over her hand, squeezing it back.
“Johnny, somehow, might be the easiest part of it. But all of this…I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’d do anything for you guys, you’re my family,” you glanced down at the monitor in her hands, at the sleeping form of Franklin. “I’d do anything to protect him, too. That’s your firstborn, Sue. I…I’d do anything to make sure you never lose him.”
Reed called something out through the lab, something about multiple calls rolling in at once from cities across the globe. Sue turned for just a moment, before she glanced back, squeezing your hand once last time.
“You’re wrong, honey. He’s not my firstborn,” her hand left yours, gently caressing your cheek for a moment, just like a mother would, before her hand slipped away. “I had two kids before I ever had him.”
You wondered, then, how you ever could’ve doubted if these people around you considered you family.
Reed, Sue and Ben took their places at their workstations. Headphones on, microphones to their lips, you listened to their callouts through the room, confirming with multiple cities across the globe.
Copy Lima.
Copy Cape Town.
Copy Sydney.
Copy Tokyo.
With each city copied, you watched every red dot on your map turn green.
The elevator dinged open across the lab, footsteps practically running across the floor before they came to a stop right beside you.
“Guys, I am onto something!” Johnny called out to the room, hands thrown wide in celebration. Reed shot him an unimpressed look from his chair, turning back to the list on the screen before him.
“We’re moving a planet here, Johnny,”
“Yeah, Johnny, it’s 4. Fantastic 4,” Ben emphasized, holding out four fingers in his direction. His gaze shot to you quickly, as he put a fifth thumb up. “5 including you, of course. 6 if we want to count Herbie, and uh, 7 is old enough to be in the mix yet.”
You only shook your head, a smile stretching across your lips for a fleeting moment as Johnny swooped you into his arms. A rushed kiss was placed to your lips before his forehead rested against yours, blue eyes boring into yours.
“I figured it out, baby,”
“The whole thing?” you questioned, understanding exactly what he was talking about.
“Everything I need, completely reconstructed,”
Your smile returned for a moment as you cupped his cheeks, pulling him into another kiss, before planting them on his chest and gently shoving him away.
“Knew you could, genius. Now go get this planet ready,”
With your four favorite people placed before you now, more cities were called into the air: Delhi, Vienna, Rome, Chicago, and countless others.
It was the second every light on the screen before you flashed green that your stomach felt like it had shot into your throat.
Reed glanced back at you, catching your eye, waiting for your signal. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gave him a nod.
“Earth go for countdown,”
With a single press of a button from Reed, the twenty second countdown began to play on the screen before you.
The hum in the air of electricity was prevalent immediately, along with the slight rumble in the ground as the device just blocks away in Times Square roared to life, along with every other device across the world.
Elbows resting against the table in front of you, your hands covered your mouth, foot tapping incessantly against the ground as you watched the countdown drop second by second: 16, 15, 14, 13, 12.
You spared a glance at Johnny. He was already looking back at you, smile as easy and comforting as he could make it, and he mouthed “it’s okay” to you over and over again.
11, 10, 9, 8, 7-
Maybe that comforting smile would’ve worked if the alarms hadn’t begun to blare, and if the green lights across your map didn’t slowly start to flicker back to red.
“What is that?” Sue called out in worry, lights beginning to flicker red faster and faster. Johnny shot from his chair toward the screen, throwing off his headset in the process.
“What’s happening?”
The quickest that your shaking fingers could, you tapped in a series of keys across the keyboard before you, pulling up the live newsfeeds from around the globe to the main screen of the room.
The Herald. Flying straight through every single bridge across the globe at a speed you couldn’t comprehend. Using whatever power was infused into her to shatter every bridge on impact.
Until every single green light on the map had faded back to red, all except New York.
“She’s coming for the bridge,” Reed called out to the room as everyone stood, staring up at the map displayed before them on the screen.
“No,” Sue cut in, glancing around the room with a look of pure horror. “She’s coming for Franklin.”
You’d never seen Reed Richards panic, not the way he did just then. He’d practically sprinted back to his workstation alongside Sue, just as Ben went back to his. Reed’s finger thrust back in your direction, his gaze turning to you–wide eyed and full of fear–as he shouted.
“Lock the building down!”
There was no hesitation on your part as you input the lockdown code, hand coming down to press the button for activation as Reed, Sue and Ben shouted things across the room at one another.
Johnny’s hand caught your wrist before you could press the button. You turned, catching his eyes as they pleaded with you.
“I have a plan,”
Truly, that’s all you needed to hear. You only nodded, hand not moving an inch.
“Okay,”
“I don’t know if it will work-”
“It will,” you cut him off, surging forward to press a kiss to his lips quickly, before stepping back with a small grin. “I trust you. Go.”
Johnny didn’t hesitate before he was out the windows across the lab, igniting and streaking through the air in moments. The second he was out the window, your hand slammed down on the lockdown button, shuttering every window in the building.
“Wait, where’s Johnny?”
When you spun back around on your heels, all three sets of eyes were trained on you as Ben asked the question. You simply switched the feed on the main screen over to the live feed from Times Square, nodding at the three in front of you.
“He has a plan…he’s got this,”
Moments later, moments that felt like ages, Johnny finally appeared on the screen. Landing directly between the arms of the bridge, on top of the platform, the fire that surrounded him dissipated. With a single flick of the device on his wrist, those same deep space recordings sounded off through every screen littering Times Square, every single recording in her language.
The herald came to a stop, feet in the air above him, the second she heard the recordings.
As if he was fluent, spoken it all of his life, Johnny spoke the language he’d spent days upon days deciphering, piecing together from a single phrase spoken to him. She spoke back, a language no-one else in the room could understand. You couldn’t help it that your nails found their way between your teeth, grinding back and forth against your nails in an attempt to calm the nerves that threatened to jump out of your throat.
“How is he doing this?” Ben called out to the room, glancing around in astonishment, before his gaze settled on you. “He barely had a grasp of the English language.”
“Because he’s a genius,” you simply said, a smile cracking through your anxiety for just a moment. “A genius, genius boy I love so god damn much.”
“23 transmissions, all in your language, traced back to the planet Zenn-La. Your home,” Johnny’s voice broke through on the screen again, speaking in English once more. “They were looking for you so that they could thank you. Once I translated one phrase, I pieced together enough language to understand a part of your history.”
As Johnny spoke, talking through her story to make sure he got it right, something in your heart broke for the woman who was shining in silver on your screen: Shalla-Bal. Just a scientist, desperate to save her own planet and to spare her family, choosing to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to do so.
“Those were messages from the one planet Galactus spared–your planet. These other planets weren’t so lucky. How many do you remember, Shalla-Bal?” the recordings switched over, cries and desperate pleas in alien languages you’d never heard before. “They all begged for mercy. You brought Galactus to all of these planets, and now you’re bringing him to my home. To the woman I love, to my family!”
A scream cut through the recording, her scream, before it cut out. The lab was plunging back into silence, just the faint chatter on the other end of every headset sat across the room at each workstation, every city across the globe trying to piece together what had transpired.
It felt like hours, but it had barely been minutes later, when Johnny finally reappeared in the lab. You’d spun the second you heard him, colliding halfway with him to throw your arms around his shoulders, tugging him in for dear life to hold him. His lips instantly pressed to your temple, hand curling around your waist to hold you to him, as he turned to the others.
“Johnny, that was incredible,” Ben called out as you moved from Johnny’s arms, his hand shooting down to interlace his fingers with yours, tugging you to his side as he shook his head.
“Does it even matter?”
“You saved Franklin,” Sue told him matter-of-factly, leaning back against her workstation with her arms crossed. “Yes, it matters.”
“She told us to leave, to save ourselves. That..maybe we’d live long enough to forgive ourselves for it,” his eyes glanced down to your hands for a moment, before back to Reed. “We aren’t leaving, are we?”
“No,” his response was easy, quick, as he sat on the benches encircling the middle of the lab area. “No, we’re not leaving. We can’t.”
The direct line at every station began to ring, signaling incoming calls from each city across the globe. Reed stalked past all of you, picking up a piece of chalk along his way to his boards. You gave Johnny a small nod, sending him back to his desk as you approached yours, slipping on your own headset and transferring the incoming calls to Reed’s desks to yours.
The frantic voice of a man from Vienna sounded over the headset, desperate to find answers. Your hand ran down your face, trying to will yourself to handle what were sure to be hundreds of calls like this.
“We have multiple calls coming in at once, hold Vienna,” you told the man as easily as you could, holding the line with a single click. Another frantic voice came through on the next picked up call, this time a woman from Rome. “Please, hold for a moment, Rome-”
“We need to bring Galactus here,”
The sudden words from Reed Richards sounded through the room, and silenced everyone in seconds. You turned, headset slipping off your head to look at your mentor, head cocked to the side. There was only one word you could use to describe how he looked in that moment: defeated.
“We need him to come here?” Ben questioned as he and Johnny stepped up along one side of you. “I feel like we just spent a lot of time trying to prevent that from happening?”
“We need to get him away from his ship, and we need to bring him here,” Reed stepped up alongside you, reaching over you to hit a series of keys against your keyboard, pulling the live feed of Times Square back up on the main monitor. “To Times Square, to be exact. Then, instead of moving a planet away from one giant, we move one giant away from a planet.”
He was gone in seconds from your side, stalking back to his chalkboard across the room. Equations were written across the board in seconds, without a second thought, like it was built into Reed’s nature to do so.
You stepped up closer to him, watching him work, and Ben and Johnny hovered behind you.
“If we route every power grid on the Eastern seaboard through our one last bridges, charged back up, we can keep the portal open for…” the equation stretched across the length of the board, before he finally reached his answer, circling it in the white chalk as he dropped it down onto the ledge of the board. “37 seconds.”
“37 seconds?” you questioned, eyes feeling as if they were going to fall out of your head.
“Not a lot of time to throw a space god off a planet,” Johnny cut in as you shook your head.
“It’s not, and it’s insane,” you tacked on, shaking your head at Reed, voice rising in volume. “I follow you blindly into most things, Reed, but this is crazy. I mean, where would you even send him?”
“To the far edges of the universe, he’ll be stranded there without his ship,”
“And how are we supposed to lure him to Times Square?”
Reed grew quiet, a sign you always took as a bad omen. When Reed didn’t know what to say, or was struggling to find the way to say it, it almost never ended well.
“I haven’t figured that out yet-”
“You have,” Sue cut in, drawing the attention of every person in the room over to her. “We have to use the only thing Galactus wants. It’s the only way…we have to use Franklin.”
The room went still at her words, as if every ounce of oxygen was plucked straight from the room. Maybe it had been.
You turned, along with Johnny and Ben, to look at Reed. Hoping he’d argue.
“...yes,”
The scoff that fell from your lips was instant. You couldn’t even describe the emotions that curled within you, the pure anger and rage at the mere idea of using a poor, innocent child as bait for some devourer of worlds. Within a second, you stalked across the room, shoving past Reed on your way to the elevator.
“No, absolutely not,”
“Please, just wait-” Reed’s hand barely caught your upper arm before you ripped it out, turning with tears pooling in your eyes.
“No! I will, and always have, followed you everywhere Reed. I trust your judgement around every corner, because I know you’ll always find a way to fix a problem. Because I look up to you. But if this is what has to be done…I can’t. I can’t do it, I can’t be a part of it. I can’t do that to him, not even if it would save the world,”
No one tried to stop you from leaving the lab, not that you would have listened.
The cool night air couldn’t even calm your nerves, could satiate the anxiety coursing through your veins. It could’ve been minutes, or even hours you weren’t sure anymore, of standing on the balcony overlooking New York from the living room of the Baxter Building. Your hands were white knuckling the railing. Every so often, you attempted a deep breath to try and calm yourself, but nothing seemed to work.
Poor, innocent little Franklin Richards. To be used as bait. Of all the absurd ideas you had entertained from Reed over the years, the thought of having to use his child like that wasn’t something you could fathom. Even if you knew, as well as everyone in that room, that it was the only way.
“Are you accepting company on the balcony, or did you want to brood alone out here?”
You scoffed, casting a glance back at Johnny. He rested so casually against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you. You didn’t turn him away, but flicked your head back to the skyline.
“How long have I been out here?”
Johnny slid into the open space beside you, the sleeve of his burnt orange jacket sliding along yours.
“An hour. Enough time for Reed to talk to Sue, for them to hatch a plan, and for it to all come together,” he bumped his shoulder with yours, bringing your gaze to him. “Galactus’ ship is on pace to reach earth by late afternoon tomorrow. We’re going through with the plan.”
“I figured. It’s the only way,” with a soft groan, you let a hand run down your face, rubbing at the sides of your eyes. “I’m sorry, I freaked out. I shouldn’t have stormed out.”
Johnny’s hands took yours, tugging you into him. You turned without hesitation to face him, palms resting against his chest as he held both of your hands within his.
“Ben and I kind of screamed Reed’s head off for a hot moment afterward, so trust me, no one blamed you. I was seconds away from following you out,”
His head bent forward, leaving the lightest of kisses to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours the entire time.
“What’s the plan for the city?”
“Sue is going to talk to Harvey Elder–yeah, I know, the nickname Moleman is funny–in the morning. He’s got a bit of a soft spot for her, so she’s pretty sure that he’s going to agree,” Johnny paused for a moment, thinking over his words, before he let out a deep breath. “We’re going to evacuate the city into Subterranea. When the buses come to shuttle everyone in…I want you on one of them.”
Immediately, you shook your head, mouth dropping open to argue.
“Johnny-”
“I can’t lose you,” he cut you off, blue eyes looking earnestly down on you, pleading with you to listen. “It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to worry about Franklin, and my sister, and Reed and Ben the entire time. I can’t worry about you, too, I’ll go out of my mind. Because if the girl that I cherish, that I treasure, that I love the most was in the line of fire too, then I can’t focus on anything else. I need to know you’re somewhere safe, where Galactus can’t hurt you, where he can’t take you from me. I…I need something to come back to. You’ve done your part, let us do ours.”
Every part of you wanted to argue, wanted to fight back. You’d been with them this long, been through every step of this process with them the whole way. You wanted to be with them, to help them, but what could you do?
You’d done your part, and now, you had to trust that they’d all come back to you in the end.
“Okay,” you agreed softly. The relief that flooded his face was instant the second those words had left your lips.
Johnny’s hands curled around your neck, tugging you up into a kiss that stole your breath away. A single tear slipped down your cheek as you felt every emotion that was poured into that kiss. Every ounce of love, every promise he’d made, every firm press of heated lips to yours that promised to engrave the feeling into your soul for the rest of your life.
A goodbye kiss. One in case it was the last you’d ever have.
“No matter what happens tomorrow,” Johnny whispered the words against your lips, cradling you within the palms of his hands, looking down on you as if you were the sun and he was a planet simply stuck in your orbit. “Just remember that I love you.”
You repeated the phrase like a mantra in your head. Every second, every minute, every hour that you were without him.
From the second you and Lynne stepped onto the bus to Subterranea, the last two employees of the Future Foundation to evacuate the city in the final moments of peace that Earth would know, you whispered it to yourself over and over again.
Remember that I love you.
Lynne never let go of your hand, gripping onto it like a lifeline.
That hand became your lifeline, every moment you were trapped in the cold depths of Subterranea, wishing you could just feel the sun for a moment, see the blue of the sky.
Every time the earth above you rattled, thundered, and bits of debris fell to the ground around you and coated you in dust, you knew it was the footsteps of Galactus marching across the city you loved. Toward your family. And every time, you repeated those words once more to yourself.
Remember that I love you.
And finally, after what felt like forever, the message was relayed through the radios from Reed himself: it was over. They’d won.
Every single citizen around you celebrated. They cried, they cheered, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t, not until you saw them with your own eyes. Not until you saw him.
The destruction of the city was evident. Building torn apart, debris littering the roads, various avenues torn to shreds by the sheer size of Galactus.
Citizens lined the streets as they poured back out into the city from Subterranea. You stood with Lynne at the doors of the Baxter Building, welcoming employees who met up with one another, reuniting on the front lawn and the sidewalks, cheering that, somehow, the world was saved.
A smile only crossed your face the second you laid eyes on them again.
Blue and white suits torn, covered in debris, hair a mess, but alive. Walking straight up to the building together, little Franklin cradled in the arms of his mother. Battered, maybe a little broken and bruised, but alive.
Lynne’s laughter rang through the air the second you broke into a sprint. Johnny met you halfway, ignoring the laughter of his own family, as you flew directly into his arms.
Arms wound tight around his neck, his around the backs of your thighs as he lifted you from the ground without a second thought, spinning you through the air. Your laughter rang out, even as tears slid down your cheeks.
Johnny’s hands slide from your thighs, to your hips, to cradling your waist, bringing you back down until your feet finally touched the ground again. He didn’t even give you a chance to speak before he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss.
“There’s so much I have to tell you,” he murmured against your lips, never straying far enough that you weren’t touching. “You probably won’t believe me.”
“You came home from space with superpowers, Jonathan Storm, I think I’ll believe just about anything at this point,” giggles left your lips as you said it, pecking at his lips over and over again, never wanting to stop touching him.
“Good,” he spun your once more, a smile as bright as the sun stretching across his face as you laughed through your tears again. “As long as you always believe me when I tell you I love you.”
Johnny Storm loved you, now and forever, and you knew it was true. You would never fully understand the reason why, but maybe that was just the wonder of him.
boyfriend!johnny storm x fem civilian!reader
content warnings: none! all fluff!
summary: a cute date day with Johnny!
wc: 3.1k
masterlist.
The rooftop is loud. Not with music or fireworks, but with press questions and too many bodies pressed together in expensive suits and sequined dresses. The Future Foundation is hosting another one of its “donor appreciation” nights, which really just means Reed stands by a molecular model all night while Johnny tries to escape three women in red dresses and someone’s very pushy aunt.
You’re off to the side, perched at a high table, nursing a ginger ale and watching the whole thing unfold like it’s a soap opera you accidentally got invested in.
Johnny, for his part, is thriving.
He’s grinning wide under the warm rooftop lights, hair perfectly tousled by the wind, laughing like he doesn’t have a single real problem in the world. He lets a kid borrow his sunglasses for a selfie. He lets someone else get a photo of him doing finger guns. He blows a literal heart-shaped flame into the air when someone shouts, “Johnny, show us something hot!”
Sue looks like she’s three seconds from tossing him off the roof.
You can’t help it, you laugh into your drink.
He catches it. Mid-flirt, mid-flame, Johnny’s eyes flick toward you like it’s instinct. His grin changes. Just a little. Softer around the edges. A secret note played under the show tune.
You pretend not to notice, even though your heart skips a beat like it always does when he looks at you like that.
Later, after the crowd starts to thin and the media finally backs off, Johnny finds you standing near the elevator, scrolling through your phone like you weren’t just waiting for him to come find you.
“Hey, stranger,” he murmurs, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist like it’s second nature. “Missed you.”
“You were ten feet away,” you deadpan, but you lean back into his chest anyway.
“Yeah,” he says, nose brushing the curve of your jaw, “but that was Human Torch distance. This is boyfriend distance.”
You snort. “Are those different units of measurement?”
“Obviously. Human Torch distance is...PR stunts, bright lights, saying hi to that one lady with the big hair because she gave us half our funding this year.”
“And boyfriend distance?”
“Boyfriend distance is here. With you. Finally.”
He rocks you gently side to side, his warmth soaking through your dress, the press of him solid and grounding.
“You looked really pretty tonight, by the way,” he says, quieter now. “Tried not to be obvious about staring. Think I failed.”
You feel the blush creep up your neck before you can stop it. He rests his chin on your shoulder, humming contentedly like he could stay like this forever.
“You were handsome too,” you murmur, smiling. “You always are.”
He grins against your skin. “I know.”
You elbow him gently in the ribs, but don’t pull away.
Because this is the part the world doesn’t see.
Not the fire. Not the flash. Not the headlines.
Just warmth. Just you and Johnny.
By the time you’re back at your apartment, your shoes are off, your hair’s down, and Johnny is already halfway through making popcorn in your kitchen and pretending he isn’t waiting for you to sit on the couch first so he can immediately flop next to you.
You catch him watching you as you toss your earrings into a dish on the counter.
“What?” you ask, biting back a smile.
He shrugs, leans against the stove, eyes all heavy-lidded and sweet. Too sweet.
“Nothing. Just...you’re so pretty.”
You roll your eyes. “You think I’m pretty when I’ve got mascara smudged under my eyes?”
He crosses the kitchen in three steps, sets the popcorn bowl down, and cups your jaw like he’s holding something sacred.
“I think you’re pretty always,” he murmurs. “But especially when you’re too tired to pretend I’m not your favorite person.”
You swat at him playfully, but your fingers curl around his wrist and keep him close.
You end up curled together on the couch, legs tangled under a too-thin blanket, his chest a living heater against your back. He’s the kind of warm that makes you melt without realizing it. His fingers draw slow, lazy shapes against your arm as the movie plays low in the background—some rom-com you’ve both seen ten times but always return to.
You feel him press a kiss to the back of your shoulder, then hum quietly against your skin.
“Wanna do something tomorrow?”
“Mmm,” you reply sleepily. “What kind of something?”
“Like...date day something. No work. No missions. No having to be 'Human Torch'."
You smile. “You’re due for some romance, huh?”
“I’m due for you in a sundress holding a little iced coffee and pretending not to laugh at my sunglasses tan.”
You twist slightly to look up at him. His face is lit soft by the TV glow, eyes half-lidded, hair flopped messily across his forehead. You reach up and push it back.
“So what do you wanna do?” you ask. “Ice cream? Hide in a used bookstore until someone kicks us out?”
“Yes,” he says. “All of it.”
“You want the full rom-com date montage, huh?”
“Absolutely. I want to carry your bag. I want to kiss you in front of a fountain. I want to sit on a bench and dramatically feed you a bite of my hot dog.”
You snort. “You’re such a dork.”
He grins. “I’m your dork.”
You reach under the blanket and lace your fingers through his, already picturing tomorrow, the soft buzz of summer in the city, the stupid matching sunglasses he’ll insist on, the way he’ll hold your hand like it’s his job.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Date day. Just us.”
“Just us,” he echoes, voice like a promise.
You fall asleep with your head on his chest and his hand curled around yours, warm, steady, and already dreaming of you.
You wake up to warmth.
Not the filtered sunlight slipping in through the curtains. Not the weight of the blanket half-pushed to the foot of the bed. Him. Johnny. Heat radiating from where his arm is slung across your waist, skin hot and golden even under the sheets. His breath fans across the back of your neck, steady and soft. He’s all tangled up in you, legs knotted with yours, hand tucked beneath your shirt like it belongs there.
It does.
He makes a quiet sound when you shift, half-asleep, half-clingy, and pulls you closer like a furnace with feelings.
“Mmm. Five more minutes,” he mumbles into your shoulder.
“It’s already ten.”
“Okay, five more hours.”
You laugh under your breath, which only makes him nuzzle closer, lips brushing your bare skin.
“We have date plans, remember?”
“Mm-hmm. I remember. I’m romancing you,” he says, voice slurred with sleep. “I’m being amazing.”
“You’re currently drooling on me.”
“Love drool. It’s affectionate.”
Eventually, he stretches out like a sun-drunk cat and flops onto his back with a dramatic sigh.
“Okay. Let’s get you ready. You need to look incredible today.”
“Me?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who’ll be recognized.”
“Exactly. And I want them to see you and immediately understand why I’m completely obsessed.”
You shake your head, amused, but let him follow you into your closet anyway.
Johnny takes the job of picking your outfit very seriously. He sits on the edge of your bed like a fashion judge, watching each piece you pull from a hanger like it holds national importance.
“Too serious,” he says at one dress. “Too corporate.”
“Too hot. Not hot enough. Wear that one- wait, no, I won’t survive it.”
You finally settle on something flowy and soft, one of his favorites.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, watching you twirl in the mirror.
“Already did,” you reply, smug.
He grins, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles like he’s your knight instead of your menace of a boyfriend.
You end up at this little breakfast place downtown, handwritten chalkboard sign and flower boxes out front. It’s bustling, cluttered, loud in the best way. Johnny’s a regular, apparently. The guy at the counter daps him up like they’ve been best friends since childhood.
“The usual?” the guy asks, eyeing you with interest.
Johnny slings an arm around your shoulder like it’s reflex. “Two of ‘em. She’s my favorite person. Extra strawberries.”
He insists on paying. Tips too much. Picks a booth by the window and slides in beside you, not across from you, because "if I sit over there, I can’t touch you."
The food comes fast—pancakes, eggs, coffee, fresh fruit. He takes a bite of your toast and pretends he didn’t.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” he says, halfway through a pancake. “No aliens. No science emergencies. Just you and me and syrup. That’s the dream.”
You rest your chin on your hand and smile at him, messy-haired, glowing, halfway through over-sweet coffee, absolutely beaming at you like you invented joy.
“This is gonna sound cheesy,” he adds, lowering his voice just a little, “but I don’t care if we do anything fancy today. You could drag me through a dollar store and I’d still call it the best date of my life.”
You kick him under the table. He grins wider.
“Ow. Romantic violence. Nice.”
After breakfast, he offers his hand dramatically and walks you out all dramatic. Sunglasses on. Other hand in his pocket. Entirely too proud to be seen holding your hand.
“Next stop,” he announces. “Books. Because you like books. And I like watching you pretend not to fall in love with me all over again while I read dumb poetry out loud.”
“That’s not what happens.”
“It absolutely is. You’re obsessed with me.”
You don’t deny it.
Because it’s true.
The bookstore smells like old paper and dust and sunlight.
You find it tucked between a flower shop and a record store, the kind of place with crooked shelves and handwritten recommendation cards. Wind chimes jingle as the door swings open. Johnny ducks slightly as you step inside, like he’s trying to contain his energy, like he doesn’t want to break the spell.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales a soft “whoa,” eyes tracing the mismatched lamps and towers of books and the sleepy cat curled on the counter like it owns the place.
“This is so you,” he says finally, already smiling.
You nudge his shoulder with yours. “You said that about the diner.”
“Yeah, but this time I mean it like...” He gestures vaguely. “You in a bookstore? This is just where you belong.”
He lets you lead the way, trailing a few steps behind with his hands in his jacket pockets, touching nothing, but watching everything. You, mostly. You, skimming the spines, pulling down titles and flipping through pages. You, biting your lip when you find something good. You, holding a book to your chest like it might float away.
He pulls a slim poetry chapbook off a shelf and follows you into a quiet corner near the windows.
“Can I read you one?” he asks, already opening it.
“Johnny…” you say, suspicious.
“I can be cultured,” he insists. Then, clearing his throat dramatically,
“Love is a fire.” He pauses. “Ooh. This one’s got my name on it already.”
You groan, but let him keep reading.
His voice drops when it’s not a joke anymore. Slows down. Words softer, careful. You watch him in profile, sunlight catching in his lashes, the faintest pink in his cheeks. He finishes the poem and looks up, sheepish.
“That was kinda good, right?”
“Yeah,” you say. “You should read to me more.”
He swells with pride, the way he always does when you compliment something real about him.
He buys the book. Signs the inside cover. "To the prettiest girl I’ve ever read poetry to—JS."
You lose him for a few minutes between aisles.
You’re deep in the nonfiction section, thumbing through a book on obscure cosmic history you’re pretty sure Reed wrote under a pen name, when Johnny reappears with a small stack in his arms and a crooked grin on his face.
“Okay. I took this very seriously,” he says, setting them down on the bench beside you. “Here is my curated selection for the love of my life.”
He presents the first one with a flourish: a graphic novel about time travelers who fall in love through post-it notes.
“Romantic and nerdy. I’m killing this already.”
The next, a battered, clearly well-loved paperback with stars and planets on the cover. You open it—and tucked inside is a faded, pressed flower.
You glance up at him. “Did you—?”
“Nah, found it like that,” he says, quieter now. “Felt like it was waiting for someone. Kinda like you and me.”
Your breath catches a little.
“That was gross, right?” he adds quickly. “Like...disgustingly sweet?”
“No,” you say. “It was perfect.”
He gives you a look like he wants to kiss you right there between fiction and sci-fi, but instead he just nudges your knee with his and leans back.
“Also I picked a cookbook because you said you wanted to try making dumplings from scratch.”
"Johnny.”
“And a mystery novel because I know you like to ry to solve what happens before it's revealed.”
You’re quiet for a moment, holding the stack to your chest.
“You really listen to me, huh?”
“Of course I do,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You’re my favorite voice.”
You feel your heart do another flip as he kisses your cheek.
The two of you end up in the park next, shoes off, blanket spread across the grass, half a baguette in a paper bag between you because Johnny insisted on stopping by a bakery before the park.
The sun is high, warm but breezy. Johnny lies flat on his back, one hand behind his head, the other idly playing with the hem of your skirt where it pools at your knees.
“Look,” he says, pointing lazily at the sky. “That cloud looks like the letter ‘J.’ For ‘Johnny.’ The sky loves me.”
“You’re the most humble person I’ve ever met,” you say, deadpan.
“You know it.”
A quiet falls between you for a while. Comfortable. Unrushed. His fingers eventually find yours in the grass and stay there, thumb brushing gentle circles against your skin.
“I love being with you like this,” he murmurs. “Not just in, like…the big ways. But the small ones. The regular ones. I’d do this every day for the rest of my life if you let me.”
You don’t say anything. You just squeeze his hand.
Later, when the sun starts to drift lower in the sky, you find yourselves near the ice cream truck Johnny insisted you walk past because “I swear this guy’s got the best strawberry swirl in the city.”
He orders for both of you, then adds a third cone at the last second for a kid in line who drops their cone.
“What a hero,” you say.
“My girlfriend thinks I’m cool. That’s all I need.”
You sit on the curb while you eat, your knees knocking together, your cone starting to drip. Johnny leans over and steals a bite without asking, then grins like he just won something.
“Hey!”
“What? I was saving your dress from getting icecream on it!”
You wipe a smudge of ice cream off his chin with your thumb. He catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“You taste like sugar,” he murmurs, voice suddenly low. “No wonder I’m addicted.”
The city starts to shift as the sky turns gold.
Shadows stretch longer. Streetlights flicker to life one by one. Somewhere nearby, a jazz band warms up, their chords floating between buildings like smoke. And you’re still hand in hand with Johnny, wandering with no destination, letting the day stretch out for as long as it’ll give you.
He walks with his sunglasses on top of his head now, sweater sleeves pushed up, a paper bag in one hand filled with books and dumb little trinkets he insisted on getting “because they reminded me of you.” He keeps brushing his knuckles against yours as you walk, even though you’re already holding hands.
“Are you trying to hold my hand hand and my knuckle hand?” you ask, amused.
“I’m trying to hold every version of you,” he says, only half-joking.
Eventually, you stumble into a quiet little plaza tucked between two apartment buildings. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t show up on maps, just a stone path, a few benches, some ivy, and a fountain in the center. You can hear water trickling gently, the hum of traffic a distant hum instead of a roar.
Johnny stops walking.
“Wait,” he says, tugging gently on your hand. “This is it.”
“This is what?”
“The fountain moment. You remember. The romcom-certified romantic one.”
“Oh, right,” you say, playing along. “The one where you kiss me so perfectly I forget my own name.”
“Exactly. Very important. Very canon.”
He steps closer. Both of you smiling, soft around the edges, glowing in the amber light.
“You ready?” he murmurs.
You nod, and he leans in, not rushed, not showy, just…gentle. His forehead rests against yours for a second, breath mixing with yours. His hands cradle your waist like he’s holding something sacred.
“You’re my favorite thing I’ve ever found,” he says.
And then he kisses you.
It’s slow and steady and unselfconscious. The kind of kiss that doesn't need witnesses. The kind you feel hours later, like sunlight on your skin. The water behind you bubbles softly. Somewhere, a breeze picks up and flutters the edge of your jacket.
You pull back first, but only because you’re smiling too hard.
“That was…” you start, breathless.
“Legendary,” he finishes. “Worthy of a rom-com montage.”
“It really was.”
You find a bench nearby and sit with your legs over his lap, his arm around your shoulders, your head resting against the curve of his neck. It’s that hour of the day where everything softens, edges, voices, hearts.
“Can I say something dumb?” he asks after a while.
“Always.”
“I know we’ve only been dating for a few months...” he says, gesturing vaguely with one hand, “but I think I’d be good at loving you for a long time.”
You glance up at him. His eyes are on the sky. He doesn’t say it like he’s trying to charm you—he says it like a quiet truth he’s been carrying all day.
“Like, I know it’s cheesy,” he continues, “but when I think about the future, it’s just…you. Not the superhero stuff. Not the press. Just mornings and bookstores and dumb fountain kisses. That’s what I want.”
You rest your hand on his chest, right over his heart. It’s beating fast. Yours is too.
“That’s not dumb,” you say softly. “That’s perfect.”
He turns his head toward you, eyes wide and warm and a little bit vulnerable.
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.
summary: johnny storm is a hopeless romantic struggling to find someone he actually likes. until he meets you.
warnings: no spoilers for f4 first steps – this fic is set on my pb&jj universe, but it can be read as it's own series too. fem!reader. tried my best to avoid any specific descriptions. it’s my first time writing reader fic, so please be gracious. english is not my first language. please don't copy or repost anywhere.
One thing about Johnny Storm? He’s a serial hopeless romantic.
He loves meeting new people, and finds it so easy to feel head over heels for them. And when things eventually go downhill – because they always do –, he’s never one to be disinvested in the trials of love. He’ll gladly put himself through it all over again.
Another thing about Johnny Storm, though? It's so difficult for him to actually be in love with someone.
He likes getting to know the people he meets, and he swears he wants to actually be invested in someone. But truth be told, he has very specific standards for what love’s supposed to feel like and has a very, very heartfelt hope that it will happen to him. That love will one day finally show up at his door, and he’ll just know.
He wasn’t expecting his hopes to be taken so literally.
And especially not during a Sunday night dinner with his family.
“We have a guest coming over with aunt Mary.” Sue says carelessly, while fixing the salad.
Johnny is right in front of the oven, his red button-up shirt long discarded due to the heat, carefully mixing the bolognese sauce for the lasagna so it won’t spill in his white t-shirt. “Hm? Who’s coming with her?”
“She has a new boarder. A girl, just moved in this past week.”
Johnny truly didn’t think much of it. Didn’t even acknowledge it enough to have an afterthought. Looking back, he thinks it’s silly of him to be so unaware of Sue’s malicious tone when she brought it up.
Reed notices, of course. Coming up from behind them, he wraps his arms around Sue, who tilts her head to the side, allowing her husband to give her a kiss on her cheek and rest his chin on her shoulder. Johnny fakes a gag, only for them to ignore him completely.
“What are you up to, hm?” Reed whispers to Sue, and she only shushes him, as if to say “don’t get involved”. Or even better, “I’ll tell you all about it later”.
When the doorbell rings later, Johnny promptly gets up from the couch.
“I’ll get it!” He runs to the door, snatching it open with a quick motion.
He sees Ben first, in all his tall, composed glory. He pats Johnny’s shoulders with his heavy hand before walking past him, going straight to Sue to say hi.
He hears his aunt before he sees her. “My god, dear. Did you get taller?”
Johnny smiles at her. Aunt Mary is a short, older woman. Her frayed figure and white streaks on her hair makes her look smaller. “I’m afraid I stopped growing a few years ago, Aunt Mary.”
“That can’t be true. You’re definitely taller.” She hugs him quickly, one arm wrapping around his waist and her head resting on his arm. “Good to see you, my boy.”
When she steps into the apartment, Johnny looks up. And then he sees you.
You’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something first. He wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know what words are anymore. You decide to break the silence then.
“Hello.”
“Hi.” He answers simply, looking at you dumbfounded. You have a beaming smile on your face, and he thinks you couldn’t look more beautiful if you tried. When you don’t follow up with anything and your smile falters a little, he clears his throat. “H-Hi! I’m Johnny. Johnny Storm, I’m- Um, I’m Mary’s nephew.”
Awkwardly, he lifts his right hand, offering a nervous handshake. You take his hand without reading too much into the way he wipes his hands on his jeans before offering it to you, then you offer your name back to him.
“It’s nice to meet you. Your sister and aunt mentioned you, it’s good to put a face to the name.”
“You know my sister?” He blurts out, his face turning a sharp left and scanning the room to find Susan, only to find her by the kitchen counter, already looking at him. He sees the malicious look now, and watches as Reed raises his hands up like he’s stating his innocence in whatever his wife did now.
“Um, can I come in?” You break him from his trance, and he can feel himself straightening up involuntarily.
“Yeah! Yes, sorry, please come in.” He opens his left arm and gestures to the apartment, ushering you in. As you offer him a small, questioning smile, his hands fly to his face. “Please stop acting like an idiot.” He murmurs to himself.
He walks back to the kitchen, his head hung as he hears you greeting Sue and being introduced to Reed. Ben shuffles closer: “Johnny, why are you acting like an idiot?”
Johnny pushes him by his shoulder as he sees Sue approaching with you by his side.
“This is Ben, Reed’s best friend and part of the household.” You shake Ben’s hand and smile at him, and Johnny feels like he might die a little.
“And you know my brother, Johnny?”
You looked at him again, “Yeah, we already met.”
Sue looked at him, obviously expecting him to say something. Her eyes widened slightly, her head tilting your way as if she’s urging him to do something, say something.
“Uh, yeah. I opened the door for her.”
Sue’s face went blank. “Okaaay. Franklin is upstairs, let’s check if he’s awake.” She pulls you by your shoulders, moving you to the staircase.
“Why are you not being obnoxiously flirty right now?” Ben says once you get a little more distant. “It’s not like you to be so respectful.”
“I can be respectful.”
“Can you?”
“Ben, I’m in love.”
“Of course you are.”
“I’m serious! It’s real love this time!”
“Oh, god. Johnny…”
“No, I know, I know. I know I have a bit of… history.”
“You have a tragedy, that’s what you have.”
“Not anymore, Ben. It’s for real this time, I can feel it.”
Ben stares at him, his blue eyes squinting.
“Fine, I believe you. You gonna ask her out?”
“I don’t think I can.”
“What?” Ben yelps, making both Reed and Aunt Mary look his way. He apologises by covering his mouth and whispering-yelling, “Sorry, what? Of course you can ask her out!”
“No, I can’t! I can’t even form coherent sentences when she’s looking my way.”
“Jonathan Lowell Storm.” Ben puts a hand on Johnny’s shoulders, forcing him to look his way.
“Spencer.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a Spencer too. Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm.”
“You’re a Spencer?” Ben looks genuinely confused, “What, like Princess Diana?”
“Yeah, dude. Did you not know that?”
“No, I didn’t know t—” Ben shakes his head, like he’s trying to forget something. “You know what, nevermind. Johnny, you are good at this.”
“I am?”
“You are a romantic, my man.”
“I’m a romantic.” Johnny repeats what Ben says like it’s a mantra.
“You are a handsome, nice young man.”
“I am a handsome, nice young man!”
“And you’re gonna sweep her off her feet.”
“And I’m gonna sweep her off her feet!”
“Who are you sweeping off their feet?” Sue appears out of nowhere, with you trailing by her side. Johnny actually squeals.
“Nothing! I mean, no one!”
—
Johnny doesn’t even touch most of his dinner, which Ben complains about at least fifteen times. He doesn’t even listen half the time, his mind completely somewhere else.
When the night ends and Aunt Mary is finishing saying her goodbyes to Sue and Franklin, he sneaks out into the corridor where you’re waiting, talking to Ben. As soon as he sees, Ben is ready to give him some proper space.
“It was real nice meeting you, you’re welcome every time!” Ben shakes your hand one last time, which you seem to appreciate. “And welcome to New York!”
“Thank you!” You chipper, and wave at him. When you look at Johnny, your face still smiley, but more stoic. “It was nice meeting you too, Johnny.”
Johnny sees it as the perfect opportunity. “We could meet again some other day.” He says, with his head tilting down a little. “What do you think of going for a coffee? Like Tuesday at 5.30?”
Johnny sees your polite smile and he thinks it’s a win. He’s already imagining the high five he’ll get from Ben once he goes inside again.
That is until you say:
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to say no.”
“No?” You shake your head, emphasising. “I- Um. Why not?”
You switch the weight from one foot to the other, “Johnny, you’re nice, you really are. But I don’t think I want what you have to offer me, so thank you.”
Johnny’s confused now. “I’m sorry?”
“You, going out with tons of people only to reject them later.” You smile politely, “I have friends from MIT, you know?”
“B-But we could get to know each other better!” He forces a smile and hopes it comes off as charming, but he wonders if ultimately he just seems a little desperate.
His Aunt Mary shows up at the doorframe. “Shall we go home, darling?”
“Yes, Mary. Of course.” You look at his Aunt, then back at him. “Good night, Johnny.”
He watches you walk into the elevator, ready to say goodbye to what he thought was his One Big Chance in love.
Then he sees it. Right before the door closes, he sees you turn around to face him. A hint of a smile graces your lips. You offer him a tiny wave.
A sliver of hope.
And one last think about Johnny?
He’s not one to give up on the heartfelt hopes of finding real love.
notes: this is by far the longest thing I’ve written – I’m so excited!! thank you so much for reading! if you’re interested in joining a johnny x reader taglist, let me know <3
( SYNOPSIS ) ── after another one of reed’s infamous power outages, your boyfriend johnny comes with the solution to all your problems.
( WARNINGS ) ── no spoilers!! being scared of the dark. nothing else!
It had happened again.
Another one of Reed Richards’ late night experiments had blown the power grid, leaving your apartment in pitch black silence. Living just a few blocks from the Baxter Building had its perks, proximity to your superhero boyfriend being the main one, but moments like this made you question whether it was all worth it.
The bad part? Losing power twice a week, like clockwork, thanks to Reed tinkering with things the city’s infrastructure was clearly not built to handle. The worse part? You were still, to this day, hopelessly afraid of the dark. A childhood thing. Unresolved, unimportant. At least that’s what you always told yourself.
But the good part? Johnny always came.
The second the lights flickered out, he was already on his way, like muscle memory. Hovering outside your window, flames crackling gently across his body, casting warm light across your bedroom walls.
You were curled up in bed, flashlight wedged under the blankets like some makeshift bunker, when you heard a soft tap at the glass. That familiar quiet hum of fire accompanied it, comforting, warm, familiar.
You peeked your head out from under the comforter, already smiling. And there he was, floating a few feet from your window, his face illuminated by a soft amber glow, brows raised, that charmingly smug smile already in place.
You climbed out of bed and crossed the room, opening the window just enough for him to slip inside. He extinguished the flames across most of his body the second he landed, except for the steady flame burning on his right hand, casting gentle light across your room like a makeshift lantern.
“I heard someone was in desperate need of a hero,” he teased, his voice soft but playful. “Lucky for you, I happen to know one.”
You rolled your eyes as he stepped closer, his hand finding your hip like it always did when you needed grounding. He bent down and kissed your forehead, lingering for just a second longer than usual.
“I came as soon as the lights went out,” he said more gently now, his voice dropping to something quieter, more gentle.
You hummed softly, leaning into him without a word, because you didn’t need to say anything. Johnny already knew what came next.
The two of you made your way back to bed, you already dressed in your favorite pajamas while Johnny stripped down to his boxers, climbing in behind you. He settled in with the back of his head resting against your headboard, one scorching arm stretched out across the nightstand, casting a warm, amber light across the room.
With a quiet laugh, you climbed over him, nestling between his legs. Your hips rested comfortably against his and your head found its place on his bare chest, your arms curling around his waist. You nuzzled your nose against his skin, the heat of him grounding you.
“You’re gonna burn a hole in my nightstand,” you murmured against him with a sleepy smile.
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I did all the shopping for your apartment, remember? Fireproof nightstand, babe.”
Your laugh was muffled against his chest, eyes already fluttering shut. And just like that, you drifted off in his arms, soft snores slipping from your lips, your face relaxed and peaceful against his warmth.
Johnny brought his free hand to your hair, gently brushing it back from your face. He watched you for a moment, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. Only when he was sure you were completely asleep did he dim his glowing hand, sighing softly as he shifted to get comfortable beneath you.
“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a final kiss to your head. Both arms wrapped around you tightly, like he could anchor you to this exact moment. “’Night.”
It was always like this. He’d come over and stay up just long enough to see you safely asleep before turning off his ‘night light’. And every morning, without fail, you’d wake up in the same place, wrapped in the arms of the boy who swore your nightstand was fireproof… even if the scorch marks told a slightly different story.
Content: fluff, Alpine knows best, yearning, some suggestive comments
Synopsis: Bucky tries to get over his crush on a fellow teammate by taking a girl out, but Alpine has spoken.
A/N: I know we've yapped about this for a while, so thanks again for always listening @buckybarnes82 / also, we ignore the SamBucky divorce in this house.
Looking over yourself once more in the mirror, you’re satisfied with your hair and walk out to the common area. Sam and Bucky are playing chess while random music videos play on the TV.
“Did you guys get through Marvin Gaye? What’s next?” You ask, smoothing your hands over your blouse. Bucky eyes you warily.
“Yep. We’re on to some 90’s stuff,” Sam says, not looking up from the chessboard. Alpine waltzes over and zigzags slowly between your feet, nuzzling her tiny face against your calf. You reach down to pet her and she purrs.
“Check,” Sam says, moving his hand from a bishop. Bucky’s eyes snap back to the game board. How did that happen? He almost always beats Sam at chess. He considers his options as you sit down cross-legged on the floor and cradle the white cat like a baby. Her tail flits back and forth and she continues purring deeply.
“You gonna rock her to sleep?” Sam asks with a laugh. “She looks awfully comfortable.” Bucky rubs his chin in concentration, but can’t keep his focus. He keeps peeking up at you and Alpine.
“She adores me,” you say with a proud smile. “She loves my feminine energy. Being around her grumpy dad all the time probably drains her.”
Bucky rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. “Yeah, okay, sure,” he mutters. You giggle and stand up, still cradling Alpine like a sleeping newborn, and walk over to the chessboard.
“Yikes, Barnes. Looks like Sam outplayed you this time,” you tease. Bucky tries to think of a move to get him out of check but is instead enveloped by the smell of your perfume - something slightly fruity with vanilla undertones.
“Where are you headed tonight?” Sam asks. “You look fancier than normal.”
“Why thank you, Samuel,” you say with a mock curtsy. “A gentleman caller is on his way to pick me up soon.”
Bucky suddenly knocks a few pawns to the ground. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters, bending over to pick them up. Alpine lunges out of your arms at the clatter and runs out of the room.
“I guess you win,” he says, looking at Sam as he sets the pieces back on the board with an expression of defeat.
“What? C‘mon, Bucky, you could have gotten out of that!” Sam exclaims. “You’re off your game.” Bucky just shrugs and stands up, clicking off the TV.
“That’s enough of The Cranberries for tonight,” he grunts. Your phone buzzes in your back pocket and you take it out, checking the new text.
“He’s here,” you say quietly. “Do I look okay?” You present yourself to Sam and Bucky and spin around slowly. You figured jeans and a nice top were good enough for a casual first date.
Bucky swallows as you turn around, trying not to ogle your ass in denim for too long. He leans his arm on the table, and misses completely, flipping the chessboard and pieces all over the room.
“Oh my God - sorry!” He yelps, immediately bending over to start picking up the pieces. Sam starts to help him, trying not to bust out in laughter.
“You look great,” Sam assures you, handing Bucky a stray knight. “Go get ‘em tiger! Is this with the fireman?”
“Yeah,” you say with a shy smile.
“What fireman?” Bucky asks curiously.
“One of the guys from our mission last week - from the team that put out that electrical fire. He’s the captain.”
“Ooh, the captain,” Sam teases. Bucky takes a swig of water as he tries to recall the man that’s about to take you out.
“Maybe he’ll show me his fire hose tonight,” you joke, waggling your eyebrows. Bucky chokes on his water at your comment, spraying Sam with his spit. Sam looks down at his now-wet shirt. “You good, man?”
“Sorry - went down the wrong pipe,” he explains, trying to keep his composure, or what’s left of it.
“Speaking of pipe, I gotta go! He’s waiting downstairs!”
Bucky’s eyes widen again and a pit forms in his stomach. Captain Fireman better not show you anything tonight. As soon as the door shuts behind you, Bucky lets out a frustrated groan.
“C’mon, what the hell was that? You lose all sense of coordination when she’s around!” Sam chuckles.
“She’s just - she… she… the jeans… the innuendos. I need to lie down,” Bucky whines.
“Lie down, huh? You’re going to research her date?” Sam prods, crossing his arms.
“Sam, I would never!”
“That’s what you said last time, and that poor sucker ended up with four flat tires.”
“He wouldn’t have been good for her anyway,” Bucky grumbles, trying to defend his actions.
“Yeah? And who would? You?” Sam asks.
“She’s not interested in me, Sam,” he says quietly. “I need to get over it, but I don’t know how. I’m miserable, man.”
Sam looks at Bucky with a soft expression. “Hey, why don’t you ask out that barista down the road? She’s always making eyes at you when we go in there. You don’t have to marry her, but maybe a date or a lil sumthin sumthin might get your mind off her.”
Bucky scoffs and plops down on the couch. “I don’t want a little something from anyone.”
“Yeah, anyone but your teammate,” Sam quips, sitting down opposite him. “Your teammate that’s out with another man right now. Probably getting her fire extinguished.”
“Enough!” Bucky yells, running a hand down his face. “I can’t think about her… with another person like that.”
“Let’s go get coffee. C’mon,” Sam says, standing up. “You gotta get over this chick. You’re gonna mess up the whole dynamic if we’re out on a mission and you’re all soft and not paying attention to the serious shit. Let’s go!”
“Fuck. Fine,” Bucky relents.
—
Sam and Bucky walk through the coffee shop doors and he can see the barista perk up instantly. It isn’t very busy, but that could also be because it’s nearly closing time. Sam nudges Bucky discreetly and whispers, “See? Told you.”
“Stop,” Bucky pleads.
“Welcome in!” The barista says with a bright grin. Bucky approaches the counter and smiles, glancing down at her nametag.
“Hi Autumn,” he says quietly. “Can I get two decaf coffees to-go please?” She visibly shivers as Bucky calls her by her first name.
“Sure thing, Mr. Barnes.”
“Just Bucky,” he says quickly, stepping back from the counter after paying.
“That’s it?” Sam whispers to him. “You’re not gonna chat her up?”
“I don’t know how to do that,” Bucky grumbles quietly, taking a hand through his hair. Autumn puts the lids on both drinks and scribbles on them before setting them on the counter.
“There you go, gentleman,” she says, gesturing to the coffee, leaning over the countertop a bit suggestively.
Bucky takes both drinks and thanks her, handing the one that says “Captain America” to Sam and bringing the one that reads “Winter Soldier” to his lips, trying not to cringe at his old identity. Anyone that knows him never calls him that anymore. Sam has his phone out, clearly trying to give Bucky a chance to shoot his shot. He opens Instagram and shows Bucky a story you posted 12 minutes ago: a blurry photo of two cocktails at a bar with a man’s hand wrapped around one.
“Fuck that,” Bucky whispers under his breath as he walks back to the counter with purpose. “What are you doing tonight?” He asks.
“Me?” She asks, clearly taken aback by his brashness.
“Well, yeah.”
“Um, I work for another hour. Then I don’t have plans. Why?” She’s wary and he can hear her heartbeat racing in her chest.
“We should get a drink… not coffee. Like alcohol. Um, like a bar?”
Sam snickers and continues scrolling on his phone.
“Are you asking me out?” Autumn asks with a light squeal.
“Uh, yeah, I guess so?” Bucky says, shrugging. “Would you like to go out with me when you finish your shift?”
“Yes!” She says with too much enthusiasm. “I’d love to!”
“Great. Why don’t you swing by the Tower when you’re off? I’ll buzz you up - the whole building is intuitive. It’ll know that you’re not a threat when you come in.”
“The Tower?” She clarifies with excitement in her eyes. “Will Yelena be there? Will John Walker be there?”
“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says with a shrug. “We all live there, so…”
“Wow,” she sighs, leaning on the counter. Sam clears his throat.
“Right, well, see you in a bit,” Bucky says, turning on his heel and heading out the door. Sam follows him out and starts laughing as the door swings shut behind them. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”
“I wasn’t going to say a word,” Sam says, choking back a chuckle. “You did just fine, man.” He claps Bucky on the back.
—
When Bucky and Sam get back to the Tower, you’re sitting on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, your makeup from earlier washed off.
“Uh, hey,” Bucky starts, walking over to you and sitting down. “What happened to your date? It’s still early.” He watches you roll your eyes and shrug, but notices the faint traces of tearstains on your cheeks. “Did he do something?” His voice deepens with concern. "Did he hurt you?"
“Oh, no, nothing like that. He just lied about being married,” you spit. “He wasn’t wearing the ring, but the tan line was evident.” You wrap a blanket around you and pull it up under your chin.
“Oh, shit,” Sam mutters. “You okay?” Bucky looks at you with a furrowed brow.
“Yeah, I’m fine. He got pretty pissed when I confronted him about it. He said they’re “on the rocks” and I said I don’t date married men. He paid for his drink and left. I guess that’s that.”
“It’s for the best,” Bucky says, uttering your name. “You don’t deserve some asshole like that.” Alpine saunters into the common area and curls into your lap, sensing your irritation and sadness. You pet the cat, finding comfort in her rhythmic purring and soft fur. “Alpy agrees, don’t you, girl?” He murmurs, scratching behind her head. Alpine closes her eyes and leans into Bucky’s touch.
“Yeah. Anyway, I was just about to watch Bachelor in Paradise with Yelena. She’s making popcorn if you guys wanna hang,” you offer. “I just want to forget about it, honestly.”
“Tempting,” Sam says sarcastically, “but I think I’m going to hit the bag for a bit. Buck, you coming?”
Bucky looks at Sam then back at you and Alpine. “Nah, I’ll stay here and hang with the girls.” Sam’s eyes narrow and a tiny smirk flits across his face. “Alright, man.”
Yelena walks in as Sam walks out. “Popcorn is hot and ready!”
“Just how I like it!” You exclaim. “I think Bucky is going to watch with us. Do we have extra rosters?” You ask Yelena. “We like to bet on who is going to end up with each other and who is going to go home. You want in?” You ask Bucky. He smiles sweetly at your offer, but declines, sinking back into the couch cushions, halfheartedly watching the show, but mostly watching you and Alpine.
“You are like an overprotective dad,” Yelena quips during a commercial break. “Always watching over your kitten.”
“Excuse me?” Bucky says, sitting up straight.
“Alpine. You are watching her,” Yelena explains, offering the bowl of popcorn to him.
“Oh… yeah, she’s just so cute,” Bucky says, taking a handful of popcorn and shoving it in his mouth to discourage further conversation. Bucky’s phone buzzes with an alert: Autumn has arrived. Before he can stand up from the couch, she’s waltzing into the common area.
“Hi guys!” She exclaims, looking from Yelena to you to Bucky. Alpine’s eyes flick open and she scrunches back into your arms.
“Hey,” Bucky says softly, standing up and walking to her. “Guys, this is Autumn. We’re going to get a drink. Autumn, this is everyone.” He introduces you all by name.
You watch Autumn look at Bucky with stars in her eyes and feel a small tug in your chest. When did him going out with someone ever bother you before? You were clearly feeling burned from the date earlier and weren’t in the mood to see other people going on ones that would probably end up better than yours.
Yelena waves and offers her the popcorn bowl. She shakes her head. “No thanks. I don’t want popcorn breath!” Bucky’s mouth twitches at her comment, wondering just what she expects from the evening. You see his miniscule reaction and the small tug in your chest rages into a fire. No - no no no. Oh fuck. How long have you had these feelings and not realized it?
John and Bob walk in, sweaty from their evening workouts and look over at Bucky’s guest. She’s practically salivating, her jaw unhinged at the sight of Walker in gym clothes. It makes you want to shake her. Why would anyone have eyes for Walker with Bucky right there?
“Hi, I’m Autumn,” she says, walking past Bucky and extending her hand to John. He shakes it and introduces himself. “Yeah, I know who you are. I can’t believe I’m meeting you right now.” She’s like a fangirl, not hiding her obsession.
You roll your eyes and Alpine arches her back, her hair standing on end. “Alp, what’s wrong?” You whisper, trying to calm her down, but she jumps off of you and tiptoes to Bucky’s date before letting out a hiss. Her ears turn downward. You bite your lip and try to hide a smile, watching as Alpine circles around Autumn blatantly flirting with Walker.
“Alpine!” Bucky groans, trying to pick her up. “What’s wrong with you? What’s the matter girl?”
“I think she hates your date,” Yelena says with a laugh, watching Bucky run after the spooked cat.
“Me?” Autumn asks innocently. “I’m more of a dog person anyway.”
You watch Bucky roll his shoulders at her comment and try not to smile.
“So, Autumn, didn’t you come here to go out for a drink with Bucky? Or is it Walker? I’m confused,” you say, crossing your arms. “Or are you just Avenger hopping? What is it that they call those girls that hookup with cowboys? Buckle bunnies? We need to workshop a name like that for these situations.”
Yelena gasps and giggles. “Maybe she prefers blondes,” she offers.
“Her loss,” you say without thinking. Bucky stops chasing Alpine and turns around, locking eyes with you. You swallow, not sure how that slipped out so easily - like you’ve been thinking about it for ages. “I’m just saying, like, Bucky has a nice head of hair.”
“You know, you’re kind of a bitch,” Autumn says, one hand on her hip. Alpine lunges at her, claws out, but Bucky intercepts her before she can latch on.
“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight! Autumn, I don’t think drinks are going to happen. Walker, why don’t you show her out?” Bucky says, fighting for his life to keep Alpine in his arms. Walker escorts Autumn out. You and Bucky look at each other but don’t say anything. Yelena looks between the two of you.
“I think I heard Sam yell for help,” she fibs, practically running out of the room. It’s just you, Bucky, and your new favorite wingwoman, Alpine. Bucky rakes a hand through his hair and walks toward you, setting Alpine down.
“Her loss, huh?” He asks, sitting down across from you. Your cheeks turn pink.
“Maybe,” you answer, sitting up straighter. Taller.
“Could be someone else’s gain,” he mutters, looking at you suggestively.
“Yeah, like who?” You press, scooting to the edge of the couch.
“I think you know who.”
“I think Alpine knows who, too,” you say softly as the cat curls up once again in your lap.
“I thought you thought I was invisible,” Bucky whispers.
“And I thought you weren’t interested. That’s why I said yes to the damn fireman, Bucky!”
He blushes and laughs before coming to sit next to you. “You thought I wasn’t interested? I can’t keep my cool around you. I’m like a damn kid every time I see you. The chess pieces were everywhere! I choked on water seeing you in those jeans!”
You giggle. “I got so jealous seeing you with another girl.”
“Are you feeling okay now?” He asks, relaxing into the couch.
“I think so. I mean, Alpine made her choice clear. I guess we just have to get her dad on board,” you tease, stroking her fur.
“Her dad’s been on board since the moment he met you,” Bucky says softly, not breaking eye contact with you. Alpine meows as Bucky leans in and brushes his lips against yours, and damn, did it feel like a long time coming.
“Checkmate, Bucky!” Sam exclaims, walking around the corner and seeing the two of you locking lips. Bucky flips him off and keeps kissing you, feeling you smile against his lips. “About damn time!”
summary | bucky’s really not the club type, but one night of teasing and grinding leads to him worshipping you in an alley and begging to fuck you full the second you’re home. you make him plead for it—hard—before finally letting your needy, subby Sargeant get what he wants.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral sex (f!recieving), submissive!bucky barnes, breeding kink, praise kink, desperate sex, begging, reader has bucky on a leash (metaphorically…for now), dirty talk, bucky barnes loses all dignity and loves it
a/n | these two are my pookies, based on these three requests, 1 , 2 & 3
taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
you don't need to read the previous parts to read this one
ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs ᴘᴀʀᴛ - ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @cafekitsune
“Do we have to go?”
His voice came from behind you, low and already sulky, as you leaned over the vanity applying your lip liner with practiced ease.
You didn’t even flinch. Just kept going, eyes locked on your reflection, the tiny smile tugging at your freshly glossed lips betraying you.
“No,” you said casually, popping the cap back onto your pencil. “I have to go. You, my dear, decided to martyr yourself for the cause.”
Bucky groaned—loudly—from where he was sprawled on the edge of the bed, already dressed but looking like he was one minor inconvenience away from peeling his black button-up off and sinking back under the covers.
“You said it was just drinks.”
You turned, finally facing him, one hand propped on your hip. “It is just drinks. For her birthday. At a club. With music. And people. You know—civilization?”
He gave you a flat look, but it dropped the moment his eyes swept over your dress.
Sequins.
Black.
Tight in all the right places.
And short. So short he could see the edges of your sheer lingerie underneath when you turned back around.
“You’re gonna cause an international incident in that thing,” he muttered.
You caught his reflection in the mirror—jaw tight, eyes dark—and smiled slowly as you spritzed perfume behind your ears.
“I haven’t even worn heels yet, Sarge. You haven’t seen the full offense.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “This is torture.”
You snorted. “You could’ve stayed home.”
“I tried to. You guilted me.”
You turned to him again, walking over slowly—deliberately—until you were standing between his knees. He looked up at you like you were something dangerous. Something divine.
You leaned down just enough for your cleavage to barely brush his cheek.
“I said, I was going. I never asked you to come.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah. I know.”
You ran your nails through his hair, teasing. “But you just couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“Couldn’t let you out in this alone,” he murmured, hands sliding up your thighs. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”
You watched his fingers twitch where they rested on your thighs—like he wanted to grab you, drag you down onto his lap, keep you there. But he didn’t. Not yet.
So you leaned down instead, just enough for your lips to brush his.
Soft.
Gentle.
Barely there.
And Bucky? The man preened under it. That low grumble of irritation in his chest softened into something else entirely—something warm and needy, his hands trailing slowly up the backs of your thighs as he angled up to chase more.
You kissed him again. A little firmer. A little longer.
“Just an hour,” you whispered against his mouth.
He groaned, forehead tipping against yours.
“And then,” you added, letting your fingers slide through his hair again, “you get your reward.”
His eyes fluttered open. “What kind of reward?”
You peppered kisses across his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.
“The very good kind,” you murmured.
He leaned in, trying to catch your lips in a deeper kiss—hungry now, desperate to steal more—but you pulled back at the last second with a wicked little smile.
“Hold that thought,” you said, turning toward the closet. “I need my heels.”
Bucky let out an honest-to-god whimper as you walked away, that tiny black dress riding high on your thighs.
────────────────────────
The bass throbbed through the floor, through your heels, up your spine. Bodies pressed together on the dancefloor, all glitter and sweat and perfume—but you were the main event.
You and your two girlfriends owned the center like it was a spotlight.
Arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, drinks in hand, hips swaying in perfect sync as you danced, laughed, twirled like the music was playing just for you.
Your black dress caught the strobe lights like a mirrorball—sparkling every time your hips rolled to the beat, the sequins clinging to your curves in a way that made even strangers pause mid-step.
And from the shadows, Bucky watched.
Sat at the edge of a booth, drink in hand, jaw tight, legs spread wide and metal fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass. He didn’t blink often. Didn't move.
Just sat there like a statue, half in shadow, tracking every motion you made with the eyes of a sniper and the patience of a wolf.
Someone bumped into his table.
He didn’t look away from you.
Another guy brushed past you and your friends, maybe a little too close.
Bucky’s jaw flexed.
His grip on the glass tightened.
And you? You felt it.
You turned just slightly, gave him a smirk over your shoulder as your hips rolled in a slow, mocking figure eight—your friends hyping you up as you dropped low between them and came back up laughing.
You winked at him.
He looked like he was going to combust.
Eventually you wove your way back through the crowd, hips still swaying to the beat, the hem of your dress riding dangerously high with every step. The heat of the club clung to your skin, and your smile—lazy, knowing—was aimed straight at him.
Bucky barely moved when you stopped in front of him.
Just tracked your every step like a laser. That unreadable expression carved into his face.
But his drink?
Untouched.
“Drink break,” you said sweetly, plucking the glass from his hand without asking. You took a slow sip, then bent slightly, placing your free hand on his chest as you leaned in close. “Why’re you sulking, Sargeant?”
“I’m not sulking,” he muttered, deadpan.
You gave him a look.
“Okay,” he amended, “I’m just not… into this kind of thing.”
“The alcohol or the dancing?”
“The… everything.”
You laughed, soft and low, before casually sliding into his lap like it was your throne. One arm hooked around his neck, your body warm against his, glittering and flushed from the heat of the dancefloor. He tensed beneath you—his hands hovering, not quite touching, not yet.
“C’mon,” you whispered in his ear. “Just one dance. I’ll be good.”
He snorted. “You’ve never been good.”
You grinned, kissing the corner of his jaw. “You love it.”
He didn’t deny it.
Just groaned softly as your hips shifted on his lap, as you leaned in like you were about to kiss him—then pulled back just before your lips touched.
“I’m going back out,” you said, slipping off his lap. “But don’t worry.”
You met his eyes again, that familiar heat flaring between you.
“You’ll know where to find me. Since you’ve been staring like a stalker all night.”
And with that, you turned and sauntered away—back into the lights, the music, your friends. Your hips swaying with every step.
You didn’t need to look back to know his eyes were still locked on you.
Like they always were.
And Bucky tried.
He really fucking tried.
He stayed glued to the booth like it was the only safe zone in this sensory-overloaded club. Kept his eyes on you and his drink in hand, willing himself to just breathe.
But then—he showed up.
Some guy in a too-tight shirt and too-slick smile, sliding up behind you like he had a right to. Too close. Too casual. His hand brushed your lower back as he leaned in to say something, and you didn’t even notice—still laughing, still dancing with your friends, too caught up in the song.
Bucky’s glass cracked in his hand.
He was on his feet before it even hit the table.
It took him two seconds to cross the floor.
He shoved through the crowd like it didn’t exist, tunnel vision locked on that asshole brushing too close to you.
And then—contact.
Bucky’s hand shoved the guy back with a sharp, practiced force that was just shy of breaking ribs. The stranger stumbled, eyes wide, hands up in defense.
“Back. Off.” Bucky’s voice was low, deadly.
The guy didn’t argue. Just disappeared into the crowd.
You blinked, spinning around at the sudden shift in energy, music still pounding in your ears.
Your eyes lit up.
“Hey!” you beamed, throwing your arms around his neck like you’d summoned him with pure willpower. “Look who finally came to dance.”
He was still fuming. Still buzzing with adrenaline.
But your smile—your soft, clueless smile—hit him like a bucket of cold water and a blowtorch at the same time.
You pressed against him, still moving to the beat, your hands sliding into his hair.
And he didn’t say a word.
Didn’t have to.
His hands found your waist like he needed something to anchor him.
The music pulsed around you, deep and filthy. A rhythm you knew in your bones. And Bucky?
He stood still.
Tense.
Hands resting on your hips like he was afraid to move. Like if he touched you wrong, he’d wake up from this.
You leaned into him, letting your back press flush to his chest as you rolled your hips to the beat. His breath caught—sharp and quiet—right next to your ear.
“I don’t…” he began, his voice rough, uncertain. “I don’t know what to do here.”
You smiled, wicked and soft all at once.
“Don’t worry, baby,” you murmured, pressing back harder against him. “Just follow my lead.”
You reached behind you, grabbing his wrists and guiding his hands lower—over your hips, across your waist, until they were resting right over your thighs, right where that tiny scrap of dress ended.
“There,” you whispered, “isn’t that better?”
He groaned under his breath, fingers tightening just slightly.
You kept moving, grinding slowly against him, the curve of your ass brushing the growing bulge in his pants with every roll of your hips.
“You feel that?” you murmured, turning your head just enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear. “That’s how much you want me right now. In the middle of a fucking club.”
He exhaled hard.
You smiled.
“Still don’t know what to do?”
His hands trembled on your body. You could feel how hard he was behind you. How desperate.
And he was letting you lead. Letting you take him apart.
His hands gripped your thighs tighter now—desperate, barely restrained, fingers pressing into the bare skin exposed by your dress. You kept dancing, rolling your hips slow and smooth, rubbing back against his cock like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And Bucky? He was dying.
You felt the shudder run through him. Heard the ragged inhale as his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his mouth right by your ear.
“Baby…” he murmured, his voice cracked and low. “Please. Let’s go. I need—fuck—I need to get you alone.”
You hummed, soft and nonchalant, like he’d asked what song was playing.
“Mm? In a bit,” you replied, still swaying with the beat, still teasing him with every curve of your body against his. “It’s my girl’s birthday.”
“I don’t care,” he groaned, pressing closer, his cock hard and throbbing against your ass. “You’ve been driving me fucking insane all night.”
You turned your head just enough to glance back at him, lashes low, lips curved.
“Oh? You poor baby.”
“Please,” he whispered, hands sliding back up your waist, gripping your sides like he might lose it if you didn’t say yes. “I’ll do anything. Just—just please.”
You looked ahead again, letting the music wash over you, pretending not to notice how close he was to snapping.
And god, you glowed under his begging.
You kept moving, kept teasing, kept dancing—until he finally growled low in your ear, a sound full of warning and surrender.
“I swear to God—if you don’t come with me now…”
You smiled.
Victory, sweet and slow, dripping off your lips.
You finally turned in his arms, cupping his flushed face, and kissed him once—deeply—before murmuring against his mouth:
“Fine. Let’s go.”
He didn’t wait. Didn’t speak.
Just grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd like a man possessed.
You expected him to drag you to the car.
To fumble for keys with shaking hands, speed through traffic like a man on fire, and toss you onto the bed the second the front door clicked shut.
What you didn’t expect?
Was for him to yank you down a side alley the second you stepped outside the club.
“Bucky—what the fuck—?”
The night air hit your skin, sharp and cool, your laughter bubbling out from your lips as your heels clicked on the pavement, stumbling a little as he hauled you behind him with single-minded purpose.
“Hold on,” you laughed, “are we not going home—?”
But he didn’t answer.
Didn’t speak.
Just turned the corner into the shadows between two brick walls, pressed you against one of them like a secret, and dropped to his knees in front of you.
Your eyes widened.
“Wait—are you serious—? Bucky—get up—”
Your hands flew to his shoulders, trying to tug him upright, but he wasn’t budging.
Not even a little.
He looked up at you like he was seeing the sun for the first time—flushed, pupils blown wide, hair wild from the walk, lips parted in reverence and desperation.
“I’ve waited all night,” he said, voice rough and raw. “You—you were dancing like that, touching me like that. Whispering in my ear like I’m yours to tease.”
He slipped his hands up your thighs, his palms hot, steady.
“I need to taste you.”
You blinked, speechless.
And then—he lifted one of your legs and gently, so gently—hooked it over his shoulder.
Your dress rode up in the process, barely hiding anything anymore.
“Bucky,” you breathed, eyes wide, “we’re literally outside—”
“No one’s here,” he said, almost pleading. “I’ll be quick.”
He kissed your thigh, slow and reverent, just above the edge of your panties.
“Please,” he murmured, voice trembling. “Let me have you.”
And god help you—
You didn’t have it in you to say no.
He started slow.
Mouth pressing against your soaked panties, breathing you in like he’d finally found air. The wet heat of his tongue licked right over the thin fabric, and you shuddered, one hand flying to the brick behind you for balance, the other curling in his hair.
“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re really doing this…”
He hummed against you, a sound that vibrated through your core and made your legs go weak.
His hands were locked tight around your thighs, holding you open, steady, as he mouthed through the lace—licking broad, heavy strokes from bottom to top, pausing to suck gently over your clit even through the fabric.
“You taste—” he groaned, voice muffled. “Fuck, you taste so good.”
You bit your lip, hips bucking just slightly toward his face. “Yeah? That what you wanted, Sarge? Wanted me dripping while you knelt like this?”
He growled. A sound that came from somewhere low.
Then his fingers found the edge of your panties and tugged them aside—no patience, no preamble—just that same determined hunger in every move.
And then?
Skin to skin.
His mouth latched onto you—hot, wet, perfect—tongue dragging slowly up your folds, circling your clit with maddening precision. He was thorough, like he was mapping you with every lick, every flick, every groan.
Your head tipped back against the wall, breath hitching hard.
“Fuck, Bucky,” you gasped, “yes—yes—”
He moaned against you, and that was the end of your self-control.
Your hips started moving, slow at first, grinding softly against his face as his hands spread you wider, anchoring you down. His tongue fucked into you, deep and greedy, then came back up to suck hard on your clit—and it was too much, too good.
“Good boy,” you whispered breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair, holding him right there. “Just like that—don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop.
He feasted like you were his last meal.
Like he’d go down praying between your thighs if it meant dying with your taste on his tongue.
And you let him.
Your breath came in broken little gasps, legs trembling as you leaned harder into the wall for balance, your hips rolling forward, chasing his tongue.
He groaned into you again—louder this time—as if he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted, the way you melted for him.
His tongue thrust into you again and again, slow and deep, then faster, like he wanted to fuck you with it alone. He alternated between that and lapping up everything you gave him—soaked, messy, dripping all over his mouth and chin.
And you just… let go.
“Fuck—Bucky—fuck, that’s it—baby, just like that…”
Your praise spilled from you in shaky moans, every word making him groan again, his mouth sucking harder, tongue circling your clit with more pressure, more purpose.
“Such a good boy,” you gasped, voice breaking. “So hungry for me—fuck, look at you—”
He moaned, louder, like the words pushed him closer to the edge right along with you.
Then you felt it.
The cold press of metal fingers sliding along your folds.
You barely had time to brace before two slipped inside—deep, smooth, and slick from your arousal. The stretch made you cry out, head snapping forward to stare down at him.
He looked wrecked.
Mouth glistening, jaw working, eyes wild with need as he watched his fingers sink into you.
He thrust them deep once, twice—then curled them just right, tongue flicking over your clit as he built a rhythm.
You nearly screamed.
“Oh my God,” you gasped, clutching his hair. “Fuck, Bucky—yes—your fingers—so deep—don’t stop—”
He didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
You were everything. Right here, above him, dripping down his wrist, moaning his name like it meant salvation.
And he was going to make you come apart for him.
Right here in the alley.
Where anyone could hear. Where you were already too far gone to care.
You were trembling now—your thighs shaking where he held them, your body arching off the wall as your moans got higher, faster, more desperate.
“Bucky—fuck—baby, I’m gonna—I’m close—”
His fingers didn’t stop.
That metal hand, cool and slick, thrusting in and out of you with precision. His tongue—hot and greedy—worked your clit in tight, perfect circles, and all you could do was hang on, your hand fisting in his hair as your body spiraled toward release.
“You’re so fucking good to me,” you gasped, hips bucking. “So good—fuck, baby, just like that—don’t stop—you’re making me come—you’re making me—”
And then it hit.
Hard.
Your whole body locked up, then shattered—waves of pleasure crashing over you so sharp it left you breathless, crying out his name as your walls clamped around his fingers, your thighs squeezing tight around his head.
But Bucky didn’t move.
Didn’t even slow down.
He moaned into you like he was the one coming, like your orgasm turned him on more than anything else in the world.
He kept licking. Kept devouring.
His fingers slowed inside you, easing through your spasms as his mouth dragged through every drop of your release, his tongue lapping you clean like he couldn’t stand to waste a single drop.
When you finally opened your eyes, chest heaving, he was still there between your thighs—his mouth swollen, chin wet, eyes dark with hunger and reverence and something that looked like worship.
You reached down, cupped his face, breathless and wrecked.
“You are…” you gasped, voice hoarse, “so fucking dangerous, Sarge.”
He grinned. Didn’t disagree.
────────────────────────
The ride to Bucky’s apartment was a blur.
You were still reeling—floaty, lightheaded, drunk off your orgasm and vodka and the way he’d looked at you after licking you clean like you were dessert. Slumped in the passenger seat, one heel kicked off, legs parted, dress ruined and crooked.
And Bucky?
White-knuckling the steering wheel.
Silent.
Focused.
His jaw clenched like the only thing keeping him from pulling over and fucking you in the backseat was his last shred of sanity.
He didn’t even wait for the car to fully stop before he was out, coming around to your side, opening the door like a man possessed.
“C’mon,” he muttered, reaching for you.
You blinked at him, dazed.
Then giggled. “I can’t run in these heels, Sarge.”
He sighed. One of those long-suffering, deeply unamused sighs that came from the soul.
And then?
“Up.”
“What?”
“Up. Jump on.”
You blinked again.
And then started laughing—delighted, drunken, giddy.
“Wait, are you—are you giving me a piggyback ride right now—?”
He didn’t respond.
Just turned around, crouched down a little.
“Get your ass on my back or I swear to god I’ll throw you over my shoulder and deal with the neighbors staring.”
You snorted, heels finally coming off as you clumsily clambered up, arms around his neck, thighs around his waist. He stood like you weighed nothing, started walking fast, muttering under his breath the entire way.
“You get me hard enough to explode and now I’m a goddamn Uber.”
“You love me,” you murmured, nuzzling his neck.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s the problem.”
The stairwell echoed with the soft thump of Bucky’s boots, your breathy laughter, and his increasingly frustrated muttering.
He had one arm locked under your thighs, the other gripping your leg where it wrapped around his waist. Your chest pressed tight to his back, your lips everywhere.
“God, you’re heavy when you’re smug,” he grumbled, voice tight.
You bit down softly on his earlobe.
He groaned, staggered slightly.
“You love it,” you whispered, voice hot against his skin. “I’m your smug little problem.”
His breath hitched.
“I should’ve left you in that alley,” he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time now. “Should’ve walked away the second you climbed into my lap in that damn club.”
But his hand squeezed your thigh as he said it. His pulse was pounding.
You laughed, fingers brushing over the back of his neck. “Yeah, but you didn’t. You followed. You always follow.”
He reached the landing of his floor, adjusting your grip with a grunt as you started kissing down the side of his neck.
“Keep doing that,” he warned, “and I’m gonna fuck you right here in the hallway.”
You smiled against his skin.
“And that would be a punishment for who, exactly?”
He growled, low and dangerous, and finally reached his door—slammed his key into the lock with barely-restrained aggression, the door clicking open just in time to keep him from putting a hole through it.
He set you down just past the doorway, and the second your feet hit the floor, you laughed.
Bright. Teasing. Unapologetic.
And then you ran.
Not far—just a few steps down the hall, barefoot now, your ruined dress swinging with every step, giddy and high off the power humming between you.
You heard him groan behind you. That low, broken sound of a man barely holding it together.
“C’mon, baby,” he growled, already following. “Don’t play with me.”
You looked back over your shoulder, flashing him a grin so smug it could start a war.
“Who’s playing?” you called, half-laughing. “You looked like you needed a little cardio.”
“Oh my god,” he groaned again, but there was that glint in his eye—wild, hungry, so in love with you it almost hurt.
He picked up speed.
You squealed, turning into the bedroom just as he lunged and caught you—arms wrapping around your waist, dragging you back against his chest with a growl.
You were still laughing when his mouth found your neck.
Still grinning as his hands roamed your body like he was claiming it from memory.
Bucky wasn’t smiling. He was starving.
“Enough games,” he murmured into your skin. “I’ve waited.”
He held you from behind, arms locked around your waist, lips brushing your neck as you caught your breath, still laughing, still high off the chase.
“You promised me a reward,” he murmured, his voice low and wrecked, his hips pressing flush to your ass. “For getting through the night.”
You arched a brow, smirking over your shoulder. “Did you really get through the night, though?”
He groaned, full of mock betrayal and pent-up need.
“I chased you. I carried you. I knelt for you in an alley.”
“Mm,” you hummed, feigning thought. “Yeah, okay, you almost earned it.”
He sighed.
You didn’t have time to blink before his hand slid down your front—gripped the front of your dress at the seam—and ripped it in half.
The fabric tore with a loud, satisfying rip, split clean down the middle, falling off your shoulders like it’d offended him personally.
You gasped, spinning in his arms, eyes wide. “Bucky—this was new!”
He just looked at you—lips parted, breathing heavy, pupils black.
“Oops.”
You smacked the back of his head.
He didn’t flinch.
Just smirked, hands already smoothing over your now-exposed body like you were his favorite secret.
“You look better without it anyway,” he said, voice a rasp.
He didn't toss you—didn't throw you down with brute strength.
No.
Bucky guided you.
Hands on your waist, eyes wide and desperate, he backed you toward the bed like it was a shrine and you were the altar.
When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he gently pushed—and you let yourself fall back, grinning up at him, lingerie still clinging to your body in scraps, skin glowing, mouth parted.
He stood there, looming and wrecked, chest rising fast.
“Please,” he whispered, voice thick. “Can I… Can I have you now?”
Your brows lifted, lips curling into something warm and hungry.
“Oh, baby,” you said softly, sweetly, fingers tracing down your own stomach. “That depends. Are you gonna be good for me?”
He nodded, breath hitching. "Yes. Yes. Anything.”
You tilted your head. “Then take your clothes off.”
He obeyed immediately.
Button after button, dragging his shirt off like it burned, revealing scarred skin, that muscled chest, arms flexing with every frantic movement. His belt came undone next, pants shoved low on his hips, breath ragged as he kicked them away—desperate to be bare for you.
And you?
You stayed exactly where you were—lounging back on your elbows, legs slightly parted, eyes dragging slowly over every inch of him.
“Look at you,” you murmured, voice syrupy, teasing. “So eager. So pretty.”
He flushed—full body flush, from chest to cheeks—but didn’t stop. Didn’t speak.
He crawled up the bed with a kind of reverence—his hands on either side of your thighs, his mouth parted, eyes locked on you like he couldn’t believe you were real. His cock hung heavy between his legs, flushed and leaking, brushing your inner thigh with every slow, deliberate movement.
You just grinned.
Waiting for him.
Arms out, legs open, back arched just slightly—every inch of you a welcome.
When he reached you, you reached up and curled your fingers into his hair, gently pulling him down until his lips met yours.
Soft at first. Sweet.
Then deeper. Hungrier.
He groaned into your mouth, one long, low sound that vibrated against your tongue—and you felt it, the heat of his cock pressing into the thin barrier of your panties, grinding instinctively as his hips rocked forward.
You gasped into him, but didn’t pull back.
Didn’t stop.
Your lips brushed his as you whispered against his mouth, your voice low and sultry:
“You feel that? That’s how much I want you too, baby.”
He moaned again—nearly broke, shuddering above you like the sound of your voice alone could make him come.
“Please,” he whispered, hips twitching against you. “Please let me—please—”
You kissed him again.
Tugged your panties to the side.
And whispered, “Now.”
He lined himself up, hands shaking where they held your thighs, forehead resting against yours as he breathed—slow, ragged, trying to hold on.
“Go on, baby,” you whispered, fingers brushing his cheek. “I want you in me.”
His hips rocked forward.
Just the tip.
And the sound that tore from his throat—broken, raw—made your body clench.
He sank deeper.
Inch by inch.
His eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open as he finally filled you—completely.
“Ohh, fuck,” he gasped, barely able to speak. “You’re—shit, you’re so warm—so tight—God—”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him in, your voice like velvet.
“You feel that, baby? That’s your reward. You earned this.”
He nodded, forehead still pressed to yours, utterly wrecked.
“You make me feel—fuck,” he choked. “You make me feel so good, you—shit, you’re squeezing me—”
“Because you fit perfect,” you whispered, hips rolling up to meet him. “This pussy’s yours, Sarge. It’s been waiting for you.”
He whimpered.
Actually whimpered.
And when you whispered, “You gonna fill me up, huh? Gonna come in me nice and deep like you want to?”—
His entire body shuddered.
“Yeah,” he panted. “I want—I want to make you mine. I wanna see you dripping with me, I wanna—fuck, I wanna keep it there.”
You smiled, slow and satisfied.
“Then start moving, baby,” you murmured. “Make me take it.”
And he did. Shaky. Overwhelmed.
But desperate to please.
He started moving slowly at first—so slow, like he didn’t want to break you. Like every inch of your body was something he needed to savor, to remember by heart.
The drag of his cock inside you was maddening, thick and perfect, your walls fluttering around him with every pull and push.
“Fuck,” he moaned, his voice wrecked, forehead pressing harder to yours. “You—God, you’re so wet, you’re pulling me in, I can’t—fuck.”
You rocked up to meet him, hands on his back, fingers dragging down the muscles there as you cooed softly in his ear.
“You were made for this, baby,” you whispered, breath warm against his skin. “Made to fuck me slow like this. Fill me up ‘til I’m leaking.”
He whimpered again—and his hips stuttered.
Your praise drove him forward, made him lose that tentative rhythm and thrust deeper, a little harder, burying himself to the hilt with a strangled groan.
“That’s it,” you murmured, breath catching. “Just like that. You feel that stretch? Feel how full I am?”
His arms trembled.
“Yes.”
“You’re gonna fill me with your cum, huh? Make sure it takes?”
“Yes. God, yes. I want—” he swallowed, voice cracking, “—wanna see you all fucked out and messy. Want it dripping out of you, baby, wanna push it back in.”
You clenched around him, hard.
And he shuddered.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered, nipping his jaw. “My sweet little mess. You’re gonna come so deep, aren’t you?”
His breath hitched. His thrusts grew sloppier, more frantic.
“Yes. Please—please let me—fuck, I need to, I can’t—”
You squeezed him tighter with your legs, your cunt gripping him greedily as he kept thrusting, faster now, hips slapping against yours with sticky, wet heat.
He was close.
You could feel it—every tense muscle, every desperate sound from his lips, every trembling push of his cock into your soaking heat.
But you weren’t letting him finish yet.
Not until he begged. And he would.
His rhythm had unraveled.
What started as controlled, careful thrusts had turned into something messy, frantic—his hips slamming into yours with that wet, sinful sound, cock driving deep like he needed to be as far inside you as possible.
You took every inch, every needy push, eyes rolling back as you moaned for him—louder now, no longer teasing, but genuine, wrecked, completely overtaken by the stretch and the heat and the desperate sound of his voice.
“You feel so fucking good,” he panted against your throat, his voice cracked and pleading. “I can’t—I’m so close—please, I can’t hold it—please—”
You tightened your legs around his waist, gripping him closer.
“You wanna come, baby?” you gasped, mouth brushing his ear. “You wanna fill me up?”
“Fuck, baby—please,” Bucky gasped, panting against your shoulder as his pace faltered, cock twitching inside you. “I’m gonna—I need to—please let me come in you, I want it so bad, I need to—”
You cupped his face with both hands, guiding his forehead to yours as your hips bucked up to meet every desperate thrust.
“Yes,” you moaned, breathless and wrecked. “I want it. I want all of it. Fill me up, James—fucking give it to me.”
He groaned, a deep, strangled sound that vibrated through your entire body.
His thrusts picked up again—rougher, deeper, slamming into you over and over, the head of his cock grinding against your most sensitive spot until your vision blurred.
You clawed at his back, your legs shaking, voice breaking with every ragged gasp.
“That’s it, baby,” you cried. “Fuck—Bucky—I’m gonna—I’m coming—”
Your body seized around him, orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave—tight, intense, devastating. Your walls clamped down on his cock, pulsing, gripping him so tight it knocked the breath from his lungs.
That was it.
The final push.
His whole body shuddered.
“I need to, please, I need to—fuck, I need to come inside you, I wanna fill you so bad, please—please—”
You cradled the back of his head, pulled his face down to yours until your mouths were almost touching.
“I want it, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice passionate and tender all at once. “I want all of it. Fill me up, baby. Give it to me.”
And that was it.
He let out a broken, devastated sound—deep from his chest—and his hips stuttered, slammed into you one last time as he came hard, pulsing deep inside, buried to the hilt.
You felt it.
Hot, thick spurts pulsing into you, over and over, as he moaned your name like it was the only word he remembered. His arms wrapped tight around you, holding you flush to him as he pumped every last drop deep inside you.
You clenched around him on purpose.
He shuddered, crying out again, grinding into you even after he’d emptied himself—like he didn’t want a single drop to escape.
He didn’t pull out.
Didn’t move.
Just collapsed on top of you with a shaky breath, his face tucked into the crook of your neck, arms still tight around your waist like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.
His cock still nestled deep inside you.
Still pulsing, softening slowly, but not leaving.
You stroked your fingers gently down his back, feeling every tremor still rolling through him, every heartbeat pounding fast beneath his skin.
He was warm. Heavy. Completely undone in your arms.
And you held him like he was something precious.
He nuzzled into your neck, breath hot and uneven as he whispered, finally, “God. That was… fuck.”
You smiled against his hair, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on his spine.
“You earned it, baby,” you murmured. “Took your time, was so patient for me…”
“Barely,” he said with a breathless laugh, his lips brushing your throat. “I almost came the second I got in.”
“I know,” you teased, grinning. “I could feel it.”
He groaned again, embarrassed, and you kissed the side of his head.
You could feel his come already starting to slip out around him, warm and messy between your thighs—but neither of you moved to change that. You just stayed tangled, his body heavy over yours, his breathing slowly evening out as he melted against you.
After a few long, quiet moments of breathing each other in, Bucky finally lifted his head.
His eyes were still hazy, blue and heavy with something soft—something loving. He looked down at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense.
Then he leaned in and kissed you.
Slow.
Deep.
His mouth moved over yours with no rush, no heat this time—just something tender, raw and honest. You held the back of his head, fingers carding through damp hair as he kissed you like he meant it.
Like he was grateful for you.
For every second. It went on for minutes. No words.
Just lips brushing, tongues tangling lazily, the sound of your breaths mixing in the dark.
And when you finally pulled back, lips swollen, still catching your breath, you blinked up at him and murmured—
“…I need to get this fucking bra off me.”
Bucky huffed a soft laugh, forehead dropping to yours, his voice rough with affection.
“Let me,” he whispered, fingers already moving.
His fingers were warm and careful as he unhooked your bra, sliding the straps down your arms slowly like he was undressing a painting.
You let out a long, relieved sigh the second it came off, tossing your head back against the pillows.
“God, finally,” you muttered, stretching beneath him. “That thing was threatening my circulation.”
Bucky chuckled, soft and low, kissing your shoulder as he tossed it somewhere over his shoulder.
And then—reluctantly—he shifted.
You felt the drag of his cock as he slowly pulled out, a quiet groan rumbling from his chest at the sensation. Your body clenched at the loss, already slick and messy from everything he’d left inside you.
“Shit,” he murmured, still breathless, running a hand through his hair as he sat back. “I’ll get something—hang on.”
You blinked up at him, dazed and warm, watching as he padded out of the room ass naked—every muscle in his back moving with purpose.
He came back a minute later with a warm, damp cloth and knelt between your legs like it was routine, like he’d done it a hundred times. Which to be fair, he did.
He was quiet, careful—his touch gentle as he cleaned you up, wiping away the slick mess he’d left behind like you were something fragile.
You watched him with a lazy grin, your body heavy, boneless, your hair a wild halo against the pillows.
“God,” you murmured, one hand flopping over your stomach, “look at you.”
He glanced up, brow furrowed. “What?”
You smiled wider, all teasing affection. “Subby Bucky, kneeling at my altar after trying to breed me in half.”
He flushed instantly.
“Don’t—” he started, already flustered.
“Oh, no, it’s too late,” you purred, wiggling your hips a little just to see him twitch. “You were begging, baby. On your knees in an alley. And then what—filling me up like it was your life’s purpose?”
He groaned, dragging the cloth down your thigh with exaggerated care, not meeting your eyes.
“You’re gonna make me hard again.”
You snorted. “I’m gonna make you embarrassed, Sergeant Breeder.”
He gave you a look—half shame, half smitten.
Then leaned up and muttered against your inner thigh, “Keep talking like that and I’ll show you what round two looks like.”
You arched a brow, still grinning. “Is that a threat, Barnes?”
He kissed your thigh again, soft and slow.
“It’s a promise.”
You watched him finish cleaning you, tossing the cloth aside and crawling back up beside you on the bed, still flushed, still naked, still… so soft.
And you? Still grinning.
“Jesus,” you muttered, eyes flicking over him. “You really are the most obedient little breeding bitch I’ve ever seen.”
He groaned, dragging a pillow over his face.
You snatched it away.
“I mean it,” you teased, leaning on your elbow to poke at his chest. “You beg so sweet. You come like it’s your life’s mission. I swear, if I told you to knock me up, you’d probably salute.”
“Would not,” he mumbled—but it was weak.
You raised a brow. “Would too,” you shot back. “You’d be like, ‘Yes ma’am, anything to serve the cause—’”
“Stop.”
“And you know what’s next, right?”
He blinked. “What’s next?”
You shrugged casually. “Pegging.”
He frowned, sitting up slightly. “…Pegging?”
You stared at him for a beat—deadpan.
Then burst out laughing, flopping back onto the bed as your shoulders shook.
“Oh, baby,” you wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“I’m a hundred and six.”
“Exactly.”
He scowled, but it only made you laugh harder, dragging him down into your arms as you nuzzled into his neck, smug and stupidly in love.
He shifted beside you, still grumbling under his breath, and rolled off the bed, stretching that broad, bare chest in the soft moonlight.
“I’m gonna go clean up,” he muttered.
You rolled to your back, arm flopping over your face. “Cool. While you’re up—make me something. I’m starving.”
He paused in the doorway, turning just enough to give you that squinty little look of disbelief.
“You just called me a ‘breeding bitch’ and now you want me to cook for you?”
You didn’t even lift your arm. “I’ll let you fuck me again after.”
He stared at you for a long beat. Then sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
────────────────────────
Fifteen minutes later, he reappeared.
Hair damp. Shirtless. In boxers.
With a plate of perfectly arranged avocado toast in one hand, a glass of ice water in the other, and his laptop tucked under his arm.
You blinked up at him from the bed, instantly suspicious. “Why the laptop?”
He handed you the toast first.
“Because,” he said, settling next to you, “I wanna know what pegging is.”
You barked a laugh, nearly choking on your toast. “No you don’t.”
“I do.”
“No, seriously—you don’t. Your 40s brain will combust.”
He looked at you, dead serious, already flipping the screen open. “You said you’d tell me when I was older.”
You reached out to slap the laptop closed, but he dodged, brows furrowed in focus as he typed.
“I’m begging you,” you said through another wave of laughter, “don’t press play. Just read the definition.”
But it was too late.
He clicked the first link.
The sound kicked in immediately—moaning, skin slapping, a woman's voice cooing praise—and Bucky froze.
You took a casual bite of your avocado toast, eyes never leaving his face.
He was staring at the screen like it had personally betrayed him.
Brows drawn.
Lips parted.
A single line of tension in his jaw as he watched a woman, in full control, pegging a man who was practically melting beneath her.
You chewed.
He blinked.
Still watching. Still furrowed.
You took another bite.
And that’s when your eyes drifted down—beneath the covers. To the very obvious tent in the blanket over his lap.
You choked.
“Oh my god,” you cackled. “You’re hard?”
His head whipped toward you, horrified. “No—”
You laughed harder, mouth full. “Don’t you dare lie, Sargeant Submissive.”
“I didn’t mean to—” He fumbled, slamming the laptop shut so fast it made the toast on your plate jump. “It’s not—that’s not what I—”
You collapsed sideways into the pillows, crying from laughter, still holding your toast.
He sank back with a groan, covering his face with both hands.
“…I hate you,” he muttered.
You leaned in, kissed his cheek.
“No you don’t.”
“…Unfortunately.”
You settled back into the pillows, plate on your lap, watching him with that lazy, shit-eating grin still plastered across your face. Bucky sat rigid beside you, eyes slightly glazed, still red from embarrassment, the laptop now firmly closed and shoved off to the side like it might bite him.
Then—
“Why do guys… like that?” he asked, cautiously, eyes flicking to you.
You shrugged, nonchalant. “Because it feels good?”
He blinked.
You licked some avocado from your thumb, casually adding, “Men have their G-spot in their asshole, babe.”
Bucky just stared.
And you, without missing a beat, muttered under your breath, “Honestly, just more proof that all men should be gay.”
“What?”
You looked up, blinking innocently. “Hm?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing,” you said, biting into another piece of toast.
After a moment, he turned to you again—still clearly thinking about everything you’d just said. His brows were pulled together, eyes searching yours, voice quiet.
“…Do you like that kind of stuff?”
You shrugged, totally unbothered. “I wouldn’t say no.”
He blinked.
You smirked, chewing on your last piece of toast like you hadn’t just dropped that casually.
“It’s a real turn-on,” you added. “That’s why girls like gay porn.”
His confusion deepened. “Wait—what?”
You rolled your eyes, clearly about to educate him. “It’s more real, Buck. Guys in gay porn actually look like they’re into it. Normal straight porn? It’s usually made for the camera. Half the time the girls are just faking it.”
He looked horrified.
“…Faking it?”
“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Yes. You think every pornstar comes just from two minutes of jackhammering and zero foreplay? Please.”
He sat back like you’d just shattered an entire belief system.
“That’s… really depressing.”
You nodded solemnly. “Welcome to womanhood, Sergeant.”
You watched him sit there, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted, eyes darting from the closed laptop to your plate to anywhere but your face.
He looked like a man staring into the void.
So naturally, you leaned in, pressed a slow kiss to his cheek, and murmured right at his ear—
“Do you want me to peg you, Bucky?”
His entire body went still.
Like you’d just dropped a live grenade in his lap.
He didn’t answer immediately—but he also didn’t pull away.
Didn’t joke. Didn’t sputter out a denial.
You tilted your head, amused. “Not a no.”
Still, silence.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and you grinned, nosing at the sharp line of his jaw.
“You’re thinking about it,” you sang softly, placing a soft, teasing kiss right beneath his ear.
“No, I’m not,” he muttered—but it was way too quick, too defensive, and you could feel the way his body tensed under your touch.
“Oh, baby,” you whispered with a smirk, lips brushing his neck, “we really need to talk about your kinks.”
He groaned, dragging a hand over his face.
You were still snickering softly against his jaw, your hands trailing lazy patterns over his chest, ready to land one more teasing blow—
Until Bucky suddenly grabbed you.
With a groan of pure defeat, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and physically turned you to face away from him, spooning you like it was a tactical maneuver.
“Okay,” he grumbled against the back of your neck. “You’ve had your fun. Sleep now.”
You barely bit back a laugh, your body shaking with it.
“Is that an order, Sergeant?”
“Yes,” he deadpanned, already burying his face in your shoulder. “And no more pegging talk before bed.”
You grinned, eyes fluttering shut.
“Fine,” you whispered. “But tomorrow…”
“Tomorrow, I pretend none of this ever happened.”
Your smile only widened.
“Sure you do.”
And his only reply?
A long, exhausted sigh—followed by the quietest kiss pressed to your shoulder as he finally, finally, relaxed around you.
Summary : You never ask for help, even when your boyfriend wants to help you.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Ex-Widow!reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Watchtower fic. Reversal of the 'who hurt you?' trope. New Avenger!bucky and New!Avenger reader. Angst, Hurt/Comfort, reader was raised in the red room. trauma, injury, Cursing, non-sexual nudity and intimacy. bit of fluff!!!! Inspired by the song Walls by Kings of Leon.
Word count : 4.6k
Note : Bucky x red room!reader has been very heavily requested, so here it is! Taglist has not been updated but will be soon. Sorry, just been busy!!! Enjoy!
You never learned how to ask for help.
Not in the Red Room, where weakness was punished and silence was the only means of survival. Not when you were eight years old and pulled your own dislocated shoulder back into place. Not when you were fifteen and learned to kill without hesitation, or when Dreykov told you pain was just a minefield you had to run through.
By the time you escaped the Red Room and you were finally free—if anyone ever really was—some things were too late to unlearn.
You didn’t bleed in front of people. You didn’t cry. You didn’t ask for help, because help never came.
Then came Valentina. Then came the new Avengers. Then came him.
James Buchanan Barnes.
He was a soldier like you, a spy like you. The was broken once, too, then built again from whatever pieces were left. You understood each other before either of you spoke a word. The bond was instant but slow to surface, like fossils buried under frost.
You loved him before you ever admitted it.
Bucky loved you like it hurt him. He loved fiercely, tenderly, constantly. But where you were quiet in your pain, he noticed it. Every bruise you didn’t mention, every limp you masked, every silence you brushed off with a dry joke—he saw it all.
Bucky wanted to protect you.
But you never asked to be protected.
So, of course, it naturally took you six months to even admit to yourself that you might have feelings for him.
It happened after a mission gone wrong.
Not fatally wrong — no one died, no one got captured — but wrong enough that your teeth were clenched so hard that your gums ached, your gloves were soaked in an enemy's blood, and the extraction window had nearly closed because someone didn’t cover the flank.
And that someone was Bucky.
You stormed off the jet the second it touched down at the compound, slamming your knives onto the bench in the gear room and with restrained rage.
Of course, Bucky followed.
“What the hell was that out there?” you snapped, spinning around before he could speak. “You were supposed to take the left corridor. Instead you—what? Decided to go solo because you saw a better opportunity?”
“I did what needed to be done,” he said way too calmly. “If I hadn’t looped around, John would’ve gotten pinned. You think I wanted to split off?”
“You left me exposed,” you accused. “I almost took a round to the head because I thought I had someone on my six.”
“But you didn’t,” Bucky snapped. “Because I took that into account.”
The two of you were standing way too close now. Whatever the hell had been simmering between you for months started boiling over.
You shoved him.
He didn’t budge.
“This is so fucking stupid,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “You’re so—so smug. You walk around like no one can question you. Stupid, righteous ass, annoying fucker who’s too good at his job and too cocky because he knows he’s right.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “That what you think of me?”
“I think—” You stopped, chest rising and falling, fists clenched. “Fuck. Fuck, this is so stupid. It’s childish.”
He waited.
You looked at him — at the way he stood there. He was always watching you. Always catching the things no one else noticed.
Your voice cracked, “I think I have a crush on you.”
Oh.
You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Your heart thundered in your chest. You were ready for rejection, or laughter, or a dismissive shake of his head.
But all he said was, “How is that childish?”
You blinked. “What?”
“How is having feelings for me childish?” he said, stepping closer. His voice was low, and it lacked the heat, the sarcasm.
You looked away. “You don’t get it—”
“No,” he interrupted gently. “I do. Because I’ve been trying not to say anything for months because I thought maybe you didn’t feel the same.”
You scoffed. “You what?”
He let out a sweet yet frustrated laugh, as if he didn’t believe you never noticed. “What gave me away? The way I dive in front of bullets for you, or the way I bring you coffee every morning and pretend it’s just convenient?”
That made your lips curve up ever so slightly, despite the heat still in your chest.
“You still piss me off,” you said, softer now.
“Sure,” he replied, stepping close enough that your breath hitched.
Then he kissed you.
It was hard, desperate. His hands were rough, holding your face, pinching your chin gently and tilting your head up. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, and the rest of the world just… dropped away.
When you finally pulled back, forehead to forehead, you muttered, “This is a bad idea.”
“Probably,” he smiled. “Still want to try?”
You nodded. “Of course.”
Still, it frustrated him—how your walls stayed up even after you'd let him into your bed, your trust, your life. You were his partner, but still you held most things alone.
You kept surviving on instinct.
Bucky wanted to be your safe place. And it maddened him that you wouldn’t let let him, even the part of you that loved him still didn’t know how to let him love you back.
Bucky had a lot of demons. You never scared him. But watching you flinch away from his concern terrified him.
—
Three months later…
You knew the mission was off the moment you stepped into the alley.
It was too quiet, like someone had already told them you were coming.
Still, you moved forward.
Two minutes later, it was chaos.
The intel carrier was a decoy, and you were ambushed by three mercs with military-grade weapons and more training than you were led to expect. Before you knew it, one pushed a knife just under your arm, driving up and in through the soft tissue of your side.
You didn’t scream. You bit down hard and twisted the blade out of your own skin with a grunt, turned the motion into an attack, and dropped him where he stood.
The other two didn’t last long.
But neither did your composure.
By the time you stumbled back to the jet, blood had soaked through your suit, and every breath was jagged.
You didn’t call for backup.
You didn’t radio Bucky or ping mission control, even when your hands started shaking.
You just activated autopilot, ripped open the med kit, and stitched yourself up with trembling fingers and an awkward angle.
No anaesthetic or mirror, just you and a needle.
You bit down on the fabric of your glove, sweat beading along your hairline as you worked the needle through skin. Too shallow and it would tear. Too deep and it would scar. Not that you gave a shit about scars.
You wrapped the wound tight, when you were done, when you sat back against the cold jet wall and stared at the ceiling, teeth clenched so hard your jaw ached.
It was fine.
You were fine.
Just like always.
When the jet landed back at the tower hours later, you pulled your jacket tight over the bandage and strode down the ramp like nothing had happened. You smiled at Bob in the common room and nodded at Ava in passing.
When Bucky caught your arm, eyes narrowing at the way your hand twitched at your side, you brushed him off with a look. “You okay?”
“Just jet lag,” you said, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth meant to calm him down. “Nothing serious, babe.”
He didn’t buy it. You knew he didn’t. But you kept walking before locking yourself in your room.
—
There was a knock on your door thirty minutes later.
You knew it was him.
You didn’t answer.
“Hey,” Bucky’s voice came from the other side of the door after a beat, casual on the surface—but you could hear the tightening underneath. “Can I come in?”
You stared at the door for a moment, then turned back toward your bed.
“Later.”
There was a pause, before you heard the urgency in his tone. “Now, please.”
It was the kind of tone that didn’t push, but didn’t budge either.
You exhaled through your nose. “Fine.”
The door opened, but not fully— just enough for him to step in.
His eyes found you instantly, standing stiffly by the dresser, arms crossed, face taut with frustration.
“Hi,” he said, like he might still salvage this. “You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?”
“I said not now.”
“I heard you,” he replied, shutting the door behind him. “But I’m here anyway. So.”
You turned around, pain flaring at your ribs. “What do you want?”
He noticed, gaze dipping. “Who hurt you?”
For you — an injured animal caged into a corner — it landed like a punch and tasted like an accusation.
You stiffened. “Don’t do this.”
He tilted his head. “Please—“
“I’m fine.”
“Your side—”
“How do you even know that?” you snapped, flinching when you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself.
“You walked to one side,” he said. “And I saw the blood on the jet. You cleaned it up fast, but you missed some. You also used two syringes from the med kit and didn’t log it.”
Your stomach dropped.
“You keeping tabs on me now?” you asked, retaliating.
“I’m not keeping tabs, I live here—and I pay attention to you,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s what people do when they care.”
“Care?” You let out a bitter laugh, trying to deflect. “Is that what this is? Or are you just trying to babysit your girlfriend?”
Bucky’s eyes flashed. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” you challenged. “Don’t say the thing we’re both thinking?”
“I’m not infantilizing you.”
“You’re not? Because this—” you gestured to the space between you “—feels like you don’t trust me to handle myself.”
He was quiet for a beat, he was trying to find words that wouldn’t make you pull further away.
“I trust you,” he said, voice low. “But I saw you come back hurt, and instead of asking anyone for help— or go to the infirmary, you hid it.”
You clenched your fists. “I didn’t want to deal with you treating me like I’m fragile.”
“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he said, exasperated. “I think you’re hurt and you’re acting like you don’t want me to care.”
“That’s not your job.”
The metal plates of his vibranium arm shifted, and for the first time, his voice raised. It was not loud, just… pained. “I’m not here because it’s my job, I’m here because I love you.”
That stopped you cold in your tracks.
Bucky stared at you, breathing hard. “So when I saw blood and you shutting me out, yeah—I panicked. Not because I think you’re weak, but because I want to help.”
Your chest tightened, but pride was louder than pain. “I don’t need saving.”
His eyes didn’t leave yours. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is?” you bit out.
He let a deep breath through his nose, and for the first time, his voice broke a little. “I’m not mad you got hurt,” he said. “I’m mad you didn’t trust me enough to help. You didn’t even want me in here.”
You folded your arms across your chest and regretted it instantly when pain bloomed under your bandage.
“Maybe I wanted to deal with it myself,” you snapped. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you every goddamn thing!”
His eyes shifted. He didn’t argue.
“You don’t,” he said quietly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
You both just stood there for a moment, locked in a kind of stalemate that didn’t quite feel like winning.
Bucky turned toward the door. “I care about you,” he said.
You didn’t answer or move.
And when he stepped out, you said, “I just need space.”
He paused—just for a second—but didn’t turn back.
And you pushed the door shut behind him.
—
The punching bag groaned under Bucky’s metal fist. He wasn’t pulling his punches—not tonight.
Thud. Thud. CRACK.
The chain creaked, and the bag swung violently to one side. Soon, he heard a slow clap echoing from behind him.
“Feel better?” Yelena teased.
He didn’t turn. “Not even close.”
She strolled in, wearing sweats and a sarcastic smile, and a half-eaten
protein bar in one hand. Typical Yelena—casual as hell, like the world couldn’t touch her. But Bucky knew better. They both had ghosts—just different corners.
“You’re going to break that thing,” she added, nodding to the bag. “And you should be careful with the way you ask that question.”
Bucky didn’t look up. “What question?”
“‘Who hurt you?’” she said, voice half-mocking, half-sincere. “Big mistake, Barnes. You ask that to a Red Room girl and you better be ready to duck.”
He sighed. “You heard us.”
“I think even Ava heard the argument, and she is three floors up.”
Bucky let out a bitter breath. “Do you think I screwed up?”
“She kicked you out of her room, yes?”
He nodded.
“Then yes,” she hummed. “You screwed up. Or she did. Or both. Probably both.”
“I was just trying to help. She was hurt, and she didn’t tell anyone. She lied about it.”
“She didn’t lie,” she corrected, “She withheld. There’s a difference.”
“She didn’t have to go it alone,” Bucky shook his head. “I was right there.”
“Yes,” Yelena’s voice softened. “But alone is what we’re good at.”
He sighed, not wanting to hear what he already knew to be true.
Yelena leaned forward, taking a bite of her snack. “By Red Room standards, I got lucky. Fake family, borderline functional spy-parents, annoying sister. I had… a taste of a family. people to remind me what kindness looked like, even if it was bullshit half the time.”
She shrugged. “But her? She didn’t get sent to Ohio. No fake American pie. No pretend bedtime stories. She had the real Red Room. Just… handlers.”
Bucky closed his eyes. “I just wanted her to let me in.”
Yelena stood and stretched, then nudged his shoulder with hers. “I know. You were trying to love her. That’s not the problem.” She turned toward the door, then paused. “You just forgot something.”
He looked up. “What?”
“You’re not here to fix her, Bucky. She has to do that herself.’ Her voice was kinder now — not condescending, not sarcastic. “You’re her partner. She doesn’t need you to ask who hurt her.”
Bucky tilted his head.
Yelena didn’t even look over her shoulder as she walked away. “She needs to trust that you wouldn’t.”
—
The morning after, you woke up sore.
Not just your side—though the wound throbbed like it was pissed at you—but in your chest.
You’d barely slept, and the silence in your room was louder than ever before.
You weren’t proud of how last night ended.
But you also weren’t ready to admit it out loud.
You sat on the edge of the bed in yesterday’s clothes, staring at the door like it might offer answers if you glared hard enough. It didn’t.
What did come, though, was the sweet scent of breakfast.
You opened your door and almost tripped over it.
There laid a covered tray, still hot.
You opened it and saw your favourite breakfast— toast with way too much butter and maple syrup, a few slices of crispy bacon, and even coffee—just the way you drank it.
You blinked.
A small folded note sat beneath the mug, written in neat block letters.
“Thought you might still be mad. But you still gotta eat.
— JBB”
There was no lecture or apology. Just… care.
Your first instinct was to leave it. To prove a point or maintain a boundary or whatever.
So you closed the door paced for a few minutes.
But the smell.
God, the toast was warm and golden and perfectly ruined in that way you liked.
You stared at the door from the inside of your room.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Fuck, you were hungry— you didn’t have dinner last night.
You muttered under your breath like a gremlin. “Stupid stubborn super soldier.”
You opened the door again and very cautiously pulled the tray inside like it might explode. You sat down on your bed and your arms. Then you uncrossed them. You picked up a piece of bacon, sniffed it, and ate it.
It was perfect.
You didn’t want to smile. But you did. Just a little.
You whispered to no one, “Thanks, Buck.”
—
Down the hall, Bucky leaned quietly against the wall just out of view.
When he heard the faint scrape of the tray being pulled inside, he let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.
—
The shower was supposed to help.
You stood under the spray with your forehead against the tile, letting the heat soak into your muscles. Steam curled around you, thick and humid. The kind that fogged the mirror and made your breath feel heavier. You watched a droplet trace its way down your wrist, vanishing into the edge of the drain.
You hadn’t washed since you got back from the mission—barely slept, barely spoken. Just bandaged yourself up in the jet and buried the pain like you always did.
It was stupid. You knew it. You just didn’t want to see the worry in their faces. In his face.
You squeezed your eyes shut, let the water run over your body, then grabbed the loofah.
It was muscle memory— Scrub, rinse, repeat. So you weren’t even thinking when you dragged it over your ribs—just moving on instinct, wanting to be clean. Scrub the blood. Scrub the tension. Scrub everything off.
And then—
You felt white-hot pain.
You hissed, froze, and looked down.
The wound was red— bright and fresh across the gauze, soaking into the water swirling down the drain— the loofah had latched on to a thread and tore it out.
The stitches were completely pulled out.
“Shit.”
You staggered out of the shower, dripping and trembling, gripping the sink for balance as steam spilled into the room. The mirror was a smeared blur, your reflection hidden behind a ghostly mask of condensation as a trail of red followed you.
You grabbed the towel with shaking fingers and wrapped it tight around your chest, pressing your palm against the fresh bleed at your side. The warmth of the water was already turning cold against your skin, and the throb in your ribs had gone from dull to searing.
You dropped to the floor with a grunt, pulling the first-aid kit from beneath the sink. Your knees hit the tile hard. You didn’t flinch as you opened the case and pulled the supplies into your lap: needle, thread, gauze, antiseptic.
The blood made your hands slick.
You tried to thread the needle. Twice. Missed. On the third attempt, it slipped from your grip and clattered against the tile. You cursed under your breath, picked it up again, finally got the thread through the eye.
You pinched the skin along the gash.
Just a few stitches. You could do this.
But when you tried to push the needle in, your hand shook too hard. It missed the edge of the skin and dragged instead, scratching you. You tried again, gritting your teeth, but your vision blurred with the steam and the sweat and the water still dripping from your hair.
The third time, the needle went in—then tore the skin when you pulled too fast.
“Fuck!”
Your chest rose and fell. Your heart thudded behind your ribs, against your wound. You looked down at the mess of gauze and blood, the trembling in your fingers, the way your breath caught in your throat.
This was nothing.
You’d been shot before. Tortured. Conditioned.
But right now—sitting half-naked on the bathroom floor, wet and cold and bleeding again—you weren’t fine.
For the first time in a long time, you thought, I don’t want to be alone for this.
So you got up, pressed the towel tighter, and walked barefoot down the hall toward Bucky’s room.
—
You didn’t knock right away.
You stood outside his door barefoot, one hand clutching the towel, the other pressed to the wound at your side, now throbbing with a hot ache. You hated how unsteady your legs felt, how your heartbeat was rattling inside your chest.
Finally, you raised your knuckles and knocked twice.
The door opened almost instantly, like he’d been standing just on the other side, waiting.
And maybe he had been.
Bucky stood there in a dark long-sleeved henley and sweatpants, barefoot, his hair damp like he’d showered recently. The second he saw you, his expression changed—not shocked. Not angry.
Just worried.
His eyes flicked down to the blood seeping through the towel. Then back up to your face. You expected a million probing questions, like how did this happen? Why didn’t you come to me sooner? How could you do this to yourself?
He asked none.
You started to speak—“I—”—but your voice cracked, and the word never made it out.
Instead, you just looked at him, hand tightened over your side.
Bucky stepped aside without a word.
And that was it. No demand. No scolding. No what were you thinking?
You stepped inside slowly, the door closing behind you with a click.
You stood in the middle of the room you were very familiar with— you’ve spent most of your nights here, after all— and tried your best to stay up.
He strode by you, looking at you like you hadn’t pushed him away last night.
His voice, when it came, was gentle. “Let me help.”
You nodded, just once, your chin trembling.
And finally, you like it hurt you to admit, you whispered, “I couldn’t do it on my own.”
“I got you,” he said simply.
Not I’ll fix you.
Not You should’ve come sooner.
His hands rose to take the edge of the towel from you. He waited—watched your eyes—for permission.
You gave it.
And as he peeled the fabric away from your ribs, his touch never faltered.
He studied the red gashing wound before helping you down to sit on his bed. He grabbed his first air kit from his bedside.
“I ripped the stitches,” you admitted the obvious.
He knelt in front of you without a word. The reopened gash was deep, but clean. No sign of infection, but it needed fixing.
“You scrubbed it open?” he murmured.
You groaned. “With a loofah. Like a genius.”
He gave a tiny huff of amusement. “A dangerous weapon.”
“I think it’s actually stronger than Walker.”
“Definitely smarter.”
You smiled despite yourself. Your arm dropped slightly, and Bucky reached for a clean towel and laid it gently across your lap before reaching for the antiseptic. You watched him work—his metal hand deft and practiced, his human one in a support capacity.
“This is gonna sting,” he warned. “But I’ll go slow.”
You nodded.
He cleaned the wound gently, pressing gauze against it in soft, rhythmic motions. It hurt, but not like before.
He threaded the needle and began stitching. The pull of the thread through your skin made you flinch, but his hand was there—resting gently on your thigh.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned back on your hands, letting him finish.
Neither of you said anything for a while.
When he tied the last knot, he set the needle aside and wiped the blood away with a damp cloth.
He looked up at you, eyes scanning your face. “You okay?”
You blinked at him—then dropped your eyes.
And for the first time, you didn’t say “fine.”
Your voice cracked when you said, “No,” followed with a quieter, “No, I’m not.”
Your lip trembled, and suddenly your face folded in on itself, hands rising to cover your eyes too little too late—too slow to hide the tears that came all at once.
You tried to stop it.
You tried to breathe through it, tried to hold yourself together because that’s what you’d always done.
But Bucky was already moving. He didn’t say anything and opened his arms.
And that was all it took.
You leaned in like gravity pulled you there, and you felt his arms close. Your shoulders shook and soaked his shirt through your tears.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t let go.
His hand moved across your back in long, rhythmic strokes. He rested his chin gently on your head, his metal arm gently circled your waist, holding you without trapping you. His other hand moved to your hair, fingers sliding through the strands in calming patterns.
Your knees tucked up against his and your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. You breathed in his scent, faint soap and aftershave and something familiar that made you fall in love all over again.
He adjusted you without a word, easing you down so your cheek rested against his chest. His thumb brushed your temple once, then again.
He held you until your breathing slowed. Until your hands unclenched. Until your shoulders stopped rising, until you were still.
And when the last of the tears had soaked into his shirt, you stayed like that for a long time.
—
That night, he found you one of his shirts—worn and too big. You slipped it over your head in the bathroom, careful not to pull your stitches, and returned to the room with bare legs and clean skin.
Bucky opened the covers and moved aside.
You climbed into the bed beside him.
And after a long stretch of silence, you finally found the courage to say, “Thank you.”
Bucky turned his head toward you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Anytime.”
“And in case you were still wondering who did this,” you sniffled, “The guy who was supposed to be my informant got lucky.”
Bucky wrapped his arm around you, though not too tight. “You take his knife?”
“Left it in his thigh,” you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, finding a comfortable spot. “His wound is definitely deeper than mine.”
"That's my girl," he whispered proudly, his hand still gently stroking up and down your back.
The room had gone quiet, save for the occasional creak of old pipes and the hum of the heater kicking in. Bucky didn't move, enjoying your weight pressed into his chest, your cheek warm against the curve of his shoulder. His fingers trailed through your hair absently — like muscle memory.
"You know," he murmured after a while, his breath brushing against your hairline, "I still don't understand how you do it. Take down someone three times your size."
He smiled a little, one of those soft, private ones meant just for you, even though your breathing had deepened into a slower rhythm.
"Yelena and Ava, do it, too, sure," he went on, lips barely moving. "But with you… It’s so much brute force." He chuckled a low rumble in his chest. "It even scares me sometimes."
No response. Not a shift, not a twitch from you. He tilted his head, finally noticing the way your breathing had slipped and steadied.
Bucky glanced down at you, as realization settled in. "You fell asleep on me, didn’t you?" he said, barely above a whisper. "Jesus, doll, you were that tired?"
One tiny, unmistakable snore answered him — high-pitched and fleeting, almost like a hiccup, and then another.
He couldn't help it — he laughed, delighted. "God, your snores are adorable."
He pulled the blanket up a little higher over your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your temple.
"Sleep, baby. I got you," he whispered. "Always got you."
And then, with you curled against him, still snoring softly into his neck, Bucky closed his eyes, too.
-end.
I have an idea for a part two that might never get written: Bucky genuine cannot believe it when you ask him if you could permanently move into his room.
pairing: hockey captain!bucky barnes x fem!reader (modern au)
warnings: just teeth rotting fluff, some sports trash talk,
summary: the national title on the line. one last goal. and bucky doesn’t skate to the trophy — he runs to you.
word count: 2.8k
author's note: hi my loves! i couldn't stop thinking about this idea! and because i am a swiftie, this is heavily inspired by the alchemy (one of my many favourite songs) i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i do, love you guys and stay safe!
i love soft!bucky so freaking much
The crowd was thundering.
Not the kind that rumbled in the distance no, this was the kind that cracked the sky open. The kind that rose and crashed in waves, relentless and hungry.
The stands shook with boots stomping on aluminum bleachers. Painted signs bounced in the air, words blurring from the motion—GO THUNDERBOLTS, CAPTAIN BARNES #91, KISS FOR LUCK scrawled in lipstick.
Faces flushed red with cold beer and high hopes. Flags waved, foam fingers pointed, and a hundred thousand hearts pounded in time with the bass of the pre-game anthem pulsing through the speakers.
This wasn’t just a game.
It was the game of the year.
Finals night.
National Hockey League Championship.
The Thunderbolts vs The Avengers.
Two rival teams, two captains with so much history and one trophy gleaming behind the glass.
The anthem had barely ended before the roar kicked up again, raw and ravenous.
Spotlights danced across the crowd like searchlights over a battlefield, and the overheads dimmed just enough to make the ice glow—pristine, perfect, untouched, a fresh battlefield waiting to be claimed.
Cameras swung in wide arcs across the arena, cutting from row to row, finding the faces that made up the frenzy.
Fans in war paint, faces streaked with glitter and ink, jerseys layered over hoodies, fingers locked around hotdogs and cardboard trays of fries, beer sloshing over gloved hands.
Everyone yelling.
Everyone watching.
And then—the camera landed on you.
Dead center. First row behind the Thunderbolts’ bench.
Wearing his jersey.
“Barnes” stitched in clean bold letters across your shoulders. The deep navy fabric pulled snug where it was tucked into the waistband of your jeans. Sleeves rolled just past your elbows. The Thunderbolts logo—a silver lightning bolt spearing through a black-and-blue shield shimmered faintly beneath the lights.
Your grin bloomed instantly when you saw yourself on the jumbotron—sharp and nervous and entirely unfiltered.
One hand flew up to your cheek, laughing in surprise. The other still held tight to the paper soda cup you hadn’t touched in ten minutes.
And then the commentators pounced.
“Ooooh, and look who we’ve got in the front row tonight!” one of them crowed, amusement crackling in his voice. “That’s Barnes’ girlfriend, she’s already wearing the number 91 like a badge of honor!”
The other chuckled, already rolling with it. “You’ve gotta love it, Bill. Young love, big stakes. She’s all in tonight. And the question on everyone’s mind—will Barnes bring home the trophy tonight? Or will Rogers shut him down one last time?”
You flushed hard, heat flooding your cheeks, but your smile only widened. Your fingers twisted nervously in your lap, the cup long forgotten.
The spotlight swept on—and the thunder swelled again.
The Thunderbolts were being called onto the ice.
First came Ava. Sharp, and fast. She cut across the blue line like a blade, sleek in her uniform, her form low and agile as she glided across the rink. Her braid flicked behind her helmet like a threat, chin high, eyes locked forward.
Then Bob. Wild grin beneath his helmet, that familiar bounce in his stride like he was skating into a bar fight instead of a championship. He gave a ridiculous salute to the crowd, winked at someone in the third row, and pumped his stick once in the air.
John followed, big and loud, throwing a fist into the sky like a gladiator entering the ring.
Yelena came next. Practically vibrating with excitement, her grin so wide it looked dangerous. She skated backward just for the hell of it, flashed a peace sign at the Avenger’s bench, and flipped off Tony Stark when he yelled something back.
And then —
“Number ninety-one…BUCKY BARNES!”
The arena exploded.
The glass walls behind the benches vibrated with the noise. The rafters groaned. People were screaming his name—BARNES, BARNES, BUCKY, BUCKY—the rhythm of it echoing like a chant across the rink.
You shot out of your seat without thinking, hands flying to your mouth, heart stuttering in your chest like it couldn’t keep up.
And then he appeared.
Skating out from the tunnel like he owned the damn world.
No waving.
No showboating.
He skated clean, hard, powerful—straight across the rink like the ice had parted just for him. His strides were controlled, each one cutting smooth into the surface, blades singing. He stopped short of the bench, stick tapping once against the ice with a heavy clack.
Then, he turned.
Just enough to find you.
His helmet was tucked low, shadowing his eyes, but it didn’t matter. You could feel him find you. See you. That weightless flicker of connection when two people find each other in a crowd of thousands.
And then—
That grin.
God, that grin, that same grin that made you fall hopelessly in love with him back in college.
Crooked. Boyish. And ever so infuriatingly sure of itself.
He didn’t wave, didn’t mouth a word.
Just gave you the faintest nod, like a promise. Like watch this, baby.
And then—
The puck dropped.
“Thunderbolts coming in fast from the left side, Ava’s on the edge with the puck, she’s got Bob tailing her for backup—”
The announcer’s voice rang loud over the speakers, almost drowned out by the buzz of the arena.
Ava skated hard, slicing across the ice like a bullet fired from a gun, body low and focused. Her stick tapped the puck forward with quick, lethal flicks, weaving past one defender, then another.
Bob was on her tail, his form bulkier but no less agile, cutting in wide to draw a second Avenger off the line.
The Thunderbolts were moving as one, quick and ruthless, barely blinking.
“Wait for it—OH! Big interception by Wilson for the Avengers, clean take on the boards, he’s flying down center ice—”
The collective gasp was instant.
Sam was fast.
Too fast.
He pivoted so tightly off the wall it looked impossible, scooping the puck on his blade mid-turn and blasting down center ice. The Thunderbolts scrambled to recover, boots hitting the ice in frantic scrapes, blades cutting through the frozen surface like razors.
Yelena cursed under her breath—you saw it from the bench cam, the sharp twist of her mouth unmistakable as she shot back toward the neutral zone in a blur of motion.
You knew that look. Knew it well. You’d been friends since high school, back when she used to play pickup games with the boys just for fun.
She hated being outrun, hated it like it offended her personally. And judging by the speed she was moving now, someone was damn sure about to pay for it.
Bucky fell in behind her.
Unlike the rest, he didn’t panic.
He skated backward, cool and calculated, reading the play like he’d seen it a hundred times before. His knees bent, balance low, eyes flicking between Wilson streaking down the middle and Rogers gliding up the opposite wing, already sizing up his angle just outside the blue line.
And then, Steve entered the zone.
The crowd went feral. The commentators lost their minds.
“Rogers, himself folks, lining up for the slapshot—!”
Steve adjusted his grip with deadly precision, dragging the puck across the line and winding up like a spring. The stadium held its breath. Cameras clicked. Flashbulbs lit the glass.
And then —
CLANG.
Stick on stick.
Bucky didn’t just block the shot—he rejected it.
The blade of his stick met Steve’s with a metallic crack that echoed across the ice, the force of it spinning the puck up and off course like it had hit a steel wall.
The puck arced high, spiralling toward the boards as both captains skated through the impact. Steve’s blade skidded empty.
The crowd howled.
Steve turned slowly, arching a brow beneath his helmet. The half-smile that played across his face was all teeth.
Familiar.
Bucky skated past with ice in his veins and zero hesitation. He didn’t look back. Just kept gliding, chin raised, mouth curling.
“Try again, punk,” he smirked, eyes locked with Steve’s as the puck spun away.
Steve chuckled. “Make me.” And peeled off.
Your heart was racing.
No, not just racing. Hammering.
You couldn’t stop bouncing in your seat. The coke you held in both hands had gone warm long ago, the paper cup soft with condensation, but you hadn’t taken a sip. Your eyes were locked on the rink like your life depended on it.
Every pass was a lightning bolt.
Every movement a blur.
The game was brutal, but brilliant. A war fought in blades and bruises. This wasn’t teammates having fun. This wasn’t friendly competition.
This was rivalry.
Hits against the boards came hard and fast. Elbows tucked sharp. Shoulders thrown into chests with unapologetic force. You flinched each time someone slammed into the wall, the crack echoing up into your ribs.
Still, through the chaos, Bucky led.
He was everywhere.
Every line.
Every pivot.
You watched him bark something to Bob, nod once to Yelena, then slash down the rink with the kind of clean, perfect control that only came from years of skating like the ice was his home.
He skated like fire. Moved like smoke.
His stick kissed the puck and made it sing.
“BUCKY! HERE!”
Yelena’s voice split through the noise, loud and sure. She tore up the right side like she’d stolen something, and Bucky didn’t even look.
He passed blind.
A perfect no-look cross-zone—sharp, clean, so instinctual it looked choreographed. The puck streaked across the ice, too fast to track.
Crack.
Bob’s blade met it in motion, and the sound was surgical.
And then—
SLAM.
Straight into the Avengers’ net.
The red light flared. The buzzer screamed.
Thunderbolts: 1.
Avengers: 0.
The arena exploded.
“WE’RE ON THE BOARD, BABY!” the commentator bellowed, practically lifting out of his seat. “What a setup—Barnes to Belova, Belova to Bob, and in she goes!”
Fans surged to their feet, foam fingers punched the air, and you clapped both hands to your mouth in shock, laughing, beaming, glowing.
On the bench, Alexei looked like he was going to combust.
“THAT’S HOW YOU DO IT, BARNES! I TEACH HIM THAT!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, pounding the plexiglass like a drum. “YOU SEE THAT PASS? HE LEARN FROM ME!”
Stark, meanwhile, was livid.
On the Avenger’s bench, he was a one-man storm—clipboard flailing, tie half-undone.
“Rogers! Wilson! You gonna let him dance around you like that? I swear to god, this isn’t fucking disney on Ice!”
The camera caught John laughing so hard he nearly fell off the bench.
You could even see Yelena, skating backward toward center, roll her eyes from behind her visor, muttering something that made Ava snort.
And Bucky—
Bucky just skated to the bench like he hadn’t even tried.
Stick low.
Jaw sharp.
Eyes already on the next play.
Second period.
Tie game.
The ice glistened with sweat and melted friction, grooves carved deep from blades and fury.
Both teams were breathing hard, skating harder, the weight of the scoreboard pressing down like a vice.
Every hit sounded louder now. Every pass carried desperation.
The Avengers had clawed one back.
It wasn’t a clean goal, not by Thunderbolts standards, anyway. It was sneaky. Wanda had slipped it in off a deflection, the kind of tip-in that no one even saw coming until the red light flashed behind the net.
Bob turned, confused, and smacked the post with his stick.
The crowd gasped, half in awe, half in protest.
The commentators were already on it.
“Oooh! Maximoff sneaks one past the line—unbelievable angle on that tip-in.”
“Barnes is not happy about that one, Bill. Look at that expression.”
“Stone cold. But if there’s one thing we know about number 91…it’s that he plays best when he’s pissed.”
You saw it too. Felt it. That flicker shift in the entire energy of the game.
Like a match had been struck.
On the ice, Bucky reset.
His jaw was locked tight, the muscles ticking beneath his cheekbone. His knuckles curled around his stick like it was a lifeline. He muttered something sharp to John as they lined up for the next faceoff—you couldn’t hear it, but whatever he said made John nod immediately, all humor gone.
And then—
Breakaway.
John slingshot the puck out of the circle with brutal precision, snapping it straight to Ava as she darted up the ice.
Her skates cut the surface like blades through water, a clean, slicing motion that made her look more like a dancer than a forward. She passed to Yelena, who caught it mid-stride and bolted down the left wing like her skates were on fire.
The Avengers defence scrambled.
You leaned forward in your seat, one hand gripping the railing, eyes wide.
Yelena ducked her shoulder just before a check, spun out of the hit like she’d rehearsed it in a dream, and—with barely a glance—
“BUCKY!”
The shout rang through the air.
He was already there.
No hesitation. No delay.
He’d read the play like a book with his name written in the ending.
The puck hit his blade like fate.
Three strides.
A shift in weight.
The low sweep of his stick.
Snap.
Like a bullet fired from center ice—the puck screamed into the net.
GOAL.
Red light.
Horn blast.
Thunder in the stands.
Thunderbolts: 2.
Avengers: 1.
The stadium erupted. Fans on their feet. Flags waving. Voices cracking. Someone a few rows behind you screamed “MARRY ME, BUCKY!” and you couldn’t stop laughing, even as tears prickled the backs of your eyes.
Ava was pounding her stick against the wall. Bob leapt over the boards to tackle John in celebration. Yelena blew kisses to the camera and Alexei was hoarse from screaming.
But Bucky —
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t slow.
Didn’t raise his arms or pump his fists or even look at the scoreboard.
There were thirty seconds left. Thirty brutal, breathless seconds. But the goal had done its job. The Thunderbolts were ahead. Now it was all defense.
And Bucky... he was locked in.
The final clock ticked down like a heartbeat.
Twenty seconds.
Ten.
Five—
BUZZZZZZZZZ.
The horn went off like an explosion. Final whistle.
The Thunderbolts bench emptied, skates clattering across the ice as the team poured toward center.
Players collided, hollering, helmets flying into the air. Ava jumped straight into Yelena’s arms. Bob tried to slide across the rink on his belly and crashed into the boards.
And behind it all—
The trophy waited. Gleaming, glorious and beautiful.
Spotlights swiveled.
Cameras focused.
The announcers were already yelling.
“Thunderbolts take the championship! What a finish, what a goal—and Barnes with the game winner, folks! That’s number 91 doing what he does best!”
You stood with the rest of the crowd, clapping, screaming, face flushed with adrenaline and awe.
Your hands were over your mouth again, eyes sweeping the chaos for him—where was he?
And then —
You found him.
Or rather—he found you.
Bucky skated past the goal without slowing.
Past the glittering silver trophy being lifted onto its pedestal.
Past the thunder of his teammates’ cheers.
Past Alexei’s open arms and the blinding camera flashes.
His stick dropped to the ice.
Then his helmet.
And he skated straight to you.
There was no hesitation.
No calculation. He ran.
Skates to the boards, gloves off, his hands catching the edge with one clean, practiced grip. Security blinked, caught off-guard—but he was already climbing over, lifting himself into the front row like it was nothing.
You gasped—half-laughing, half-stunned—arms instinctively reaching for him.
And he caught you.
His hands wrapped around your waist, and without a word, he lifted you straight into the air like you weighed nothing at all.
You squeaked—breath catching—legs curling around his hips as he spun you, holding you there in the middle of screaming fans and cameras and flying confetti.
His mouth crashed into yours.
And everything else disappeared.
The noise, the lights, the rink, the pressure, it all dropped away like a curtain falling. All you could feel was him. His hands gripping your back, his lips against yours, rough and breathless. His chest shaking with laughter.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered, breaking the kiss only long enough to murmur it into your cheek.
Your laugh was pure joy. You buried your hands in his sweaty hair and kissed him again, not caring that you were in front of thousands of people, not caring that your face was probably all over the jumbotron.
“I told you you’d win,” you breathed.
“And I told you,” he grinned, eyes bright and unbearably soft as he pressed his forehead to yours, “you’re all I was playing for.”
Your heart melted.
Somewhere in the chaos, John’s voice rang out: “Go get her, Bucky!”
From the loudspeakers, the announcers cracked up.
“Well, there’s your answer, folks,” one of them laughed, his voice barely audible over the thunderous cheer. “Who needs the trophy… when she’s right there waiting?”
And Bucky—still holding you—only kissed you deeper.
Because he already had everything he wanted.
a/n: this fic was really just indulgence for me, i love this idea so much i typed half the fic on my phone during my train ride home 🥹 i am not the best at describing hockey and i'm sorry if i got anything wrong 😭. if you enjoyed the fic, please leave a comment of reblog!
summary: Something falls out of your pocket with the most unfortunate timing anyone could’ve asked for.
warnings: reader’s gonna be embarrassed, johnny’s gonna be a funny little son-of-a-bitch and i love him
notes: One of my friends, @prettycalla, and I decided to write this idea that our other friend, @getaapologist, had given us! (I was on fire for three hours, I hope you enjoy lmao). So here’s my version (and you should check out hers!) and the kickstart to my johnnyverse! Big thank you to @robinbuckleywife for reading this over and as always, big thank you to @peachyproserpina for editing, couldn’t do this without you!
It’s a sweltering July afternoon. You’re unfortunately standing in line at Burger Tower— it was of those space-age-styled fast food joints with chrome countertops, a glowing neon menu board shaped like a rocket ship, and booths upholstered in shiny red vinyl. The overhead speakers are playing The Supremes a little too loud for you to hear anything else, the smell of frying oil wafts around you, and the sun outside practically melts the linoleum floor tiles. It’s hot enough to make a person sweat through their shirt… and their pants…. really any article of fabric strewn on their bodies.
You’re one person away from the counter and you’re mentally running through your order— double cheeseburger, a strawberry shake, fries large enough to make you regret getting 'em— when you reach into your pocket to pull out your cash. Except you grab way more than you mean to. Something slips out and floats to the ground right at your feet. It’s face-down, but you already know what it is before it even touches the ground. Your stomach drops straight out your ass and to the floor.
It’s one of your photos from the Flaming Hearts Fan Club. The official one, glossy and embarrassingly well-loved. And now stepping up right next to it? The most unfortunate pair of shoes you could hope to see. Black boots. Sleek. Attached to legs in jeans that you woefully would recognize anywhere. A voice chuckles behind you, smug and too amused for your comfort, says, “Whoa, now that’s a handsome guy.”
You freeze right in your tracks. You know that voice. Everyone knows that stupid voice. It’s been broadcast on radio interviews, on late-night variety shows, and shouted from the skies when the Fantastic Four saved Midtown last month.
You turn on your heel.
Johnny Storm is standing there. His blonde hair windswept and looked too picture perfect, his sunglasses are perched in his head, and he’s holding your fan club photo between two fingers like it might catch fire if he grips it too tight. And he’s grinning. “Real dedicated fan, huh?” he says, flipping the photo around to show the front. It’s the one where he’s in his blue suit, smirking with his arms crossed like he knows exactly how good he looks— which, clearly, he does. “Where’d you get this? You know they make me sign those after three hours of PR torture every Tuesday?”
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a breath that sounds vaguely like a question mark. You hurriedly grab the photo back, flustered and looking anywhere but at him, trying not to sweat through your blouse. “I— I’m not, like, obsessed or anything. My friend gave it to me. You know… as a joke.”
“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, then steps around you to the counter, calling over his shoulder.
You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Instead, you just shove the photo back into your pocket cursing yourself for even tucking it in the pocket of these jeans however many weeks ago. You order as fast as you can, duck your head to avoid him, and flee to the farthest booth in the restaurant. You’re definitely trying to hide behind your stupid milkshake and lick your wounds in peace. You make it halfway through a crinkle fry when a red tray drops on the table across from you, and Johnny plops down into the seat like he had been invited. He’s got two burgers on his tray, a large soda, and one of those dumb, charming milkshakes with whipped cream stacked a mile high.
You almost choke on your fries. “Are you… Are you seriously sitting here?”
“Sure am.” His eyes are twinkling as he peels the paper back on his burger. “You looked lonely. Or maybe mortified. Either way, sitting here felt like a public service.”
You groan and drop your forehead into your hand, elbow propped against the table. “You are the worst.”
“Incorrect. I’m the hottest. Literally.” He bites into his burger and shrugs. “Flaming Hearts, huh? That’s the fan club with the pins, right? Do you have the pin?”
You glare at him between spread fingers.
He leans forward, his eyes wide with mock innocence. “What? I wanna see it. Let me guess— it’s hidden in your purse next to the embroidered handkerchief with my initials, huh?”
“I do not have—” you stop yourself with a sigh. It doesn’t really matter what you say now. He’s already smiling like he’s won something.
He munches on a fry, then points one at you. “You know, most people pretend not to recognize me. They do that whole thing where they squint and go, ‘Hey, aren’t you that flying guy?’ and I say something modest, like ‘Only on days that end with Y.’ But you? You dropped the merchandise. You might as well have left a trail of rose petals to this very booth.”
You roll your eyes, but it’s almost impossible for you to stop smiling now. “If I buy you another burger and slide it across the table, will you try and forget this ever happened?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he grins through a mouthful of fries, “This has been the best part of my day. I’m literally going to remember this forever.”
You laugh despite yourself and shake your head. He’s magnetic in the kind of way you wish you were immune to, that’s how this crush started, after all. All lazy charm and a ridiculous aura of confidence. But it really wasn’t in the sleazy, plastic way you’d expect from a tabloid cover boy. It’s like he actually likes being liked, in a deeper way— nothing surface level. “Why are you here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a lab to go blow up or something?”
“Nah.” He waves his hand in dismissal, smiling. “Reed banned me for the afternoon.” Then, he leans back in the booth, one arm draping over the back of the seat. “I figured I’d get some lunch and see how many people pretended not to notice me. You win, by the way. Dropping the photo? That was pretty good.”
You groan and hide your face in your hands again. And then you shake your head, starting to laugh as you say, “I am never living this down.”
“Sure you will,” he hums, holding his shake toward you like a peace offering. “Eventually. Probably. Maybe. Want a sip?”
You squint at him. “That’s how you get cooties.”
“Oh my god, you are in the fan club.”
“Shut up.”
He kicks your foot lightly under the table and sing-songs between laughs. “You didn’t say no.”
You shoot him a mock-annoyed look over the top of your milkshake. “You kicking me under the table now? Real smooth.”
Johnny shrugs. “Subtlety’s never been my strong suit. I mean… Come on. I light on fire for a living.”
You laugh again. It bubbles out of you before you can even realize it, and suddenly you’re smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt. He notices and he gives you this big, satisfied grin like he just won a bet with himself.
“What?” you say, narrowing your eyes at him, your heart beating so hard in your chest you think it may try to escape through your ears.
“Nothing,” he shrugs. “It’s just… really nice when people laugh around me instead of screaming and running for the nearest fire extinguisher.”
“Oh, is that a thing?”
“You’d be surprised.” He nudges the last of his fries into his mouth, chews lazily, then adds, “Actually, wait, no you wouldn’t. You’re the one with my picture in your pocket.”
You groan dramatically and drop your head down against the table for what? the third time now? “Will you please stop bringing that up?”
“Not a chance.”
You hear the squeak of the vinyl as he shifts in the seat, then there’s a rustle of paper as he crumples up his burger wrapper. He’s looking at you a little differently now— clearly still very amused, but he’s softened at the edges. Like maybe he’s not here just to tease you. Like maybe he kind of likes the way you look at him while he flirts or how you groan when he pokes a little fun at you. He tosses his trash onto his tray, wipes his hands on his jeans, then he looks back at you with a tilt of his head. “So. You headed anywhere after this? Or was lunch your big plan for the afternoon?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Why? Are you about to recommend I spend the rest of it being harassed by superheroes?”
“First of all, celebrity superhero. Get it right,” he says with another one of those signature grins, jerking his thumb back at himself as he points. “Second, I was gonna offer to walk you home. Unless you’d rather let the photo in your pocket be enough.”
You pause at his words, a fry halfway to your mouth. “You want to walk me home?”
He shrugs, like the suggestion is no big deal. Like he’s just a normal guy asking a normal girl to let him walk her home. But he was not a normal guy, he was fucking Johnny Storm, of the Fantastic Four. And you, you, were a member of his damn fan club. “Sure. It’s hot out. You might melt. I’d feel bad if I left you out there to fry like an egg on the concrete.”
“And you’re just… offering? Out of the goodness of your very flammable heart.”
“That, and you’re cute when you’re mortified.” He winks at you, like he hasn’t just said the sort of thing that might send your pulse into a thumping tailspin. “So what do you say? You live nearby?”
You hesitate, shifting in your seat, but it’s not because you don’t want him to. It’s because it still feels a little unreal that the Johnny Storm wants to walk you home like this is some normal, Saturday matinee kind of world. You nod at him slowly, your eyes still on him and a fry still clutched between your fingertips. “Just a few blocks.”
“Perfect.” He hops up, grabbing both of your trays. He dumps them in the bin in one graceful swoop. “Let’s go before I change my mind and fly off dramatically into the sunset.”
He holds the door open for you as you exit, the same stupid hot air you were trying to escape, slaps you both in the face like a slightly damp towel straight from the dryer. You step out into the sun together, and he falls into step beside you. You’re walking as if you’re old friends. Like this isn’t bizarre and slightly incredible. “So…” he says after a few minutes of walking in silence. “Do I get to know your name? Or do I have to keep calling you ‘Flaming Heart Number 247’?”
You tell him your name. His lips tug up at the corners as he repeats it, and then he nods as he decides in his own head that it suits you.
“I’ve gotta admit, I didn’t really think my Thursday was gonna include teasing a girl about my own face in a burger joint, but you’ve made the experience. You, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “You doing anything this weekend?”
You glance sideways at him, hand curling tightly around the strap of your bag. “Why?”
“Just wondering if you’d want to… I don’t know. Get a soda or catch a movie or something. We could go somewhere I promise not to spontaneously combust on you.”
You almost gape at him, “You’re asking me out?”
“Yeah, well, it’s either that or I keep circling this block every day hoping you drop another photo of me so we have something to talk about.”
You try to play it cool, really you do, but your smile slips out before you can stop it. “Alright, Mr. Celebrity Superhero. You’ve got a date. You set it up.”
Johnny beams at you, almost boyish, entirely smitten. “You won’t regret that.”
“I probably will.”
He waits a moment and then agrees with a teasing sigh, “You definitely will, but you’ll also probably have a pretty great time.”
He walks you the rest of the way home, his hands stuffed in his front pockets. He’s telling you some absurd story about Ben trying to cook dinner and him nearly setting off the building’s sprinklers. You’re halfway to your door before you realize— he’s not just funny, or cute, or famous.
He’s fun.
And when he leans against your front gate and smirks down at you like he’s waiting for a green light, you give it to him without even thinking. He doesn’t kiss you— it’s too soon for that, you’ve just met— but he does tap the back of your hand lightly and say, “Don’t lose that photo. It might be worth something someday.”
You roll your eyes at him. “Goodnight, Johnny.”
“Night, doll” And then, with one last wink, he steps back, salutes you— all teeth and dimples, and then takes off into the sky like he was always born to fly.
You stand there, watching him go, grinning like an idiot.
And it flashes through your brain, you’re definitely gonna need a new photo.
Maybe one with you in it next time.
tags ;; No one is on the taglist for Johnny yet— so if you’d like to join, fill this form out here!
peter: what were your thoughts on johnny when you first started dating him?
you: that he's hot headed, boastful, restless, an idiot who dives head first into things before thinking them through and a royal pain in my ass.
joaquin: then why are you with johnny if you think that way?
bob: yeah, shouldn't you be with someone who makes you happy and stress free?
you: he makes me laugh, is warm but that's a given, and even bought me raspberry and white chocolate chip cookies when i was made at him becuase he knew i liked them from a passing conversation, and he's overly sweet when you least expect it but it's a welcoming surpise nonetheless.
johnny: I LOVE YOU TOO BABY!
you: you're still in the time out corner for eating my precious cookies! and i don't see you being remorseful about it either.
johnny: They were good cookies.
you: JOHNNY!
peter: they definitly deserve each other.
bob and joaquin: *hums in agreement as they watched you and johnny squabble about cookies*
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