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@sunshine-lux
welcome to sunshine-lux!
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guys i know i haven't been active in AGES and i have so many things i need to update/post before i can even think about it but...
how would we feel about a steve harrington fic now that stranger things is over AND MY KING IS ALIVE AND WELL😭🙏🏼
lmk guys LOL
SUNNY!!! WE GOT FIRST LOOKS AT THE DOOMSDAY TRAILER!!!
IM SO LATE OMG guys i logged myself out this account😭😭 BUT YES!!! IM SO EXCITED! the teasers have been motivating me guys🙈
ALSO did any of yall see that leaked brand new day trailer?!
guys i swear😭 it's like every time i have something big planned, life happens to me.
here's a sunny life update!!
work is still busy! this is probs some of our busiest time since people are trying to use up their budget for the year so now everyone wants to come in🙄
i broke up with my bf of 3 and a half years last month😭 dont worry im okay! it needed to be done tbh😭 but that kinda killed my buzz and motivation to write fics😭 i just wasnt in the headspace fr it tbh.
BUT!! now that i'm feeling way better i'll be finally updating clueless i promise im being so serious this time!!
i have next week off for the holidays so i'm excited to finally write and finish editing!
I Love You (iii.)
summary: After the pictures leak online, Yelena has one mission— make sure Y/N is safe. Their true feelings and fears come to light but they are not letting anything get in between this time. Not even Valentina and her plans.
pairing: Stark!reader x yelena belova
warnings: some swearing, some crying, lowkey yelena and y/n both being anxious, very slight angst, f!reader, i think that's it!! but lmk if i missed any!😣
word count: 9.1k!
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Sam’s voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.
“We need to talk.”
Y/N freezes. Joaquin immediately stops mid sentence, both of them turning slowly to see Sam standing at her doorway, phone in hand, face unreadable. The silence is deafening.
She swallows hard.
Sam gestures with his head. “Common area. Now.”
They follow without a word. Joaquin’s hand stays on the small of her back the whole time, grounding her. Y/N’s heart is hammering, dread coiling tighter and tighter in her chest.
Sam sits down at the table, leans forward with his elbows on his knees, and levels a look at her.
“I’m guessing you already know what I’m gonna say to you?”
She doesn’t even let him finish.
“I—I thought we were being cautious!” Her voice cracks, and the words tumble out like a dam has broken. “I used my fake name, I swear! We weren’t even out in the open! I thought I was being careful, I swear!”
She’s pacing now, voice climbing, hands trembling.
“I’m not used to this whole spy thing. I suck at it. I don’t know why you thought I’d be any good at it! I leave traces, I mess things up, and now— now she probably hates me and it’s all my fault—"
Sam stands up. “Whoa, hey, hey—Y/N—breathe.”
She stops, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes shiny and wide. Joaquin grabs her hand, tugging her gently back to sit beside him on the couch. His thumb rubs slow circles into her knuckles.
Sam softens. He crouches down in front of them, voice low and steady.
“I can’t help you if you’re spiraling like this, alright? Deep breaths. One at a time.”
Y/N sucks in air like it’s the first time she’s remembered to breathe. It comes out shaky. Joaquin doesn’t let go.
Sam gives her a moment. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Y/N blinks at him. “What?”
Sam sighs. “You’re not a spy. That’s not what I brought you here to be. You’re not trained for surveillance or black ops. You’re here because you’re smart, and resourceful, and because people listen to you, even when you don’t realize it.”
“But—”
“No. The people who did this? They invaded your privacy. Both of your privacies. That’s not on you. The only thing I’m mad about,” he holds up his phone, “is that I had to find out about all this on Twitter.”
Y/N groans, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”
Sam gives her a look. “Next time you’re dating someone who’s a public figure with a known assassin history and a connection to half the original Avengers, maybe loop me in before it hits trending number three worldwide, yeah?”
Joaquin stifles a laugh. Y/N whines.
Sam stands again, serious now. “We’ll handle the fallout. We’ll get ahead of it. But I need you two focused. Valentina is already going to use this. You know that.”
Y/N lifts her head, jaw set. “I do.”
“Good.” Sam nods. “Now go wash your face, Stark. You look like you’ve been crying for a week.”
“I have,” she mutters. “You came in before the end of my breakdown.”
Joaquin grins. “That was like, the second act.”
Sam groans. “I’m too old for this.”
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Yelena’s boots slam against the Watchtower’s cold concrete floors as she barrels down the hall. She barely pauses long enough to grab her go bag from the gear room— her Widow suit, weapons, burner phones. Her hands are shaking as she zips it closed.
By the time she gets back to the common area, the others are already there— Bob, Ava, Bucky, Walker— their team bonding time interrupted by the headlines lighting up every feed on the planet.
She doesn’t even look at them until Bob steps forward, worry etched into his face.
“Are you okay?”
Yelena whirls around, wide eyed. “No. I’m not okay, Bob. The entire world knows about my love life now.” Her voice cracks near the end, all sharp edges and fury barely holding back panic.
Bucky steps forward slowly, arms folded, keeping his tone steady. “Where are you going?”
“To D.C.,” she says, shouldering her bag. “I have to see her. I have to get to her before Valentina does.”
The team goes still.
Ava raises an eyebrow, her arms crossed. “And then what? What even is the plan here, Yelena?”
Yelena stops short. Her jaw tightens. Her breath catches for a beat too long.
Then she snaps.
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know!” Her voice echoes in the concrete room. “I just— I need to get to her now.”
She looks like she’s about to combust, barely held together by sheer adrenaline and the hollow thud of her heart in her chest. “Valentina will twist this. She’ll use it. And Y/N’s not trained for this— she’s not prepared to be in the middle of all this, not like I am. She thinks she can play spy and it’s all just tech and charm but this— this is the part that breaks people.”
No one says anything for a long moment.
Yelena swallows hard and adds, quieter this time, “She’s gonna be scared. And she’s gonna think I’m not coming back.”
Bob steps aside first, silently clearing her path.
Bucky gives a slow nod. “Then go. Get to her first.”
Yelena doesn’t say thank you— she doesn’t have it in her. She just turns and bolts.
By the time she makes it to the underground parking lot, she’s panting, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. She doesn’t even think— just rips open the door of the first car she sees, throws her bag in the passenger seat, and peels out of the lot.
DC isn’t close. But it’s not far enough to stop her.
Not now.
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The pint of ice cream sat untouched on the bed between them, already starting to melt.
Y/N had only taken one bite before she started rambling and now she was curled up in Joaquin’s hoodie, her eyeliner smudged from crying earlier.
“She’s gonna hate me, Quino,” she says, spoon clenched tight in her hand. “She probably doesn’t even want to see me again. And I don’t blame her.”
Joaquin shifts closer, still cross legged on her bed, watching her carefully.
“Y/N/N…”
But she barrels on, breath catching between the words. “I’m just— God, I’m a ridiculously smart yet so dumb spoiled rich girl trying to prove herself to the world, and I’m failing so hard. Like, spectacularly failing.”
“You’re not failing,” Joaquin says it gently but firmly. “You heard Sam. This wasn’t your fault. You’ve been careful. This was just… one of those things. It’s messy, but it’s not on you.”
She sniffs, pulling the sleeves over her hands. “It doesn’t matter. She’s not calling. Not even a single text. It’s been twelve days.”
Joaquin doesn’t say anything at first, just offers her the ice cream. She takes it without really noticing.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Y/N shrugs, and then, to her own surprise, she nods.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says, voice low. “She reached out to me first, but I let it mean something. That’s my fault. I let it get serious.”
Joaquin stays quiet, letting her keep going.
“I just… I haven’t felt anything like this in so long, Quino. Like, really felt. There was this boy once—” She stops short. Frowns. “I think I loved him. I can’t even remember his name. Just brown, messy curls. That’s all I have.”
Her voice cracks on the last word.
“But with Yelena?” she whispers. “It was different. Or— maybe it was the same, and I just forgot what it’s supposed to feel like. But I saw a future with her. Like I could actually be happy. Not a Stark. Not a genius. Not some soldier or symbol. Just… me. With her.”
Joaquin reaches over and takes her hand.
“You’re allowed to want that.”
She swallows hard. “And I thought maybe she wanted it too. But then she pulled away. And now this whole disaster happens and she still hasn’t reached out.” Her grip tightens. “I feel pathetic. Like I got played. We slept together, and then she just… disappeared. I’m not gonna be the one to reach out. I can’t. I already feel like I gave her everything.”
“You didn’t get played,” Joaquin says gently. “You got hurt. That’s different.”
Y/N goes quiet. The spoon scrapes the bottom of the container.
“I’m so tired of getting hurt,” she murmurs.
Joaquin squeezes her hand. “Then let’s not pretend you’re in this alone, okay?”
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It was well past midnight, and Y/N was finally alone.
Joaquin had left hours ago after making sure she ate some real food and promising not to check Twitter anymore for the rest of the night. The lights in her room were off now, the only glow coming from the holographic interface still humming over her desk. She couldn’t sleep. She’d stopped trying.
She lay curled under the blanket, scrolling through a photo album she should’ve deleted already— live photos from facetimes, blurry selfies with Yelena making dumb faces, one she’d taken of Yelena watching the sunrise back at the hotel like she wasn’t even aware Y/N was looking.
And then,
Knock.
She froze.
Another knock. But not from the door.
She sat up slowly, heart rate already spiking. Her body moved before her brain caught up, and as she padded barefoot across the room, some primal memory flashed through her— a boy once knocking at her window in the middle of the night, curls damp with rain, eyes desperate and wide and sweet—
But that memory was fog. This was now.
And when she yanked open the curtains, breath tight in her lungs—
There she was.
Yelena stood outside her window, looking windblown and breathless, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Her jacket was wrinkled, her hair messy. And still, she smiled when she saw Y/N. Just the tiniest, tired smile of relief.
Y/N stared at her like she was a ghost. Then she yanked the window open.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
Yelena's voice was hoarse. “I— I didn’t know if you’d still be awake.”
Y/N blinked. “It’s one in the morning.”
Yelena looked sheepish. “That’s a yes, then.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes. Her voice was tight, brittle. “Why didn’t you use the door like a normal person?”
Yelena shrugged. “Didn’t want anyone else to see me. Just you.”
Y/N’s chest squeezed, anger and relief and something else rising in her throat. She wanted to slam the window shut. She wanted to pull Yelena inside and hold her so tight she’d never leave again.
“You broke things off. Then you disappeared.”
Yelena nodded slowly. “I know.”
“Twelve days.”
“I know.” This time, softer. Wrecked.
Y/N's hands curled tight on the windowsill.
“You can’t just show up in the middle of the night and act like that didn’t happen.”
Yelena stepped closer to the window, voice barely a whisper. “I’m not. I came to explain. If you’ll let me.”
Y/N's jaw clenched, heart still hammering. And then she slammed the window shut.
Or tried to.
Because Yelena caught it with both hands, stopping it with a grunt and forcing it open again.
“Seriously? You’re gonna break your own window because you’re mad at me?”
“I don’t care if it shatters,” Y/N snapped, “but you’re not coming in here like nothing happened.”
She crossed her arms, backlit by the soft glow of her room, and stared Yelena down.
“You have one minute to explain why you’re here. Why you suddenly care. And how the hell you even know where I live because I know I never gave you my address. And you’re not coming in until you do.”
Yelena leaned against the windowsill, chest still rising fast from the rush of adrenaline and the five hour drive she just made straight through.
“I saw the pictures,” she said quietly. “The articles. Your name trending with mine. I got worried.”
Y/N didn’t flinch, but her expression turned stonier.
“You’ve had twelve days to be worried.”
“And I was,” Yelena said quickly. “I just… I didn’t know how to talk to you.”
Y/N raised a brow. “And stalking me felt easier?”
Yelena hesitated. Then,
“I slipped a tracker into your purse the night of the gala.”
Y/N blinked. “You what?”
Yelena offered a crooked half smile. “It’s not creepy, it’s tactical. Also— your situational awareness? Terrible. You really didn’t notice?”
“Yelena.”
“Okay, okay— maybe a little creepy.”
Y/N was fuming. “You tracked me down like I’m a mission. You’re making jokes. And you still haven’t said sorry for anything that actually mattered.”
Yelena’s smile faltered.
That one landed.
“You left,” Y/N went on, voice quieter now but cutting deeper. “You slept with me, and then you left me. Not even a text. And now you show up and think some clever little comment about my awareness is enough to fix it?”
Yelena didn’t answer right away.
“Say sorry,” Y/N demanded. “If you’re really here for me— not just because you’re guilty or scared or whatever the hell this is— then say it.”
Yelena’s voice was hoarse again. “I am sorry, Y/N.”
Still, Y/N didn’t move.
Yelena stepped forward just slightly, hands still on the windowsill.
“I was scared,” she admitted. “I’ve never… I’ve never let myself care like that before. Not like this. I panicked. But watching everything happen online, seeing people twist it, seeing you stuck in it— I had to come. I had to see you for myself. Even if you hate me now.”
Y/N’s eyes burned, jaw locked tight.
“I don’t hate you.” Her voice broke. “I wish I did.”
Yelena opened her mouth like she might say something else— something softer, maybe, something final— but Y/N held up a hand.
“Save it,” she said, turning away from the window and heading back toward her bed. “You can stay out there.”
Yelena blinked. “Wait— what?”
“You heard me.” Y/N grabbed a blanket from her chair and tossed it toward the window frame. “There’s a perfectly good ledge. Enjoy it.”
“Y/N.”
“You don’t get to ghost me for twelve days and then sneak across state lines and waltz into my room.”
“It was more of a power walk than a waltz—”
“Whatever!”
Yelena sighed and leaned her forehead against the frame, looking thoroughly exhausted but not moving.
“So what, you’re punishing me now?”
“No. I’m reminding you that showing up doesn’t mean everything magically resets.” Y/N’s voice cracked again, but she didn’t let it stop her. “You left me. And it sucked. And I am still mad at you. And if you really mean what you said, then you can wait until I’m ready to let you in.”
Yelena stared at her.
Then, slowly, she lowered herself to sit on the windowsill.
“Fine,” she murmured. “I’ll wait.”
Y/N didn’t say anything.
She just crawled back under her blanket, curled in on herself, and watched the silhouette of Yelena in the window.
Part of her wanted to cave. To rush over and pull her in. To kiss her until they both forgot what day it was.
But the other part— her Stark part— knew she was worth being fought for.
So she turned onto her side, wiped her face, and whispered toward the window,
“You better not fall off.”
Yelena smirked faintly, her voice just loud enough to carry.
“Don’t worry. I’ve hung off worse things for girls I like less.”
The window stayed open.
The night air drifted in.
And Yelena stayed exactly where Y/N left her— sitting on the narrow ledge with her back pressed to the brick, hands clasped, legs tucked in, like she was settling in for a stakeout.
Inside, Y/N was lying in bed, completely still, arms wrapped around her pillow and face half buried in the blanket. But she wasn’t asleep. Not even close.
She could feel her there.
Yelena. Just outside her window. Breathing the same air. Close enough to touch if she leaned forward.
The ache in her chest burned like static.
Four minutes. Y/N peeked at the clock again. Still not moving. Still waiting.
Her fingers tightened in the blanket.
She could hear her. Shifting slightly on the ledge. Whispering something in Russian under her breath. Probably cursing the wind. Probably cursing herself.
Four minutes and thirty seven seconds.
Yelena sniffled once.
That was it.
Y/N threw off her blanket with a groan.
"God, you're so dramatic."
She stomped over to the window, flung it open wider, and glared down at her.
Yelena blinked up at her, startled. “…You came back.”
"You’ve been here five minutes.” Y/N crossed her arms. “You passed."
Yelena tilted her head, confused. “Passed what?”
“The test."
A beat.
Then Yelena smirked. “This was a test?”
"Obviously." Y/N stepped back and nodded inside. "You get five minutes to convince me to let you stay warm and dry in here with me. Use them wisely.”
Yelena didn’t hesitate.
She climbed inside fast and quiet, like she’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was natural. Like she belonged there.
She stopped just short of reaching for Y/N.
Y/N noticed.
And after a second… she sighed and tugged her in by the front of her hoodie, burying her face into her shoulder with a quiet, furious little sound.
Yelena wrapped her arms around her so carefully it made Y/N want to scream.
“I hate that I missed you,” Y/N mumbled into her neck. “I hate it.”
“I know,” Yelena whispered back. “Me too.”
They sat on the edge of Y/N’s bed in silence. The hum of the city outside, the soft whir of the ceiling fan above. Yelena’s hoodie was still damp from the ledge. Y/N handed her a blanket, but didn’t move away.
Finally, Y/N spoke.
“So… are you gonna tell me?”
Yelena stared down at her hands. “Tell you what?”
“Why you disappeared.” Her voice didn’t waver. “Why you pulled away like I meant nothing to you.”
Yelena exhaled through her nose, slow and tired. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
Silence.
Yelena nodded. “I know.”
It took a long time for her to say anything else. And Y/N didn’t push. She just sat there, knees pulled up, watching her.
Then finally, in a voice so small it made Y/N’s chest ache,
“I got scared.”
Y/N blinked. “Of what?”
Yelena’s eyes were glassy now, but her voice stayed steady.
“Of how much I felt for you. Of how easy it was.”
She looked up at Y/N. “It’s never been easy for me.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.
“I spent most of my life doing horrible things,” Yelena continued. “Following orders. Being used. Killing people I didn’t even know. Sometimes people who didn’t deserve it.”
Her voice broke a little, then hardened again. Like she’d patched over the crack as quickly as it came.
“You don’t know half the shit I’ve done just to survive. And you… you’re the brightest thing I’ve ever seen. You're kind. And warm. You love so big, even when people don’t deserve it.” She looked down again. “I didn’t want to be the reason you dimmed.”
Y/N felt like she couldn’t breathe.
“You think I haven’t lost things?” she said quietly.
Yelena looked up.
“I lost my dad. I lost the only team I ever saw as family. Half of them are gone. Dead, missing, or just… not around anymore.” Her voice trembled. “I was sixteen when the world ended and seventeen when I realized no one cared about the damage left behind.”
She shook her head.
“I’m not super. I don’t have training. I don’t have some fancy tragic backstory like the rest of you. I’m just a stupidly smart, spoiled Stark kid who’s been trying to prove to herself that she’s more than her last name.”
A breath.
“And then Sam reached out. And he didn’t care about my last name. He saw something in me.”
She looked at Yelena now— really looked at her. “And you did too. Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”
Yelena clenched her jaw. “Y/N—”
“You think I care about your file?” Y/N snapped. “You think I give a shit about what the Red Room made you do?”
Yelena’s throat bobbed.
“I care about you. I care that you know the difference between who you were and who you are now. I care that you love hard and fight harder and look at me like I’m not broken.”
Yelena’s eyes were wet again.
“I don’t want perfect. I just want you.”
And that broke Yelena.
She didn’t sob. Didn’t cry out.
She just folded forward until her forehead met Y/N’s shoulder, and let herself fall apart as Y/N wrapped both arms around her and held her like she wasn’t the most dangerous woman in the world.
She was just a girl who’d never been loved like this before.
Yelena didn’t know how long Y/N held her.
Long enough for her breathing to steady. Long enough for the shaking in her hands to stop. Long enough for her to start believing that maybe this girl meant what she said.
Eventually, she pulled back just slightly. Just enough to see Y/N’s face.
“You shouldn’t forgive me this easily.”
Y/N tilted her head. “I’m not. But I’m choosing you anyway.”
That made something shift in Yelena’s expression. Something vulnerable. Something hopeful.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Yelena admitted. “I don’t know how to love someone without ruining it. Without letting my job get in the way of everything.”
Y/N smiled gently. Her thumb brushed a tear from under Yelena’s eye.
“Good thing I’m a good teacher.”
That earned the tiniest exhale of a laugh from Yelena. “You’re insane.”
“You’re the one who drove five hours to see me.”
Silence again, but this time, it felt different. Warmer. Closer.
Yelena’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you still want me?”
And Y/N didn’t even hesitate.
She nodded. Once. Slowly.
“Always.”
That was it.
Yelena surged forward like she couldn’t stop herself if she tried. Their lips met— soft at first, almost unsure, like both of them were still afraid the other might pull away.
But neither did.
Y/N’s hands slipped into Yelena’s hoodie, fingers curling into the hem of her shirt like she needed to hold onto her, like she was real. And Yelena kissed her like she’d been starving for it. Like she’d spent every night trying to forget the feel of Y/N’s mouth and failed every single time.
It wasn’t perfect. It was messy and tear stained and tangled in emotion they hadn’t dared name until now.
But it was them.
When they finally pulled apart, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, Y/N whispered, “You’re not sleeping on that ledge, by the way.”
Yelena smiled, eyes still closed.
“Damn. And here I was trying to prove a point.”
Y/N smirked. “You proved it. Now get under the blanket before I change my mind.”
Yelena kicked off her boots and took off her hoodie without a word and crawled into bed beside her, the two of them curling into each other like a habit they’d never broken.
And for the first time in days, Y/N didn’t feel like she had to fight the ache in her chest.
Because Yelena was here.
And she wasn’t letting go.
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Y/N woke to the sensation of soft lips brushing her cheek. Then her jaw. Then the tip of her nose. By the time Yelena pressed one to her forehead, Y/N groaned and shoved the blanket over her head.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Clingy already?”
“Not clingy,” Yelena said, lifting the blanket just enough to poke her head under. “I’m… making up for lost time.”
Y/N squinted at her. “By smothering me in my sleep?”
“Yes.” Yelena kissed her again, this time right on the lips, before sprawling on top of her, cheek resting on Y/N’s shoulder like she had no intention of moving for the rest of the day.
Y/N’s sigh was fond, fingers automatically tracing lazy circles on Yelena’s back. “You’re heavy.”
“Good,” Yelena said. “You can’t run away.”
Y/N laughed softly but didn’t push her off. “So, what’s with all this extra affection? You planning on buttering me up before you tell me you’re leaving for another six months?”
“No,” Yelena said quickly, sitting up just enough to look her in the eyes. “I’ve… been catching up on you. This past week and a half. Seeing your pictures. Reading the posts. The good ones.” Her voice softened, almost shy. “I read your Forbes interview.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Stalker behavior.”
Yelena smirked. “Yes. And apparently, you are ‘the people’s princess.’” She rolled the words around like she was tasting them. “I think it suits you. Beautiful, untouchable, beloved—”
“Untouchable?” Y/N snorted, poking her in the side. “You’re literally in my bed right now.”
“Fine,” Yelena amended with a little grin. “Beloved… and very much mine.”
Y/N’s chest warmed, but she still rolled her eyes. “You’re annoying.”
Yelena tilted her head, feigning thought. “Do you think I should buy you a crown? You could wear it around everywhere you go. It would make it official.”
Y/N laughed, shoving her shoulder. “If you buy me a crown, I’m making you bow every time you see me.”
“Deal,” Yelena said instantly, kissing her again. “I’ll even kneel.”
Y/N’s breath caught for a second, but she covered it with a smirk. “You’re buying the coffee, too.”
“Of course, princess.”
The kiss starts lazy—just a sleepy brush of lips in the morning light—but Yelena deepens it, curling a hand around Y/N’s neck like she’s been starving for her. Y/N hums against her mouth, thinking about nothing but pulling her closer—
Knock knock knock.
Y/N practically leapt off Yelena, scrambling upright like she’d just been caught committing a crime. Yelena sat up too, brows furrowed, instantly on alert.
“Shh!” Y/N hissed, finger pressed to her lips.
“I am being quiet,” Yelena whispered back flatly. “You’re the one yelling ‘shh’ like an alarm.”
Y/N glared and rolled her eyes, dragging a pillow over her lap as if it could hide her guilt. “What do you want?” she called toward the door.
From the other side, Joaquin’s voice: “It’s time for our team meeting. Don’t tell me you forgot.”
Y/N muttered, “Fuck,” under her breath, then raised her voice: “I just need fifteen minutes, okay? I’ll be right there!”
“You need to hurry up,” Joaquin warned. “Sam’s gonna get mad if you’re late again… which, by the way, you already are.” His footsteps retreated down the hall.
Silence lingered for a beat. Yelena tilted her head. “Team meeting?”
“Yeah,” Y/N sighed, climbing out of bed and padding into the bathroom. “I totally forgot. Not like I even need to be there— it’s not like I’m gonna do anything.”
Yelena didn’t answer. Y/N glanced at her reflection as she brushed her teeth, noticing the Russian’s silence through the half open bathroom door. When she came back out, toothbrush still in hand, she leaned against the doorframe.
“I’m not gonna tell anyone you’re here. Not unless you want me to.” She pointed her toothbrush toward Yelena. “But if you just talked to Sam… he’d be willing to help you out. I promise.”
Yelena sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders tight. “I don’t know about that. He’s not even on speaking terms with Barnes anymore.”
“That’s different,” Y/N shot back, ducking into her closet.
“Is it, though?” Yelena countered, softer now.
Y/N pulled a pair of jeans off a hanger, not looking at her. “Yeah. It kinda is.”
She disappeared into the bathroom again, calling over her shoulder, “Give me ten minutes.”
Yelena blew out a long sigh and flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. For someone who didn’t think she had a place on this team, Y/N Stark sure had a way of making Yelena believe she did.
Ten minutes later, Y/N emerged from the bathroom fully put together— showered, makeup flawless, hair perfectly styled.
Yelena blinked at her from the bed. “How did you get ready so fast?”
Y/N smirked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It’s one of my many talents, actually.”
Yelena let out a small laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.
Y/N crossed to her desk, snagged her laptop, then turned back toward Yelena. “I’ll be back soon. Will you still be here when I get back?”
Yelena straightened a little at the question, like it surprised her. “Yes. Of course.”
That earned her a real smile, soft and genuine, from Y/N. “Good. Well… feel free to do whatever you want in here. Shower, watch TV, go back to sleep. My room is your room.”
Something in Yelena softened at that— at the simple, unguarded generosity of it. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Y/N’s smile lingered as she adjusted her bag. “I’ll bring back food and coffee.”
She opened the door, glanced up and down the hallway, then pulled it shut behind her— making sure to lock it from the inside.
Standing there alone in the hallway, Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She whispered, barely audible even to herself, “I really hope you’re still here when I get back.”
And then she squared her shoulders and walked away.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Y/N pushed the door open as quietly as she could, clutching her laptop against her chest like it might shield her from the inevitable scolding. Of course, her heels betrayed her— each click against the tile echoing through the room like gunfire.
She winced.
Sam didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. One slow lift of his head, one long shake of disapproval, and Y/N felt about two inches tall.
Sliding into the empty chair beside Joaquin, she set down her laptop and started unpacking as quickly as possible, whispering, “I hate that look.”
“I tried to stall him,” Joaquin murmured back, not even trying to hide his grin.
Y/N groaned. “He’s so mad at me right now. Look.”
They both glanced up. Sure enough, Sam was staring directly at them, his expression pure shut up and pay attention.
Joaquin cracked first. His laugh slipped out, sharp and short, and Y/N immediately pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking as she tried to hold hers in.
Sam’s voice cut through the room like a whip. “What’s so funny over there that we feel like it’s okay to be disrespectful to our colleagues?”
The whole table went silent.
“I—I’m so sorry,” Y/N blurted, cheeks heating as she straightened in her chair. “It won’t happen again.”
Joaquin nodded furiously, trying to look serious. For a moment, it almost worked— until Y/N caught his reflection in her laptop screen, his mouth twitching, fighting a smile. Their eyes met in the glass, and suddenly she was coughing into her hand to cover her laugh while Joaquin was doing the same.
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable.”
Sam exhales sharply, the weight in his voice settling heavy over the room. “You all remember what happened with the Accords. Some of us signed, some of us didn’t. But the reason Steve, me, and the others said no wasn’t because we thought we were above the law.” He pauses, eyes scanning the table, his voice low but firm. “It was because we knew what would happen if we let the wrong people hold the leash. Governments pick and choose which crises matter. They deploy you when it’s convenient. They bury you when it’s not.”
The room goes still. Y/N feels the old ghost of a shiver down her spine— she’s had to sit through this exact conversation many times before. Back when the accords had initially been presented. Back when the team was still… well, a team. Despite not being asked to sign, not being asked to choose sides, Y/N always knew Steve was right. She never dared to voice that opinion around Tony. Not after what the accords did to the team.
Sam leans forward, hands pressed flat against the table. “And now we’ve got Valentina Allegra de Fontaine—Director of the CIA—doing exactly that. Hand picking a team behind closed doors, branding them our name, and calling it protection.” His tone sharpens. “That’s not protection. That’s control. And I didn’t take the shield to watch history repeat itself.”
For a moment, the room is silent. Joaquin shifts in his chair, trying to mask the discomfort under a calm expression, but even he looks rattled.
Sam sits back, jaw tight. “I want to build something better. A team that answers to the people, not politics. But Valentina’s already poisoning the well before I can even plant the damn seed.” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That’s why I need Congress to reopen her investigation. If she’s pulling strings, the world deserves to know who’s holding them.”
His words hang heavy in the air.
Y/N swallows hard, exchanging a glance with Joaquin. The earlier laughter feels like a lifetime ago.
There’s a long pause after Sam’s words, the weight of them settling into every corner of the room. Y/N glances at her laptop screen, then up at him, hesitant before she speaks.
“Have you considered reaching out to Bucky?” she asks carefully. “Don’t you think he’d have valuable information? About Valentina, her contacts… the way these kinds of operations move?”
Sam’s jaw flexes. “…No. Not as of right now.”
Her brows knit together. “But—”
“I think we can get information elsewhere,” Sam cuts in, firm but not unkind. “There are channels we can use that won’t drag him into this.”
The silence that follows is tense. Joaquin clears his throat, trying to ease it. “So… is there anything else we should be doing?”
Sam leans back, eyes narrowing with thought. “Stay vigilant. If you hear anything, even if it’s small, you write it down. Document it. And you relay it back to me. No assumptions, no rumors— facts only. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Joaquin says quickly.
Y/N nods, but her chest feels heavy. Something in Sam’s voice tells her this fight is going to be harder than any of them want to admit.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Yelena stretched out on Y/N’s bed, staring up at the ceiling, but her eyes kept drifting back to the walls. The room wasn’t what she’d expected. It didn’t scream Stark or rich girl excess— it was… personal.
Curiosity got the better of her. She padded across the room barefoot, eyes scanning the frames perched on shelves and stacked carefully on the dresser.
One of Y/N as a little girl, messy haired and grinning as Tony Stark crouched beside her, holding up some ridiculous contraption. Another—Y/N squeezed in the middle of the original Avengers, squished by Steve and Thor, but smiling like she belonged there.
Yelena’s chest tightened.
Her gaze snagged on a photo in a silver frame. Y/N in a blue hoodie, arms crossed, her stance awkward, like she was leaning into a space that wasn’t filled anymore. There was just enough gap on one side to suggest someone had once been there. Yelena frowned, head tilting, the feeling of absence almost radiating from the picture.
She put it down quickly, moving on.
Then she saw it— Y/N and Natasha.
Her breath hitched. It wasn’t staged, wasn’t posed. Y/N was laughing at something, head thrown back, and Natasha was mid smile, her arm slung protectively around the younger girl’s shoulders.
Yelena froze. She reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the frame. Before she could stop herself, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. Just for her. Just so she could hold onto proof of her sister’s happiness.
Her throat tightened.
Yelena set the frame back carefully, like it was something fragile, sacred. Then she stepped back, taking in the whole room again.
Y/N’s life stared back at her in snapshots— Pepper, Morgan, Sam, Joaquin. Memories of people who had surrounded her, raised her, shaped her. A family. A real one.
It was everything Yelena never had.
The sting was sharp, familiar. That old whisper in the back of her head: you’re a weapon, not a person. You don’t deserve her. Not this life, not her love. You’ll never be free.
Yelena let out a shaky sigh and sat back on the bed, burying her face in her hands.
Yelena finally gave in to the long morning and climbed into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the tension and the chaos of the morning. Steam fogged the mirror and filled the small space, and for once, she didn’t have to be on guard.
When she was done, wrapped in a towel, she wandered over to Y/N’s closet, curious and a little hesitant. The clothes were… everything Y/N. Bold, stylish, loud— definitely not what Yelena would have picked for herself. She ran her fingers over the neatly folded stacks, jeans, skirts, jackets, all screaming “Stark,” and felt a little out of place.
Finally, buried in the very back, she spotted a small pile of hoodies. Something soft. Something normal. She pulled one out without thinking, and her heart gave a tiny, unexpected leap. Blue. That same blue from the photo she had snapped earlier. The one with the awkward lean, like someone had once been next to her. Across the chest it read: Midtown School of Science and Technology. Weird— she could’ve sworn Y/N was homeschooled. Maybe it belonged to one of her friends. Whatever the story, it didn’t matter.
Yelena shrugged the hoodie over her shoulders. Soft. Comfortable. Real.
She rifled through the drawers and found a pair of pajama pants, plain and loose, nothing fancy. Pulled them on, tugged the hoodie down, and finally exhaled. For the first time in days, she felt… normal.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The meeting breaks apart in the usual shuffle of laptops and chairs. Joaquin nudges Y/N as they head for the door.
“Dude, what happened to you this morning?” he whispers.
Y/N hesitates. Her first instinct is to tell him the truth— that Yelena had shown up out of nowhere last night, that she was still upstairs right now— but the words snag in her throat. “I totally forgot. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
Before Joaquin can reply, Sam calls out, “Stark. Torres. Over here.”
They both tense. Joaquin mutters, “He’s gonna yell at us. Just watch.”
They walk over, and Sam fixes them with a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Do I need to start separating you two at meetings now?”
“No,” Y/N blurts. “We’re so sorry, it was just… it was so quiet, and you looked so mad—”
Joaquin snorts before he can stop himself. Sam’s gaze snaps to him. “I really don’t know what you’re laughing at, Torres.”
“It was just the way she said it,” Joaquin stammers. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s up with me today.”
“Yeah, you know how he gets,” Y/N says quickly, elbowing Joaquin. “But it won’t happen again. No need to separate us.”
“Yeah, we work better together,” Joaquin adds.
Sam studies them for a beat, then sighs. “Good. Well, I didn’t want to say this in front of everyone else, but I have some evidence that Valentina’s assistant—Mel—was the one who leaked those pictures of you and that Belova girl.”
Y/N freezes. “Oh my god. How do you know?”
“Let’s just say Mel’s not that great at covering her tracks,” Sam says. “Which leads me to believe Valentina already knew about you and Yelena. I’m not sure what her angle is, but everything that woman does is for a reason. Do you think your girl knew about it?”
“No,” Y/N says immediately. “I don’t.”
“She is a spy, after all…” Joaquin says carefully.
Y/N turns to him, disbelief flashing across her face. “That’s not all she is. And she wouldn’t use me like this. At least— I don’t think she would.”
“Just be careful,” Sam says, his voice gentler now. “I don’t expect you to pull information, especially since you’re not on speaking terms with Yelena. But if there’s anything she might’ve said—anything—you let me know.” He gives her a final look before walking away.
The silence between her and Joaquin stretches.
“I’m sorry, Y/N/N,” Joaquin says softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But— it’s true. She came out of the Red Room. She was one of the stellar Widows.”
Y/N’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t answer.
Joaquin takes a breath. “You know her better than we do, and I trust your judgment. I just… don’t know her. I care about you, is all.”
“I know,” Y/N says finally, but her voice is quiet, fragile. “I’ll talk to you later.”
She turns back to the conference table, gathers her laptop and notes, and walks out of the room without looking back.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of Y/N’s TV washing over the walls. Yelena was sprawled across the bed, legs crossed, remote in hand as some mindless sitcom played in the background. She tugged the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands, absently fiddling with the cuffs as she scrolled for something else to watch.
The door clicked open. Y/N stepped in, weighed down by a huge takeout bag, two coffees,using her laptop as a tray, and her bag falling off her shoulder. She kicked the door shut and managed to lock it behind her with a huff.
Yelena sat up immediately, automatically reaching out like a reflex. “Give me that before you drop it.” She relieved Y/N of the coffees and the bag, setting them carefully on the desk.
“I’m already mentally exhausted,” she muttered, practically collapsing onto the mattress beside Yelena.
“I thought you had forgotten about me, Stark,” Yelena teased lightly, though there was a flicker of something shy under the words.
Y/N cracked an eye open and grinned. “Could never. You’re too pretty to forget.”
Yelena blinked. And then, to Y/N’s absolute delight, she blushed— an actual, visible flush creeping up her neck.
“Oh my god—” Y/N sat up, wide eyed. “You’re blushing! Lena, you’re so cuteee.” She reached out, hands aiming for Yelena’s cheeks, but the assassin dodged, hiding her face with her sleeve, muttering something under her breath in Russian.
Y/N laughed until her eyes landed on the hoodie Yelena was wearing. She froze. “Out of all the hoodies, you had to pick that one?”
Yelena glanced down at herself, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me I’m wearing one of your ex’s hoodies right now, Y/N.”
Y/N barked out a laugh. “That hoodie is haunted, Lena! I don’t even know where it came from or when I got it.”
She stood, crossing over to her desk and picking up a framed photo. “Look— this was me at, like, sixteen. I’m wearing that exact hoodie. I’m pretty sure my dad took this picture.” She squinted at it, almost unsettled. “I swear I don’t remember buying it. I really don’t know where I got it.”
Yelena tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes as she watched Y/N ramble.
“This is my glitch in the matrix,” Y/N went on, setting the photo back down. “Also, I don’t even know why this picture’s framed. The whole thing is weird.”
She turned back, crossing the room to sink onto the bed beside Yelena again. “Sorry the meeting ran long,” she murmured, sliding into Yelena’s space and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “But I’m all yours now.”
Yelena’s arms instinctively circled Y/N’s hips, tugging her closer. “Good,” she said softly, her voice low and warm against Y/N’s skin. “I was getting bored.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The floor of her room had turned into a mess. Breakfast containers, coffee cups, and crumpled napkins all scattered around the floor. Y/N sat cross legged in her sweats, picking at what was left of her croissant while the TV played in front of her.
Yelena was laughing too, that unguarded laugh that crinkled her nose and made her shoulders shake. She looked calm— hair still damp from the shower, holding a fork and stealing bites off Y/N’s plate.
And Y/N should’ve been laughing with her. She wanted to. But her mind kept drifting.
Sam’s voice was still in her head, telling her about Mel, about Valentina, about the game being played in shadows. Joaquin’s words, too— reminders of who Yelena used to be, what she was capable of. One of the best widows, if not the best.
It all lined up too neatly, didn’t it? Yelena had been trained to blend in, to seduce trust out of people who should’ve known better. The perfect spy. And Y/N Stark was nothing if not valuable intel.
Her chest tightened at the thought, tears building behind her eyes. What if they were right? What if she’d let herself fall for someone who’d only ever been using her?
She shifted, ready to pull away— to armor up before the doubt could swallow her whole.
But then Yelena turned, laughing at something stupid on the screen, cheeks flushed. She looked so soft like this, so entirely human. And Y/N’s doubt cracked apart like glass.
Because this was her Yelena. The one who stole her hoodies, who steals her food despite her not finishing her own, who slipped out the window whenever things got too real but always came back anyway.
Her Yelena would never use her. Couldn’t.
And Y/N realized that maybe she didn’t need proof to know that— didn’t need Sam’s approval, or Joaquin’s reminders, or a neat explanation to silence the doubts. All she needed was to look at Yelena and remember who she was when no one else was watching.
Y/N nudged the volume down until the sitcom laugh track turned into a faint buzz. “Sam pulled me aside after the meeting today.”
Yelena’s fork stilled. She turned fully to look at Y/N, one eyebrow arched. “Does he know I’m here?”
Y/N shook her head immediately, reaching across the space between them to grab Yelena’s hand. “No. He doesn’t. No one does. I promised I wouldn’t tell.”
Yelena’s shoulders eased a fraction, though her gaze stayed sharp. “Then what did he say?”
Y/N exhaled, her thumb tracing small circles against Yelena’s knuckles. “You know those pictures of us that got leaked?”
“Kinda hard to forget about that,” Yelena muttered.
“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s throat tightened. “He has evidence that Valentina’s assistant was the one who leaked them.”
For the first time since Y/N had known her, Yelena didn’t manage to mask her reaction fast enough. The panic flickered across her face before she could hide it. “W—what? How does he know?”
“I don’t know, he didn’t exactly show me anything, but he’s looking more into it. He said Mel isn’t the best at covering her tracks—”
“That means Valentina knows.” Yelena was on her feet before Y/N could finish, pacing the small room like a caged thing. “Fuck! I knew it. I knew this was too good to be true. Of course she fucking knew about us from the start.”
Y/N’s stomach dropped. Yelena hadn’t known. And if she hadn’t known, then… what was Valentina doing? What was Y/N already a part of without realizing it?
She stood and reached for her before the spiral could swallow them both. “Hey— hey, it’s gonna be okay. Even if it doesn’t feel like it, we’ll be okay. I promise.”
Yelena’s head snapped up, eyes wild. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Y/N.”
“Lena…” Y/N softened her grip, pressing their foreheads together. “I know you’re scared. So am I. I don’t know what’s going on and that freaks me out, but I’ll protect you as much as I can. I’ll make sure we’re okay if it’s the last thing I do.”
Yelena shook her head, her hands trembling where they gripped Y/N’s arms. “No— don’t. Don’t talk like that.”
“Listen,” Y/N said quickly, words spilling out now. “Sam is trying to figure out what Valentina is playing at with this. He’ll get to the bottom of it. Me and Joaquin are good at hacking, I’m sure we can figure something out, find more stuff—”
Yelena’s voice broke. “I just wanted to have one thing of my own. I just wanted you. But not like this— I didn’t want her involved in this.”
Y/N’s heart twisted. She lifted a hand to Yelena’s cheek, brushing her thumb across her skin. “There’s one more thing…”
Yelena took a deep breath, eyes flicking up to meet hers.
“Sam is trying to convince Congress to reopen her investigation,” Y/N said. And before Yelena could speak, she continued, gently but firmly, “I know we haven’t really talked about it. I still don’t fully know how you got involved with her, but you did tell me that you’ve been trying to figure out a way to leave… this could be it, Lena.”
For a second, Yelena’s face softened. Y/N swore she saw the flicker of hope in her eyes— real, fragile hope— but then Yelena pulled back just slightly, like she’d touched something too hot.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “It’s not just about me. There are other people involved. A lot of stuff nobody knows about. Not Congress. Not Sam Wilson. Not even you. I can’t just tell you everything without talking to my team first. It’s not just about me.”
Y/N’s chest tightened. She curled her fingers into Yelena’s sleeve, holding on. “We would help you. All of you.”
Yelena looked at her, torn. “I don’t know if I trust Wilson…”
“But I do,” Y/N cut in, her voice steady. “And if you really trust me, then you know you can trust him too. I promise you, Lena. He would help you. All of you.”
The silence stretched, heavy with everything unspoken. Yelena’s eyes searched hers, as if she wanted to believe, as if she almost did. Finally, she exhaled and shook her head again.
“I need to think about it.”
“Okay,” Y/N said softly, swallowing down the urge to push harder. “Yeah. I understand. But… I don’t know how much time we have to dwell on this.”
“I just need to talk to my team. That’s it,” Yelena said, softer this time, but still firm.
Y/N nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her hand stayed on Yelena’s sleeve, thumb rubbing a slow, steady circle against the fabric. “Just…” she hesitated, voice quieter now, “don’t shut me out, okay? I’m here for you. Always.”
That hit Yelena right in the chest. She blinked, a sharp pang of guilt flashing across her face. Because Y/N wasn’t just saying words— she meant it. And Yelena knew she’d already shut her out once. She’d walked away, left Y/N confused and hurt because she was scared. But she wasn’t going to do that again. Not this time.
Yelena’s fingers found Y/N’s hand, threading through hers. “I know,” she said finally, her voice steadier than she expected. “I know you are.” She gave her hand a squeeze, then lifted her other one to gently tuck a loose strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. The touch lingered, knuckles brushing against her cheek like Yelena couldn’t quite pull away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she added, quieter now. “Not this time.”
Y/N’s breath hitched, her lips parting just slightly at the tenderness of it.
“I’m scared too,” Yelena admitted, her voice rough around the edges, “but I trust you. I… I trust us.”
Y/N smiled, soft and a little watery, and leaned in until their foreheads touched. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’ve got you. We’ll figure this out.”
And for the first time in days, Yelena believed her.
They stayed there for a few quiet seconds, foreheads pressed together, the room warm with everything they didn’t have to say out loud. But eventually, Yelena sighed and pulled back just a little, her hand still cupping Y/N’s cheek.
“I should probably go…” she murmured.
Y/N frowned, the sound barely more than a breath. “So soon?”
“I know,” Yelena said softly, already sounding regretful. “But I don’t want to deal with Valentina right now.” She huffed a humorless laugh and added, “Not that it matters. She probably already knows I’m here.”
Y/N’s face fell. “I’m so sorry. I really thought I was being careful.”
“It’s not your fault,” Yelena said quickly, shaking her head. “Valentina just has this need to control everything. But I don’t know what she’s playing at here.”
They went quiet again— the air heavy with uncertainty neither of them could fix tonight.
Y/N finally asked, her voice small, “Will you come back soon?”
“…I don’t know,” Yelena admitted. “But I’ll text you. I’ll update you when I get back. And I’ll let you know when I talk to my team.”
“Alright.”
Yelena gathered her jacket and her bag, and together they walked toward the window. Y/N hovered nearby, chewing on her lip.
“Please be safe,” she said quietly.
Yelena softened at that— the words hitting somewhere deep. No one ever told her that. Not as an order. Not as a plea. Not with care.
She tried to hide it with humor. “Well, I can’t really help it—”
“Lena,” Y/N interrupted gently. “I mean it.”
Yelena’s smirk faltered, replaced by something more vulnerable. “…Of course,” she said. “I’ll be safe, Y/N/N.”
Y/N smiled sadly, then pulled her into a tight hug. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered against her shoulder. “Please don’t disappear again.”
“I won’t,” Yelena promised, her voice rough with emotion. She pulled back just enough to cup Y/N’s face again, her thumb brushing her cheek. “I’ll miss you too.”
And before Y/N could say anything else, Yelena leaned in and kissed her— soft, lingering, a little desperate. Then she climbed out the window, glancing back one last time before disappearing into the afternoon sun.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺
taglist: @sparks123123, @primadonaprincess55, @svnnynostalgia, @girxwrp, @justgreenpeach, @wowitssofia @qardasngan @geekyandgay98 @billericious @spiderx18 @kacka84 @magnificentducksoul @nnovacore @mamas-evil-hag @sweetlikecherrycola
author's note: oh em geee! im so sorry for leaving you all hanging for a while😭😭 life got super busy but i've slowly getting back into writing so hopefully we'll start getting more frequent updates!
anyways! yelena my fav emotionally repressed girl😍 she's trying her best yall😭
joaquin is so real for laughing in serious moments like me too twin😭 i lovee him and y/n!! they're the cutest duo.
am i evil for those peter mentions? maybe. LOL. it's very much official that y/n and peter dated but then nwh happened and now she doesn't know who he is😭💔
i hope you all enjoyed!! let me know your thoughts! and pls lmk if you want to be added to the taglist😛 LOVE YOU BYE
i think it's so funny that everyone who's ever read clueless reallyyyy wanted y/n to end up with harry at one point😭😭😭 and like... lowkey same LMAO
that's why i never ended up posting the y/n x harry headcanons😭💔 i was liking it a little too much😭😭 i just might post them later tho
i just need to get through the big plot points before i can write another harry oneshot. i may or may not have another one planned out...
will you be updating clueless anytime soon?! take your time ofc!!
hiiiii!! yes! i'm updating soon! def this month, dont worry😭😭 i'm still writing the new chapter but honestly it'll be ready soon🙏
i'm editing a new chapter for my yelena fic as well and i'm working on another johnny storm oneshot🙈🙈 but i pinky promise we're getting a new clueless chapter this month!! im slowly starting to lock innnn again😭😭😭
the fate of ophelia is lowkey giving what i have planned for clueless and stuff omg😭😭
ohhh you guyssss!! I Love You chapter 3 coming VERY soon!
i just started editing the chapter but i'm really excited for you all to read it😭😭
Is this sunny coming back with her amazing fics (I’m in love)
im trying bae😭😩😭 i've been trying to finish some drafts and finish new chapters for both of my currect fics and i feel like im finally getting somewhereee so im very excited!!
and once again, thank you all so much for being so patient with me these past few weeks😭😭😭
are you guys watching dancing with the stars?🙈 pls don't tell me i'm the only one here😭
you’ve outdone yourself once again i’m obsessed with the new johnny story it was literally perfect😭
omggg i had to deliver for yall😭🙏 that johnny oneshot had been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute😭😭 im just happy you all liked it!!!
been working on some stuff for my lovessss im so excited for you all to read it!!!!
im slowly making my comeback. we'll get new chapters very very soon!!! trustttt
also go ready my johnny oneshot LOL
Already Over
summary: you never meant to fall for johnny, but he made it impossible. what started out as persistence and a whirlwind romance turned into heartbreak- until he came back begging for another chance. is it too good to be true or is johnny storm finally ready to give into his feelings?
pairing: johnny storm x reader
warnings: slight swearing, lowkey some love bombing oops, johnny being very dumb, implied sex, lowkey toxic situationship, crying, arguing, angsty, f!reader. i think that's it!!
word count: 14.4k!!!
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Y/N adjusted the lens one last time, checking the light meter on her camera as she crouched near the edge of the seamless backdrop. “Okay, blue tones are bouncing a little too hard,” she mumbled to herself, twisting the aperture ring with practiced ease. “Might need to kill the side fill if the glare doesn’t settle.”
She stood, smoothing down her shirt, camera slung around her neck. The studio lights buzzed overhead. A soft breeze from the vent rustled the edge of the backdrop. Everything was perfect.
Almost.
She glanced toward the entrance just as the heavy metal doors groaned open. “Right on cue,” she whispered.
The Fantastic Four stepped into the studio in full uniform. Reed offered a polite nod. Sue smiled warmly. Ben was already mid grumble about how tight the suits felt. And then there was Johnny Storm— smirking like he’d just walked out of a dream and directly into trouble.
Y/N cleared her throat, stepping forward. “Hi! I’m Y/N— I'll be doing your shoot today. Big fan,” she added, mostly to break the ice. “Of, you know… saving the world and not letting New York burn down.”
Reed smiled. “Appreciate that. Thanks for working with us on short notice.”
“No problem,” she said, nodding. “Okay, if we can start with a few group shots— positions are marked on the floor, just stand naturally for now, we’ll finesse later.”
She moved back to her camera.
Johnny didn’t.
He lingered in front of her, eyes scanning her face with open curiosity. “Y/N,” he said, letting the name roll off his tongue like he’d just tasted something sweet. “That Greek or something?”
She arched a brow, lifting the camera to her eye. “Not really. Back row, left side.”
He didn’t move.
“You know,” he said, ignoring Ben’s very loud sigh behind him, “if you wanted to take pictures of me specifically, you could’ve just asked.”
Y/N didn’t even blink. “I didn’t. Back row.”
Ben groaned. “For the love of— would you move, Matchstick?”
Johnny held up both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, sheesh. Just trying to make the shoot more fun.”
Y/N focused through the viewfinder. “Trust me. The fewer interruptions, the more fun this is for everyone.”
That earned a laugh from Sue.
She snapped a few test shots. Directed them to shift. Adjusted lighting. Things moved quickly after that. Reed standing tall in the middle, Sue slightly angled beside him, Ben grounding the edge of the frame like a brick wall, and Johnny... smiling a little too hard when she asked him to “try not to smirk like a 1950s heartthrob.”
Finally, they broke for individual portraits.
Johnny was last.
He strolled toward the mark with all the casual confidence of someone who had never once worried about making a good impression.
Y/N didn’t say anything at first, just adjusted her lighting, checked the monitor. She was all business.
“Alright, Johnny,” she said, raising her camera. “Neutral face first.”
He grinned wider. “This is my neutral face.”
“Then you should get that checked out.”
Ben laughed somewhere off to the side. “Oh, I like her.”
Y/N stepped in, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face as she gestured toward Johnny’s posture. “Relax your shoulders. And try not to look directly into the camera like you're about to hit on it.”
Johnny chuckled. “Not my fault the camera loves me.”
“You're unbelievable.”
“You noticed,” he said, and winked.
Y/N definitely didn’t blush. “Just stay still.”
The shutter clicked three times.
And in that split second, captured on digital film, was the start of something neither of them knew how to name yet— her with her steady hands and restless heart, him with his showboating grin and sharp gaze.
“You’re really good at this,” he said after a moment, quieter now.
She looked up from the screen. “At photography? I’d hope so.”
He tilted his head. “At pretending I don’t phase you.”
And even though her face stayed perfectly composed, even though she rolled her eyes and waved him off and said, “Last frame, Storm,” her hand trembled just slightly when she lifted the camera again.
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The rest of the team had already filed out, Reed muttering something about a debrief while Sue waved a grateful goodbye and Ben made some sarcastic comment about needing an ice bath for his knees. Y/N had just started packing her gear, carefully coiling cords, breaking down the second light stand when she noticed a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye.
“You’re still here?” she asked, not bothering to look up.
Johnny leaned against the table like he had all the time in the world. “What, no post shoot drinks? Isn’t that, like, a photography tradition or something?”
“Nope,” she replied, popping the lens off her camera. “Unless you count a Sprite and a nap on my floor.”
Johnny watched her snap the body cap on and start loading lenses into a case. “Need help?”
“Absolutely not.”
Naturally, he ignored that and wandered closer, eyes scanning the buttons and dials of her DSLR like he’d just discovered alien tech. “This thing’s heavy. You know, I bet I could carry your whole setup in one trip. Perks of dating a human flamethrower.”
Y/N froze, turning slowly to face him. “Did you just say dating?”
He grinned. “Too soon?”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to her case, but not before he gently plucked the camera from her hands. “Hey—Johnny—be careful with that.”
“I am being careful,” he said, already lifting it to his eye. “Smile.”
“What? No—”
Click.
Johnny glanced at the screen and smirked, clearly proud of himself. “Wow. You’re even photogenic when you’re mad.”
Y/N grabbed the camera back, trying not to laugh as she flicked through the settings to see what he’d done. “You overexposed it and didn’t adjust the ISO.”
He blinked. “...I don’t know what any of that means.”
She smirked. “Exactly.”
There was a brief moment of quiet as she slid the camera back into her bag, her hair falling in front of her face.
“So,” Johnny said, leaning just a little too close, “if I asked you out right now, what are the odds you’d say yes?”
Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Storm, but it takes more than a pretty face and a few compliments to win me over.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “Wow. Fatal blow.”
“You’ll live.”
He stepped back with a low whistle, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Playing the long game. I respect that.”
“Who said there’s a game?”
“You did,” he said, flashing that million-dollar smile as he backed toward the exit. “When you didn’t say no.”
Y/N stared after him for a moment, lips twitching, then went back to packing her bag.
She didn’t say no.
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It was late by the time Y/N got home. Her boots landed with a heavy thud by the door, camera bag slung over her shoulder, keys tossed somewhere in the vague direction of the counter. The loft was quiet except for the soft hum of the city beyond her windows and the low of her ancient ceiling fan overhead.
She changed into a hoodie and sweatpants, tied her hair up, and settled on the couch with her laptop. The memory card clicked into place with a soft snap. She exhaled, already bracing herself for hours of sorting through unflattering mid blinks and awkward angles.
The first batch loaded. The Fantastic Four in full costume, slightly stiff at first but easing into it. Reed had the most trouble loosening up. Sue was effortlessly photogenic. Ben…well, he hated the camera, but she managed a few good shots where he wasn’t scowling. Mostly.
And then there was Johnny.
She clicked through the frames— grinning, posing, winking at the lens like it was second nature. Like he knew exactly how to make the camera love him. And damn it, the camera really did love him.
“Of course you’re the most photogenic,” she muttered, adjusting the contrast on one of his solos.
As she scrolled, she found herself lingering a little too long on the shots of him smiling off to the side, the unposed ones, the ones where his eyes crinkled a little at the corners. She frowned and shook herself out of it, ready to move on—
Then froze.
There it was.
At the very end of the roll, tucked between test shots and throwaways, was the photo Johnny took at the end of the shoot.
It was her.
Caught mid sentence, mouth parted, eyes squinting slightly. It wasn’t perfectly framed—just slightly off center but the light hit her skin, and her hair was glowing, and—
She bit her bottom lip, trying not to smile.
“You little sneak,” she whispered, clicking to zoom in.
The worst part?
It was a good picture.
Annoyingly good.
She leaned back on the couch, laptop balanced on her thighs, and let out a tiny, involuntary laugh. One of those rare, breathy ones she barely ever let herself have when she was alone.
She clicked a few buttons and saved it into a folder. Personal. No edits, no filters.
Just a stolen moment.
Just a boy and his dumb smile, living rent free in her mind.
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Y/N was mid shoot in a cramped Brooklyn loft, all exposed brick and moody backlight. Her client was a rising indie musician with a mop of purple curls. He was sitting on a stool while Y/N adjusted her reflector, giving instructions to her assistant with practiced ease.
“Bring the diffuser up two inches— no, no, two, not ten. There you go.” She lifted her camera and took a few rapid shots, checking the screen. “Perfect. Let’s reset.”
Just as she stepped back to review the shots, she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a door creaking open followed by a very familiar voice.
“Wow. This lighting makes everyone look good.”
Y/N groaned internally.
Johnny Storm stood just inside the doorway, holding two coffees like a golden retriever. His sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to the elbows.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying not to sound flustered.
He held up one of the cups. “You said no to drinks, but you didn’t say anything about caffeine. I brought backup.”
Y/N blinked. “How did you know I was here?”
He smirked. “You have a public website. With a calendar. Not exactly hacking into NASA.”
Behind her, the musician on the stool was watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement.
Y/N crossed her arms. “You drove all the way to Brooklyn to bring me coffee?”
Johnny took a step closer and handed her the cup. “No. I came to see if you’d reconsider saying yes.”
She stared at him, then down at the coffee. It had her name on the side. Spelled right.
“Okay,” she said, cautiously accepting it. “Bold move.”
“I’m a bold guy.”
“And a little insane.”
He grinned. “You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
She took a slow sip. Caramel macchiato. Her favorite.
Damn it.
“Still not saying yes,” she warned.
He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll take a ‘not yet.’”
Her assistant called her back over, and she turned to go, but Johnny leaned in at the last second and whispered just behind her ear,
“You looked at the photo, didn’t you?”
Y/N paused mid step. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say a word.
But her slight smile said enough.
Johnny chuckled to himself and turned to leave, victorious.
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Y/N had just adjusted her tripod when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. She didn’t even need to look. She already knew who it was.
Johnny Storm. Again.
“Morning, hotshot,” she said dryly, not bothering to glance up as she flipped through her checklist.
“Morning, sunshine,” he replied smoothly, placing a large iced coffee and a croissant beside her camera bag. “Thought you might need fuel.”
She raised a brow. “Bribery won’t work.”
“I prefer to think of it as charm,” he grinned.
“You’re delusional.”
“And yet, here you are, smiling.”
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It had rained all morning. Y/N was halfway through positioning her subject when someone cleared their throat behind her.
A bouquet of carnations and roses entered her frame. Then Johnny’s face peeked from behind them, grin wide and way too pleased with himself.
“Too cliché?” he asked.
“Try embarrassing,” she muttered, snatching the flowers and glancing around to make sure no one was watching.
He just beamed. “You’re keeping them, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Only because I like the colors.”
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
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She was already shooting when the bell above the studio door chimed.
“No,” she said instinctively, not even turning around.
“Yes,” Johnny called cheerfully from across the room.
He approached slowly, holding two perfectly balanced coffee cups in a cardboard tray, his other hand tucked behind his back.
“I swear to God, if you have more flowers—”
“Tulips this time,” he interrupted, revealing a neat little bouquet and placing it on a nearby crate. “They mean declaration of love, or whatever. Not that I’m declaring anything. Yet.”
She stared at him. He stared right back.
“…You’re insane,” she said.
He gave a casual shrug. “Insanely persistent.”
She stared at the flowers. Then the coffee. Then his stupid, hopeful face.
“Oh my god,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. You win. One date.”
His eyes lit up like he’d just won the lottery. “Yeah?”
“One. Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late,” he said, already typing something into his phone. “Friday at seven. I’ll pick you up.”
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He was on time. Dressed in a navy button up with the sleeves rolled just enough, leaning against the passenger door of a sleek black car like he hadn’t been nervously rehearsing his opener the entire drive over.
When Y/N opened the front door, Johnny’s jaw actually dropped.
“You—” he started, blinking at her. “You look…”
She tilted her head. “If you say ‘hot,’ I’m going back inside.”
“I was gonna say gorgeous,” he grinned, holding out his hand. “But I can go with stunning, radiant, the most beautiful woman on the planet…”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile was real. “Come on, Casanova.”
He opened the car door for her, then jogged around to his side.
“Chivalry’s not dead, by the way,” he said as he slid in.
“Just deeply suspicious coming from you.”
“Ouch.”
The restaurant wasn’t flashy— warm lighting, exposed brick, the smell of garlic and olive oil in the air. Johnny had clearly picked it for the vibe, not the publicity.
They sat across from each other in a cozy corner booth. Her arms rested on the table. His did too. And somewhere between the first glass of wine and the second, something clicked.
She told him about the time she accidentally booked two shoots on the same day and had to sprint six blocks in heels, dripping sweat and still managing to get the perfect shots. He told her about getting caught mid change on the roof of the Baxter Building by a school tour group. (“They were ten, Y/N. Ten.”)
They laughed. Like, really laughed.
She hadn’t expected that.
He wasn’t just charming, he was funny. Smart. A little dorky, actually, when he got going. He kept leaning in, grinning when she rolled her eyes, and his knee bumped hers under the table more than once.
“You know,” she said, swirling the last of her wine, “you’re not what I expected.”
Johnny raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What’d you expect?”
“Less… real.”
His smile softened. “You bring it out of me.”
She blinked.
And for the first time that night, she didn’t have a comeback.
The drive back was filled with more laughter, more easy silence, her legs curled up slightly on the seat as she told him about the time she met a real housewife at a gala and didn’t recognize her. Johnny just listened, one hand on the wheel, sneaking glances at her whenever the streetlights made her smile glow.
When they pulled up in front of her building, he unbuckled his seatbelt immediately.
“You don’t have to—” she started.
“I want to,” he said, already out of the car.
She stepped out too, holding her jacket closed against the breeze. He fell into step beside her, not brushing too close, but not far either.
The walk to her door was short. It felt longer.
She stopped in front of her building’s steps, one hand on the railing. He stood in front of her, hands in his jacket pockets now, the cool night air settling between them.
“So,” she said, tilting her head. “That was… really nice.”
“Yeah?” he smiled, ducking his head for a second. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
She looked at him— really looked. He was nervous. Fidgety. And maybe just barely holding himself back.
But he didn’t lean in.
Didn’t ask to come up.
Didn’t even so much as touch her.
“I had a really good time, Y/N,” he said, voice quiet and sincere. “And I’d like to see you again, if you’re up for it. But if not, no pressure. Seriously.”
The way he said it, like he meant it, made something flutter in her chest.
“You’re not gonna try and kiss me goodnight?” she teased.
He laughed, but it was soft. “I want to. Trust me, I really want to. But… I don’t want to mess this up.”
That stunned her into silence. Not because she didn’t believe it— because she did. Completely.
She smiled.
“Okay,” she said. “Then I guess I’ll call you.”
He took a step backward, walking toward the car. “You better.”
And when he looked back at her— smiling like she was something rare and golden in the moonlight— she realized her cheeks were warm.
He really wasn’t what she expected.
And that scared her in the best way.
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Since their first date, it was like they couldn’t stop finding excuses to see each other.Dinner dates turned into lingering walks home, coffee meetups into afternoons spent wandering bookstores, evenings cooking together into falling asleep on the couch mid movie. Every time they were apart, one of them was texting or calling, just to hear the other’s voice.
The sun filters through the leaves as Johnny dramatically lays out a blanket, nearly tripping over himself in the process. Y/N bursts out laughing, her camera already in hand to document the disaster.
He's brought way too much food— sandwiches, pastries, sparkling lemonade— and insists on feeding her grapes like they’re in some kind of cheesy romcom. She pretends to hate it. She does not hate it.
Later, they're lying side by side, watching clouds and making ridiculous shapes out of them. Her head rests on his chest. He’s playing with her fingers absentmindedly. It’s quiet. It’s easy.
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The city sky threatened rain, the clouds heavy and low, but they didn’t care. They walked side by side, hands brushing without quite touching, caught up in some silly conversation that had them both laughing. The first drops had barely started when Johnny whipped off his jacket and held it over both their heads.
“Johnny!” Y/N squealed through her laughter, clutching his arm as they tried to jump over puddles. “You’re not even covering me right!”
He barked out a laugh, his hair already dripping. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’ve got such a big head!”
She gasped and swatted at him as they bolted down the block, nearly colliding with strangers, both soaked to the bone by the time they stumbled into the shelter of a little corner bookstore. They stood there in the doorway, breathless, rainwater dripping off them onto the welcome mat.
Johnny leaned down, still laughing, and draped his jacket over her shoulders. Y/N tugged it tighter around herself and pouted, brushing her wet hair back. “Great. I look like a wet poodle, don’t I?”
He stilled for just a second, eyes lingering on her— hair sticking to her cheeks, lashes clumped with rain, lips pink from the cold. His smile softened into something quieter, something that made her pulse stumble.
“I think,” he said, voice low enough she almost missed it over the sound of rain, “you look like the prettiest girl in the world.”
Her cheeks flushed instantly, warmth blooming in her chest despite how cold and damp she was. She ducked her head, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips, but he caught it anyway, his grin spreading wider like her reaction was the only thing that mattered in the room.
By the time they left the store, the rain hadn’t let up. If anything, it was coming down harder. Johnny tried to stretch his jacket over both their heads again, but it was useless. They were soaked in seconds, sprinting down the sidewalk hand in hand, laughter echoing into the night.
Halfway down the block, she slowed, gasping for breath, water streaming down her face. Johnny stopped too, turning toward her beneath the golden glow of a streetlight. She was laughing so hard she had to clutch his arm, and something about the sight—her flushed cheeks, her shining eyes, her smile—knocked the air right out of his chest.
Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he kissed her.
It wasn’t perfect but it was everything. She stiffened for a fraction of a second, then melted, her fingers curling into his shirt as she kissed him back. The rain poured around them and for a moment it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared.
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It’s late morning in her apartment. Y/N pads into the kitchen wearing one of Johnny’s shirts that hangs just enough to drive him insane. He’s shirtless, flipping pancakes and looking at her like she hung the goddamn stars.
She steals his coffee. He lets her.
Another time, she’s curled up in his bed, editing photos on her laptop. He lies beside her, face buried in her side, mumbling nonsense about her smelling good and the world not mattering right now.
They fall asleep tangled in each other’s limbs more often than not. Clothes are swapped. Toothbrushes are bought. It’s unspoken, but they’ve built a rhythm.
They’re not saying “I love you.” Not yet.
But it’s there.
It’s all there.
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The windows glow orange with the setting sun, casting warm light across the stainless steel counters. Johnny is elbow deep in pasta sauce, trying not to splatter, while Y/N rinses a handful of basil in the sink, humming along to the soft music playing from the record player.
She’s wearing one of his old Fantastic Four shirts again. Johnny’s pretty sure he’s never going to see it again. He’s not complaining.
She moves beside him, leaning just close enough to brush their arms as she sprinkles salt into the pot. “Don’t forget the garlic bread,” she says.
“I would never disrespect you like that,” he deadpans, grabbing the tray from the oven.
He catches her smiling as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel and grabs her camera, always within reach. She lifts it, quick and easy.
Click.
“Seriously?” Johnny turns his head, mock offended. “Mid bite?”
“I like this one,” she says, already peeking at the screen. “You look… soft.”
“I am soft. You just keep pretending I’m not.”
He leans in, brushing his nose against her cheek in that boyish, infuriatingly charming way that always makes her feel like gravity doesn’t work right anymore. She tries to play it cool. She fails.
“I’ll be right back,” he says suddenly, slipping out of the kitchen.
She’s half stirring the pasta when he returns, something small and shiny clasped in his fingers. He crosses the floor without a word, holds it out to her.
“What’s this?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
“A key.”
She deadpans, lips twitching. “No shit, Johnny.”
He huffs a breathy laugh, shoving a hand through his hair. “To the Baxter. So you don’t have to keep buzzing Ben when you wanna see me.”
Her brows knit. She doesn’t take it right away. Instead, she stares at the little silver thing in his palm like it’s made of something far heavier.
“This isn’t just for convenience, is it?” she asks quietly.
He hesitates. Shrugs, just a little, eyes flicking up to meet hers.
“I just… like you around.”
Simple. Honest. And it knocks the air right out of her.
She blinks.
Her hand closes around the key.
“Okay,” she says softly, voice warm at the edges. “Cool.”
And then, just before turning back to the stove, she leans up and kisses his cheek. Light. Thoughtless. Intimate.
Johnny doesn’t say anything, but he touches his cheek afterward like it might still be there.
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There’s a romcom playing low on the TV, wine glasses scattered across the coffee table, and the smell of popcorn and face masks thick in the air. Y/N is curled up on the couch with her three best friends—Jules, Lilia, and Taylor—her hair twisted up, skin glowing, legs tangled under a cozy blanket.
She’s mid sip of wine when there’s a knock at the door.
Jules lifts her brow. “You expecting someone?”
Y/N squints toward the hallway. “No— well, maybe—”
Another knock. A little louder this time.
She pads over, opens the door and there he is.
Johnny Storm, casually holding two bottles of red wine in one hand and a takeout bag in the other, smiling like she’s the only thing that exists in the world.
“Hi,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing. Like he didn’t just show up looking stupidly handsome in jeans and a hoodie that still somehow looks tailored to him.
“Johnny.” Her tone is half laughter, half disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you were doing a girls’ night,” he says, walking past her into the apartment like he’s already been given honorary membership. “So I thought, hey, let me at least drop off reinforcements.”
He waves the wine bottles, then lifts the bag. “Also, I know you said Jules always complains this place doesn’t deliver.”
Jules gasps from the couch. “I do complain about that!”
“Of course you do,” Johnny grins. “I listen.”
Lilia leans forward. “Wait, is he staying? Because I suddenly care a lot more about this night.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, that stupid soft smile she always gets when he’s around. “Fine. You can stay if you behave.”
“No promises,” Johnny says, kicking off his shoes. “But I’ll try for you, sweetheart.”
He’s on the floor between Lilia and Taylor, telling a ridiculous story about a mission gone wrong. They’re all in hysterics, doubled over laughing, even Jules, who notoriously doesn’t like anyone at first, is hiding her grin behind her wine glass.
Johnny leans back against the couch, looking up at Y/N like she’s his entire universe. “She’s the coolest person I’ve ever met,” he tells them without shame, interrupting himself mid story. “Like, did you know she shot an underwater campaign and an album cover in the same week? She barely slept and still looked like a goddess.”
Y/N hides her face in her hands. “Johnny, stop.”
He grins. “No. I will not. I’m in awe of you. Every day.”
Jules gives Y/N a look. He’s a walking green flag.
Lilia mouths keep him.
Taylor just clinks her glass with Johnny’s.
And Y/N?
She’s already halfway in love with him.
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The wine has long worn off, but the emotional hangover is still going strong.
Y/N stands at the stove, making pancakes in one of Johnny’s sweatshirts— big, navy blue, and just a little too long on her. Her hair’s in a loose bun, her face bare. She flips a pancake, then glances over her shoulder at the couch where her three best friends are slowly reanimating after crashing the night before.
Lilia stretches first, then squints at Y/N. “Morning, loverboy’s muse.”
Y/N laughs quietly. “Shut up.”
“No, seriously,” Jules croaks, voice hoarse from sleep. “We need to talk about that man.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“You’re delusional,” Taylor says, sitting up with a pillow hugged to her chest. “Y/N. He worships you.”
Y/N snorts and focuses hard on pouring the next pancake. “He does not.”
“Oh my god.” Jules throws her head back. “He showed up to girls’ night with wine and our favorite dumplings. That man is gone.”
“It’s too soon,” Y/N says quietly. “We’ve only been seeing each other for five months.”
There’s a moment of silence.
Lilia sits up straighter. “Y/N. Five months. You see each other every other night. You’ve met his family. We’ve met him. You’ve both spent the night at each other’s places. He gave you a key to the freaking Baxter Building three months in. And you still don’t have a label?”
Y/N says nothing. She just slowly flips the pancake, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“I like what we have,” she mumbles.
Jules softens. “We know, babe. But… you’re the girlfriend type. Not the casual hookup girl. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“And as much as we all like Johnny—seriously, we do,” Lilia adds, “it might be time to have that conversation. Just so you know where you stand.”
Y/N is quiet for a long time. The kitchen feels still except for the low sizzle of the pan.
“I don’t want to lose him,” she admits, finally. Quiet. Honest.
Taylor walks over, wraps her arms around her from behind. “Then talk to him. If he’s really that into you? He’ll want to be yours.”
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The room is quiet, except for the hum of the city through the window and the faint buzz of the AC kicking in. The sheets are a mess. Her leg is draped over his hip, her cheek pressed against his chest, his fingers lazily tracing down her spine.
She feels good. Warm, loose, that kind of floaty peace that only comes after something honest and physical and real.
He shifts a little, looks down at her with a lopsided smile.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” Johnny says, voice still rough.
She huffs out a tired laugh. “Already? That was fast.”
“Nah,” he murmurs, brushing a piece of hair off her face. “Been happening. Just… slow burn, y’know?”
She looks up at him then, just a quick glance, but his eyes are already closed again. That same grin still on his lips. Like he didn’t really mean it. Or maybe he did, but now it’s just a joke between them. Nothing to be taken too seriously.
Still, her chest tightens just a little.
“Can I ask you something?” she says quietly, almost tentative.
He peeks an eye open, gives her a lazy grin. “Round two already?”
She laughs, because it’s easy to, but the question stays caught in her throat. His hands are already sliding over her waist again, mouth finding the corner of her jaw.
She lets herself melt into it. Into him. Into the distraction of it all.
But somewhere in the back of her mind, as he kisses her like he always does— like it’s nothing, like it’s everything— she wonders,
Is that all I am to him?
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The café is cute. Sunny, colorful tiles and hanging plants, the clink of forks on ceramic plates and indie music playing low from the speakers. The girls are halfway through their mimosas.
“So,” Lilia says, chewing on a piece of waffle. “Did you ever talk to Johnny?”
The question floats in the air.
Across the table, Jules pauses mid sip. Taylor raises a brow.
Y/N stares down at her plate. “...About what?”
Lilia scoffs. “Don’t play dumb.”
Taylor leans forward, elbows on the table. “You know what. The ‘what are we’ conversation.”
“I—” Y/N hesitates. “I was going to. I swear.”
“Y/N,” Jules groans, exasperated. “Girl.”
“I got scared, okay?” she says quickly, cheeks heating. “I was gonna bring it up and then I just... didn’t. I don’t know. I like what we have.”
The table goes quiet for a beat too long.
Lilia gives her a look. “You mean the thing where you’re unofficially dating, sleeping together, in each other’s lives constantly, and yet somehow still acting like strangers when it comes to actual feelings?”
Y/N frowns. “It’s not like that.”
“It is like that,” Taylor says gently, but firm. “And it’s been five months, babe.”
“I mean, come on,” Jules says. “You’ve met his whole family. He has your friends on speed dial. You wear his clothes more than your own. He gave you a key.”
“And you still don’t know if he sees you as his girlfriend?” Lilia says, incredulous.
“I don’t mind what we have,” Y/N mutters, quieter now. “It’s nice. It’s... easy.”
“Easy for who?” Taylor asks, soft but pointed.
Y/N goes silent again.
The food on her plate is untouched now, and she’s just pushing her fork around in slow, aimless circles. She doesn’t meet anyone’s eye.
The thing is— her friends love her. They think Johnny’s great. But they also know her. And this version of her, shrinking a little every time someone says his name, trying to act fine when she’s clearly not?
That’s not the Y/N they know.
So they let her sit in the quiet for a moment, let it sink in. No “I told you so”. Just the stillness of truth settling into her chest.
Finally, Lilia slides the syrup closer. “Eat, babe. You’re hangry and emotionally repressed. Bad combo.”
Y/N snorts despite herself. But her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
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Dinner’s loud.
Not in a chaotic way— just in the kind of way where the dining room is filled with overlapping conversations and the sounds of clinking forks and someone telling a bad joke. Y/N’s laughing, her hand curled around a wine glass, and Sue’s got a hand on her arm as she tells her some story about Johnny’s truly tragic middle school haircut.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Johnny mutters, pouting as he passes her the salad bowl. “I was experimenting.”
“With a mushroom cut?” Ben rumbles from the end of the table, snorting.
Reed, across the table, barely hides a smirk behind his glass.
Y/N giggles, bumping her shoulder lightly into Johnny’s. “There are photos, right? Please tell me there are photos.”
Sue beams. “Oh, I’ve got a whole album.”
“Don't show her,” Johnny groans.
Reed leans toward Y/N, voice calm and measured, but warm. “It’s been good having you around.”
Y/N blinks, a little startled. “Oh. Thank you. I mean, it’s been good being around. Everyone’s been so nice.”
Sue smiles knowingly. “Well, anyone who makes him less annoying is a gift.”
Johnny puts a dramatic hand to his chest. “I’m literally right here.”
“You're very loud. We never forget,” Ben says with a wink at Y/N.
The conversation keeps going, weaving between teasing and real interest— Ben asking her about the shoot she assisted last week, Sue praising one of Y/N’s recent portraits that Johnny sent to the family group chat. Reed even asks a few thoughtful questions about her artistic process, which is, apparently, very high praise.
it’s not performative. None of it is forced.
They really, truly like her.
Johnny watches her quietly for a moment, chin propped in his hand. He hasn’t touched his wine in a while. Just sitting back, grinning like an idiot while she laughs at something Ben says.
This. This right here? This is his dream scenario and he doesn’t even realize it’s the kind of thing most people hope for their whole lives.
At one point, Sue leans over to whisper something in Y/N’s ear. Something about family dinners and how she better be ready for the holidays. Y/N blushes and smiles down at her plate, heart skipping a little faster.
She doesn’t even realize Johnny’s watching her when she glances up.
But he’s already looking.
Eyes soft. Smile lazy. Like she’s the best thing in the room.
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Johnny’s leaning against the railing with Sue, bottle dangling from his fingers, still talking about Y/N.
“She’s got this freckle right under her jaw,” he says, a dopey smile tugging at his mouth. “You wouldn’t even see it unless she tilted her head all the way back. First time I kissed her there, she laughed. Not, like, a giggle either. A real one. Loud, from her stomach. I think about that laugh all the time.”
Sue watches him, quiet. Observant in the way only big sisters can be. She takes a sip of her drink.
“You’re in love with her.”
The words land like a brick.
Johnny blinks. His smile falters.
“No, I’m not.”
Sue just arches a brow. “Johnny.”
“I’m not.” He laughs. Sharp, deflecting, too quick. “We’re not even dating. It’s casual. It’s not— she’s not my girlfriend.”
“But she could be,” Sue says gently.
He looks away.
The string lights blur a little.
Not from the alcohol— he’s not even tipsy anymore. Just awake. Wide awake in a way that has his heart pounding too hard.
“Sue,” he says, voice low, “you know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fixed on the city skyline. “Because it’s not just me anymore. I can’t just fall for someone and pretend like I don’t come with a million risks and a target on my back. You think Reed could stomach it if someone hurt her because of me? Or if Ben had to clean up after another one of my mistakes?” His fingers tighten around the bottle. “She’s not like us,” he mutters. “She’s not… built for this.”
Sue’s voice softens. “She’s stronger than you think.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to keep her.”
There’s silence for a beat. A stillness.
Then Sue says, “You already have.”
Johnny doesn’t respond. Just stares down at the bottle in his hand. Like if he keeps looking long enough, it’ll distract him from the fact that she’s right. So, so right. And now he doesn’t know what to do.
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One week after dinner with his family—
Johnny had said all the right things that night— he always did. Laughed when her fingers brushed his under the table. Rested his hand on her thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world. She’d smiled at his sister, laughed at his Ben’s jokes, pretended not to notice the way Johnny kept squeezing her knee under the table like a warning: Don’t get used to this.
She didn’t think much of it at first.
After all, they weren’t really together.
And yet, he kept bringing her around his family and including her in plans.
So when he started pulling back, it was subtle at first. The kind of distance that could be chalked up to busy schedules and long shifts and bad timing.
A late night here. A missed call there.
She didn’t panic. Not at first.
He still kissed her. Still reached for her in bed. Still made her laugh so hard she forgot about the way he sometimes got quiet when she talked about things that mattered.
Like the gallery.
They’d been on her couch one night, her legs stretched across his lap, her tablet balanced on her knees. She was talking about the gallery submission she’d been working on, the way her mentor had lit up when she saw her recent shoots.
“This show could actually mean something for me,” Y/N said, a little breathless. “Like, people are gonna see my work. Not just the local paper— like, real people. Buyers. Critics. And it’s my first solo show, so I—”
“That’s great, Y/N/N,” he said, smiling but his voice was soft, almost distant. His hand rested on her ankle. “You deserve that.”
She leaned over, kissed his cheek. “Will you come?”
His thumb brushed her skin. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
And he meant it. He really did.
But something in his eyes said otherwise.
Still, she let herself believe him.
Because he still kissed her forehead when he left. Still left her coffee on her windowsill in the mornings. Still told her she looked beautiful, even when her hair was a mess and her eyes were puffy from pulling an all nighter.
So she tried not to spiral.
Until it got worse.
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The next Friday night
Y/N sets the table in her apartment, two plates of pasta already cooling. She checks her phone. A few seconds later, it lights up.
1 unread message: Sorry. Something came up. Can’t make it tonight.
No emoji. Not even a heart.
She stares at the screen for a moment, then deletes the message without replying. The food goes cold. She eats alone.
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The next weekend
She’s in front of the mirror, adjusting one of her earrings. Her short blue dress hugs her waist perfectly, hair curled, eyes rimmed in soft bronze. She’s halfway through her lipstick when her phone rings.
Johnny.
She smiles, answers on the second ring. “Hey, are you close? I was thinking we could try that—”
“Y/N/N,” he says, and her stomach drops.
His voice is flat. That voice. The one that always means bad news.
“I can’t make it tonight.”
She freezes, the lipstick still in her hand. “Wait—what?”
“Something came up.”
She lets out a breath, tries to keep her voice steady. “Johnny, you canceled on me last week too. You promised—”
“I know.” Silence. “Can I call you later?”
She blinks, stunned. Her throat feels tight. “Oh. Okay. Sure.”
He hangs up.
She doesn’t bother taking off the dress.
She climbs into bed, still in full makeup, the shimmer on her cheeks now catching the light coming from the bathroom. Her curls flatten against the pillow. Her phone stays in her hand.
Just in case.
She refreshes his texts. Opens Instagram. Closes it. Opens it again.
Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s on his way. Maybe he—
But he doesn’t call. And he doesn’t come.
And somewhere around midnight, with her dress wrinkled and mascara smudged, she finally lets herself cry.
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The night of the gallery show—
She wears a long, flowing black dress. Her hair is pinned up, her eyes lined in soft gold. She looks like someone who has her life together. Like someone who knows she belongs in a room full of critics and buyers and champagne.
She looks perfect.
Even if she doesn’t feel it.
The gallery is already packed by the time she arrives. Warm lighting glows against white walls. Her photos hang proud, commanding attention. Her name is printed on a sleek plaque near the entrance.
People come. Lots of them.
Her friends, her professors, old classmates who hug her like it’s been years. Strangers with sharp glasses and expensive scarves ask about her technique, her vision. Some of them even want to buy her pieces.
Everyone comes.
Everyone but him.
At first, she tells herself not to care. He’s probably stuck in traffic. That’s all it was.
But still.
She checks her phone. Again and again. Just in case. No missed calls. No texts. No "sorry, running late." No "I’m outside." No “the city is in shambles and I need to take care of it.”
Nothing.
She tells herself maybe something happened, something real, something that would make this okay.
But the longer the night stretches, the quieter that voice becomes. And the louder the other one gets.
The one that knows. The one that’s always known.
People float in and out. Champagne flutes clink. The soft murmur of compliments fills the space. She thanks them all, smiles for pictures, keeps her tone light when people ask, “Is there someone special in your life?”
She laughs and shrugs and says, “Not really,” like it doesn’t gut her.
Somewhere near the back of the gallery, Lilia pulls her aside and leans in, speaking just above the hum of voices. "Hey. Has Johnny—?"
Y/N cuts her off with a shake of her head. “Don’t,” she says quietly, her smile tight. “Please don’t.”
Lilia backs off. She gets it.
So Y/N slips away before the tears can rise, into the bathroom, into a corner, into whatever quiet she can find for thirty seconds of stillness.
Then she comes back. Smiling. Pretending. Because she always does.
Eventually the crowd thins. The lights dim. The gallery owner hugs her, tells her how proud she should be.
She thanks him, gathers her things.
And walks home alone, heels blistering her feet with every step.
No jacket. No one waiting at her door. Just the hum of the street and the sharp sting of tears she won’t let fall until she’s inside.
And for the first time— really, truly— she starts to believe,
Maybe he was never going to choose her.
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She swipes in with the key he gave her. The place is quiet. Too quiet.
She finds him in his room, in bed, headphones on, one arm behind his head, the other flopped over his chest. The room is lit only by the city outside.
He doesn’t notice her until she says his name.
“Johnny.”
He flinched when he saw her.
Pulled off his headphones slowly, like he couldn’t believe she was really there. “…Hey.”
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there in the doorway. In her heels. Her dress still clinging to her in soft black waves. Her lip gloss faded. Her mascara smudged from the tears she’d already cried on the way over.
“You didn’t come.”
Johnny sat up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. “Y/N/N, I—”
“I waited.”
His face folded, like he wanted to apologize, like he wanted to pull her in— but he didn’t. He stayed right where he was.
“There wasn’t even a mission,” she whispered, like that was the part that really broke her. “I checked the news. You just… didn’t come.”
Silence.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Couldn’t meet her eyes.
She nodded slowly, swallowing down whatever was trying to claw its way up her throat. “Okay,” she said, voice too quiet.
But she didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t let him off the hook.
“I need you to say it.”
Johnny looked up, confused, brows drawing in. “Say what?”
She stepped further into the room, her arms folded like she was holding herself together. “Say whatever is going on with you. Just… talk to me. Please.”
He sighed. Dragged a hand down his face like this whole conversation was exhausting. Like she was exhausting. He glanced down at the half empty water bottle on the nightstand like maybe it had the answer he didn’t.
And then finally he met her eyes.
“I think we moved too fast.”
She blinked. The air left her lungs. “What?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug that didn’t reach his eyes.
“It’s been six months, Johnny.”
“But… it feels like we’ve done a lot in six months. Maybe too much.”
“It’s been six months,” she echoed, disbelief sharpening every syllable. “Not six days. Not six weeks. And what? You’re realizing now that it’s too fast?”
Johnny didn’t answer. Didn’t look away either.
“No,” she said, stepping closer, voice tighter, cutting through the fog of heartbreak. “No, you do know. Just talk to me, Johnny. What’s going on?”
He flinched, barely, at the way she said his name. But again, he gave her nothing.
Her chest tightened. Still, she kept going. Because she had to.
“I would've said yes, you know. If you’d asked me to be your girlfriend— I would've said yes.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed it back. “Still would.”
Johnny’s jaw clenched. He closed his eyes like that would make any of this easier.
“I think we might be better off as friends, Y/N/N.”
She froze.
It hit her like a punch to the ribs.
“…Where is this coming from?”
Silence. Again.
No explanation. No excuse. Just this emptiness between them.
Y/N let out a stunned, bitter little laugh. There was nothing funny about it. “Okay. So that’s it? You chase me for months. You show up for everything—my life, my art, my friends. You kiss me like it means something, like I mean something to you, and then just… nothing?”
He didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
“You’re scared,” she said, quiet now. Not cruel. Just sad. “That’s what this is. You’re scared of loving me. Of being loved.”
His lips parted. Like he wanted to say something. Like the words were right there. But then he closed his mouth. Stayed quiet.
So she nodded. Like she understood. Like she was done begging.
Y/N turned to leave. Her hand was on the doorknob when she said it, voice soft and tired and so final-
"You don’t get to ask for my heart if you’re just going to drop it when it's convenient for you."
The door clicked shut behind her.
And Johnny stayed exactly where he was.
Silent. Still. Alone.
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It started with a knock.
Soft. Barely there.
Y/N paused in the kitchen, still in the oversized shirt she’d stolen from him months ago. Her hands were damp from doing the dishes, her eyes tired. She almost didn’t open the door.
But when she did, he was there.
Johnny stood in the hallway like a ghost of himself. Hoodie slung over his head. Hands in his pockets. Eyes a little red, like he hadn’t slept, or maybe like he had cried and would never admit it.
“Hey,” he said, voice low.
She didn’t say anything.
“I, um…” He trailed off, looking somewhere over her shoulder like he’d rehearsed the speech but forgot it the second he saw her. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. That night. And I— I keep thinking if I just had a little more time to figure things out—”
“Johnny.”
Her voice cut through him.
He looked at her again, and for a second, it was just them. Just her in that stupid shirt and him standing there like he might fall apart if she didn’t say something.
“You left me at my gallery show,” she said. “You didn’t even call. Then you said we’re better off as friends.”
“I know.” His voice cracked. “I know, Y/N/N. I messed up.”
Silence.
“I miss you.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Then, without a word, stepped back to let him in.
He kissed her before the door even fully shut behind him.
Like an apology. Like a goodbye. Like he didn’t know how to be near her without touching her, didn’t know how to want her without hurting her.
She let him.
She kissed him back, her fingers finding the hem of his hoodie, yanking it over his head like muscle memory. His mouth moved to her jaw, her neck, and she let herself fall into him—like they hadn’t been anything more than bodies for months, like pretending it didn’t matter would make it easier.
His hands were shaking.
Hers were too.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.
And later, tangled in her sheets with her head on his chest, Y/N whispered, “What are we doing?”
Johnny was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, “I don’t know.”
Her throat tightened.
“I don’t think this really changes anything.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t say anything at all.
He just kissed her again.
And she let him.
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The restaurant was cute. Quiet. A little candlelit Italian spot Y/N had always passed but never been to.
Her date was sweet. Funny, even. Tall, clean cut, probably emotionally stable. He worked in biotech or maybe app development, she’d tuned that part out. The point was, he was trying. Really trying.
And so was she.
She even wore that dress. The one Johnny had picked out for her months ago, the one he said made her look like a goddamn movie star. She didn’t think about that when she put it on. Or maybe she did.
Her phone buzzed under the table.
storm: you on a date?
She stared at it.
storm: this guy looks lame i’m coming over
Her heart dropped straight into her stomach.
She barely had time to look toward the front door before he walked in— wearing that maroon jacket she loves, grin way too confident for someone with zero reservations. Like he owned the place. Like he owned her.
“Hey, Y/N/N,” he said casually, sliding into the booth beside her.
Her date blinked. “Uh— Johnny Storm?”
Johnny threw an arm over the back of the booth behind her, smiled like he wasn’t setting fire to her whole night. “I’m just a friend.”
“Johnny,” she hissed under her breath. “What are you doing?”
He leaned in, close enough for only her to hear. “Making sure you don’t forget what this is.”
And just like that— she crumbled. Her brain short circuited.
Her date was talking. She wasn’t listening. All she could feel was the heat of Johnny’s breath against her neck and the way his fingers grazed the bare skin of her thigh beneath the table.
She didn’t stop him.
She never stopped him.
“I should go,” the guy said eventually, clearing his throat. “You two clearly have something to work out.”
Y/N barely noticed when he left. She didn’t even look up.
Johnny leaned closer. “You really wore this dress for him?”
She bit back a smile. “No,” she whispered. “I wore it for me.”
But he was already kissing her.
They didn’t even make it to the apartment.
Johnny’s car had barely screeched to a stop in front of her building before he was on her, leaning across the console, hands tangled in her hair, mouth on hers like he hadn’t been pulling away for weeks.
Like he hadn’t told her they should just be friends.
Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed her thigh, sliding beneath the hem of her dress. “You always this reckless?” she whispered against his lips, dizzy from the weight of him, the taste of him, the goddamn ache she could never shake.
He pulled back just enough to look at her— just enough for her to see it in his eyes. That same look from months ago. The one that said don’t ask me to say it.
She didn’t.
She kissed him harder.
The gearshift dug into her hip as they scrambled in the cramped space, her back arching against the passenger seat. The horn blared when she shifted into him, both of them breaking into breathless laughter before his mouth found hers again, hungrier than before.
The windows fogged fast, rain streaking down the glass, shadows flashing across their tangled bodies. She swore her heart might split right open.
It was a mess. A beautiful, pathetic mess.
And when he finally leaned her back against the leather seat, when he kissed every inch of her skin like it was all he knew how to do, she pretended this was enough.
She always pretended.
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The next morning
Y/N tiptoed into the café, hair still half curled from the night before, sunglasses on, hoodie zipped to her neck. She slid into the booth where her friends were already halfway through their lattes.
“Don’t say anything,” she mumbled.
Taylor didn’t even look up. “We weren’t gonna.”
Jules raised a brow. “But now that you’ve mentioned it—”
“I know, okay?” Y/N groaned, dropping her head against the table.
“Do you?” Lilia asked. “Because from where we’re sitting, it looks like you’re still letting him treat you like you only matter when it’s convenient to him.”
Y/N winced.
“He crashed your date, Y/N/N,” Jules said, biting into her croissant. “And you let him. Again.”
She stabbed at her muffin. “It wasn’t like that.”
They stared at her.
“It wasn’t,” she repeated, a little softer. “I don’t know. He… showed up. And then we kissed. And then… whatever.”
“Yeah. That sounds healthy.”
“Shut up.”
A beat of silence passed before Lilia sighed. “You deserve better. You know that, right?”
“I do,” Y/N whispered, barely audible. “I really do.”
But she was still thinking about last night. About the way he touched her like she was the only thing that ever made sense.
And the way he left without a word before sunrise.
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Friday night.
Y/N had just gotten out of the shower, hair still damp, when she heard the knock. She didn’t need to check the peephole.
Only one idiot knocked like that— two short taps, then three quick ones like it was some kind of secret code.
She opened the door and there he was. Johnny Storm, in all his insufferable glory, standing there with takeout bags in hand and a stupid grin on his face.
“Your favorite almost ex boyfriend turned favorite hook up is here,” he announced proudly, stepping inside like he owned the place.
Y/N blinked. The words hit her like a slap.
The humor vanished from her face.
Johnny didn’t notice. He was already heading toward the kitchen, unpacking the food. “Got that fried rice thing you like and the dumplings, too. Thought we could watch that murder show you—”
“Seriously?” she said flatly.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”
She crossed her arms. “That’s what we are now? Favorite hook ups?”
He tilted his head, confused. “Y/N/N, it was a joke.”
“Yeah, can you not?” Her voice was sharp now, more brittle than she'd intended.
He blinked. “It was funny though.”
“No, Johnny,” she snapped. “It wasn’t.”
Silence fell.
He stood there with a takeout box half opened, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, jeez,” he muttered. “Didn’t know you were in a mood.”
“No, I’m not in a mood. I’m just done.”
He stilled.
“I’m done letting you pretend like this doesn’t mean anything. Done pretending like I’m okay with this—us—being just a joke to you.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.
“This isn’t fucking funny to me, okay?” she continued, breath catching. “It’s not a joke. I don’t feel good about this. I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care and it doesn’t hurt me.”
Her voice broke, just slightly.
She stared at him, heart pounding in her chest. “If you really don’t want me, then why do you crash every single one of my dates?”
Johnny looked away.
“Why can’t you let me move on?” she asked, quieter now. “Why are you here, Johnny?”
He didn’t answer.
He just stood there, guilt crawling up his spine, eyes burning like he might actually admit it this time but his mouth stayed shut.
Johnny still hadn’t said a word.
Just stood there with his hands at his sides, mouth half open like he wanted to argue but didn’t even know where to start.
Y/N waited.
Waited for him to say something real for once.
But nothing came.
Just that same stupid silence, and a look in his eyes that made her heart hurt worse than if he’d actually said the words I don’t want you.
She swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in her eyes. “Can you fucking say something?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “Y/N/N, I just… I think maybe we’re not good for each other.”
She let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Wow.”
“I’m just trying to be honest—”
“No, you’re not,” she cut in, eyes sharp now. “If you were being honest, you'd say whatever the hell it is you're actually feeling instead of hiding behind these bullshit excuses.”
Johnny flinched, but didn’t argue.
“You show up here like nothing’s wrong, like this isn’t a mess you made, and I let you in because I…” Her voice cracked. “Because I wanted to believe you’d finally say something real. But you're still just doing what you always do—dodging it, making jokes, pretending you don’t care when you do.”
He looked at her then. Finally.
And the way he looked at her—like he knew she was right and couldn’t admit it—was worse than any insult.
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“Y/N…”
“No,” she said quietly, stepping back. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Not tonight.”
His face fell. “Come on, Y/N/N. Don’t—”
“Go.”
He froze.
“What?”
She pointed toward the door, jaw clenched. “Go. Now.”
He stared at her like she’d knocked the air out of him. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.” Her voice shook, but her eyes didn’t. “You don’t want to tell me the truth? Fine. But I’m not doing this with you tonight.”
Johnny didn’t move.
Just stood there, caught between guilt and pride and panic, holding a takeout box and saying nothing.
So she said it again. Firmer this time. “Go.”
And slowly, hesitantly, Johnny stepped back. Eyes still on her.
Then, finally, he turned and walked out the door.
She didn’t cry until she heard it click shut behind him.
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He didn’t go home right away.
He got in his car and sat there like an idiot. Hands on the steering wheel. Eyes unfocused.
He wasn’t even sure what had just happened. One second he was at her door with dumplings and a stupid joke, and the next— She was looking at him like he’d shattered her.
He dragged a hand over his face, leaned back against the seat.
She’d asked him why he kept showing up. Why he couldn’t let her move on. And the worst part?
He didn’t know how to answer her without sounding like a coward. Because the truth was ugly and pathetic.
He couldn’t let her move on because he didn’t want her to. Because he liked knowing she was still his, in some half assed, not quite real way. Because the thought of her with someone else made his chest feel like it was caving in. Because even though he wasn’t ready, even though he’d fucked it all up, he still wanted her.
And now? She was done waiting.
He glanced at the rearview mirror. At himself. His hair was a mess. There were faint shadows under his eyes. He looked like someone who knew he’d screwed up something permanent.
He looked like someone who deserved it.
For a second, he thought about turning back. Knocking on her door again. Saying something—anything—just to stop that look from being the last thing he ever saw on her face.
But he didn’t.
He just sat there, in the dark with a sick, hollow ache in his chest.
Because for the first time… Johnny Storm was starting to realize he might’ve really lost her. And maybe this time, she wasn’t coming back.
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Johnny was unbearable.
Doors slammed. Music blared. The elevator nearly short circuited from how many times he’d stormed in and out of it that week alone.
Even H.E.R.B.I.E. steered clear— literally hovering behind walls and peeking around corners like a traumatized robot.
“Johnny,” Reed started gently one morning, “I don’t mean to—”
“Don’t.”
“…Okay.”
He was impossible. Moody. Snappy. He’d scorched three lab coats and two coffee mugs in the last forty eight hours. He snapped at Ben, ignored Sue, and for the first time in recorded history, he canceled a rooftop party because he “wasn’t in the mood.”
That’s when everyone knew something was really wrong.
He kept saying he was fine. That it was nothing. That maybe they should all mind their own business.
But then he’d go quiet. Broody. Or worse– fake smiley. “Totally fine,” he’d chirp, eyebrows permanently in disbelief. “Living the dream, guys.”
No one believed him.
Because the truth was— he missed her. More than he thought possible. More than he wanted to admit.
He missed the way she’d roll her eyes when he tried to flex. The way she’d shove his shoulder and smile like it was second nature. The way she never asked for more—but still gave everything. She let him set the rules, and he was stupid enough to think she’d always play by them.
He hadn’t felt her absence because she never made him feel it. She made it easy. And he repaid her by thinking casual meant disposable. Now she was gone. And suddenly everything was loud. The lab. The kitchen. His room.
Especially his room.
Too quiet. Too clean. No more polaroids on his nightstand. No half empty iced coffees on his desk. No lipstick on his water bottles, or post it doodles stuck to his mirror.
Just silence. And space. And guilt.
Because somewhere deep down, Johnny knew he didn’t just lose a girl.
He lost the only person who ever looked at the real him and didn’t flinch.
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There’s a knock at the door.
Y/N hears it, but she doesn’t move. She’s frozen on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, fingers clenched around a mug of tea. Her heart starts racing before her brain even catches up.
She already knows who it is.
The knock comes again— softer this time, almost hesitant.
You shouldn’t, she tells herself.
But she does.
She opens the door and there he is. Johnny. His hair is a mess and he’s holding grocery store flowers and takeout and the saddest stuffed bear she’s ever seen.
His eyes widen when he sees her, like just the sight of her hurts.
“Hey,” he says, breathless. “Can I come in?”
She stares at him. Then she walks away, leaving the door open.
Johnny steps inside carefully, like he doesn’t want to spook her. He sets everything down on the kitchen counter. When he turns back, she’s still standing in the living room, arms crossed.
He opens his mouth, but she beats him to it.
“Are you here to actually say something, or just stare at me while I pour my heart out like always?”
Johnny flinches. “Y/N—”
“Oh, let me guess,” she cuts in, voice sharp and shaking. “You’re here after a whole week to make sure I haven’t been going on any dates? Because God forbid I find someone who’s actually worth my time. Someone who doesn’t run the second things get too real. Unlike you.”
His jaw tightens. She sees it, and it only fuels her.
“You chased me, Johnny. You wore me down with your flowers and your coffee and your stupid persistence until I thought—” her voice breaks and she shakes her head hard. “Until I thought you meant it. And I knew this would happen, but I let myself believe anyway, and now here we are again. You disappear, and I’m the idiot waiting for you to remember I exist.”
“Stop,” he blurts. His voice cracks on it, desperate. “Just—stop.”
She does, but only because she’s out of breath.
Johnny takes a step closer. His eyes shine, frantic. “I’m sorry. I swear to God, I’m sorry. I don’t have a good excuse. I don’t. But I want you. I’ve never stopped wanting you. And I know I’ve ruined this a hundred different ways but—” His voice chokes. “But I’ll do whatever it takes if you let me try again.”
“I messed up,” he whispers.
“Yeah,” she says. “You broke my heart.”
Johnny’s mouth opens. But nothing comes out.
Tears spill over before she can stop them. She brushes them away, frustrated.
“I’ve been trying so hard to pretend I’m fine,” she says, breathing shakily. “Trying not to feel stupid. Trying to forget the way you looked at me that night we fought, like you didn’t even care. Like it wasn’t hard for you to let me walk away.”
Johnny’s eyes are glassy now too. He looks wrecked. Like her words are slicing through him, one by one.
“I cared,” he says hoarsely. “I still do. I—God, Y/N, I never stopped. I was scared and I thought if I distanced myself, it’d keep you from getting hurt, but all I did was—”
“Hurt me anyway,” she finishes, raw.
He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
Then, like something breaks inside him, he drops to his knees. Hands flat on his thighs, shoulders hunched forward, eyes wide and desperate.
“I know this is pathetic,” he says. “I mean—look at me. I’m literally begging.”
Y/N stares down at him, tears clinging to her lashes.
“I deserve it,” he adds quietly. “I deserve worse.”
She doesn’t speak.
“I miss you,” he whispers. “All the time. Even when I tried not to. Even when I thought staying away was the right thing. I’d go to sleep thinking about what you’d say if you were there. I’d pick up my phone to text you and then talk myself out of it. And then I’d spend the rest of the night hating myself for not saying something.”
He swallows hard. “I didn’t show up for you. And I didn’t fight for you when it mattered. Twice. And I don’t know how to fix that.”
“You can’t,” she says, quietly. “You can’t undo it.”
He flinches.
“But,” she continues, voice trembling, “you can stop pretending like this is about protecting me. It’s not. It never was. You hurt me because you were scared. Because you thought I was temporary.”
“I didn’t,” Johnny says, panicked. “I don’t.”
“Then why’d you act like I was?” she asks, softly.
He has no answer. Just the weight of his guilt sitting heavy on his shoulders.
For a long moment, neither of them speaks.
Then finally, Y/N takes a breath.
“You broke my heart, Johnny. And I don’t trust you. Not right now. Not after everything.”
“I’ll earn it back,” he says immediately. “I don’t care how long it takes.”
Her expression doesn’t soften. But something in her posture shifts. Not forgiveness. But something like…openness. Like she’s not kicking him out just yet.
“You can stay,” she says quietly. “We’ll eat. We’ll talk.”
He nods, slowly rising from the floor. “Okay.”
“But if you lie to me again, if you disappear on me—I won’t let you back in. Not even to say goodbye.”
“I won’t,” he says. “I swear. No more running.”
Y/N wipes her face with her sleeve and turns toward the counter.
“…The bear’s ugly, by the way,” she mutters.
Johnny lets out a breathy, shaky laugh. “I know. It was that or the one that said ‘You’re Beary Special,’ and even I have limits.”
She rolls her eyes.
But when he catches the faintest twitch of a smile on her lips— he finally lets himself breathe.
They sit across from each other at the kitchen island, takeout containers between them.
Johnny doesn’t touch the food at first. He’s too focused on watching her, careful not to stare, but too afraid to look away.
Y/N pokes at her ramen, not meeting his eyes.
“You don’t have to pretend like it’s fine,” he says quietly.
She glances up. “I’m not pretending.”
“You keep trying to stab the noodles.”
The slightest laugh slips out. She looks away quickly, but it’s there.
Johnny lets himself smile, just for a second. Then he sobers again.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “I didn’t stay away because I didn’t care. I stayed away because I cared so much it scared the hell out of me.”
She looks up slowly. “That’s not comforting, Johnny.”
“I know.” He exhales. “But it’s the truth.”
Johnny pushes his plate away, suddenly restless. “You know I joke around a lot,” he starts.
She hums, waiting.
He swallows hard, eyes flicking down to his lap. “The truth is… I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”
Her brows knit, but she doesn’t interrupt, just reaches across the table, lacing her fingers through his. His thumb brushes over hers absentmindedly, like he needs the anchor.
“There are people out there who’d use you to get to me,” he says quietly, gaze fixed on their joined hands. “And the idea of that—” He breaks off, shakes his head. “I couldn’t live with it. Reed and Sue already spend half their lives fixing my screw ups, and if I ever dragged you into that… if I wasn’t there to protect you…” His voice wavers. “I don’t think I’d make it through that.”
He breathes in slow, shaky. “You know when everything changed? That dinner at the Baxter Building. When Sue looked me dead in the eye and said I was in love with you.” His laugh is humorless, quiet. “I freaked out. That’s when I started pulling away. Canceling plans. Pretending I didn’t care so it wouldn’t be so obvious.”
His throat works, and he finally risks a glance at her. “I need to apologize. For ruining your dates. For being such a selfish idiot that I couldn’t stand the thought of some other guy having your heart—when I wasn’t even giving you what you needed. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I did it anyway.” He shakes his head, voice low. “I’ve never been good at sharing. And the thought of sharing you—” His voice catches, and he presses his lips together before finishing. “I couldn’t do it.”
“And yeah, maybe I’ve gotten used to people only sticking around until they realize I’m not what they thought.” He lets out a shaky laugh, soft and self deprecating. “So I… I left before you could. Before I let myself get so attached I couldn’t walk away.” His throat tightens, and finally he looks up at her. “But I already am. Attached, I mean.”
Her hand tightens around his, grounding him.
“I’ve been selfish, and I know that. But I don’t want to be the guy who runs anymore. I don’t want to keep pretending. I’m ready now. If you’ll still have me.”
The room falls quiet again. Y/N studies him for a long time.
She sees the regret in his eyes. The fear that it’s too late.
“Do you know how embarrassing it was?” she says softly. “Acting like I was your girlfriend when I wasn’t? Letting everyone assume, when I didn’t even know what to call us? My friends kept asking questions I couldn’t answer because— what relationship? I was just the girl you were sleeping with, hoping you’d eventually want me for real.”
Johnny’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“And then you started pulling away. Canceling plans. Ignoring my calls. My texts. And still, I waited. I let you back in. I let you ruin dates with other people. I kept holding onto this stupid hope that maybe one day you’d finally pick me.” Her voice falters.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Y/N swallows hard, voice low and breaking. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
He nods slowly, eyes glassy. “Then let me earn it. Every day. Let me be better than I was. Let me show up. For everything. Always.”
She says nothing.
So he adds, quieter, “You don’t have to say anything tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week. I just want to be here. However you’ll let me.”
She looks at him, long and hard. He’s trying, not just with flowers and food, but with honesty. With vulnerability. He’s not hiding anymore.
And that scares her more than anything.
Because she still loves him. So much.
She pushes the noodles toward him. “Eat something. You’re literally shaking.”
Johnny exhales a relieved breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he digs into the food, Y/N leans back in her chair, watching him.
It’s not fixed. Not yet.
But maybe it could be.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Johnny helps clean up after dinner without being asked. He doesn’t make jokes. Doesn’t flirt. He just… helps. Quietly. Like he knows he doesn’t deserve to take up space right now but he’s trying anyway.
When the dishes are done, they end up back in the living room. Y/N sits on the armchair, curled up, legs tucked beneath her. Johnny’s on the edge of the couch like he’s afraid to lean back and get too comfortable.
She watches him for a while before finally speaking.
“I need to set some ground rules.”
His head snaps up. “Yeah. Of course.”
“I’m serious, Johnny.”
“I know.”
She takes a breath. “If we’re going to even try… this—whatever this is—you don’t get to lead the way like last time. You don’t get to decide when we talk, or how close we get, or what label we do or don’t use. You don’t get to pull away when things get real and then show up with takeout and expect me to pretend like nothing happened.”
He nods, throat tight. “Okay.”
“I need consistency. I need honesty. If something scares you, say it. If something changes, say it. I’m not going to read your mind. I’m not going to guess how you feel.”
Johnny doesn’t flinch. He just listens. Takes it all in. Lets it cut.
Because she’s right.
She continues, softer now, “And if I need space… you give it to me. No questions. No guilt.”
“I will.”
Her eyes don’t leave his. “And you have to earn back my friends.”
Johnny winces. “Right.”
“They don’t like you anymore.”
“I figured.”
“Some of them really don’t like you.”
“Yeah,” he says, almost a whisper. “They shouldn’t.”
She watches him closely. “You’re not gonna defend yourself?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t really like me either. Not for what I did to you.”
Something about the way he says it— soft and honest, no self pity—makes her stomach twist.
“You left me in the dark,” she says. “You knew I wanted more, and you acted like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. “And you did. You do. More than anything.”
She looks away, blinking fast.
The silence stretches.
He stands slowly, like he’s about to say goodnight.
But then—
“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice breaking around her name.
She looks up.
He’s standing there, heartbreak in every line of his face.
“I love you.”
Her heart stutters. Her breath catches. She hates how much she feels it.
But she doesn’t move.
Johnny steps closer, slowly, like he’s afraid she’ll bolt.
“I love you,” he says again, like it’s a truth he can’t stop repeating. “I don’t know how else to say it. It’s you. It’s always been you. Even when I didn’t know how to handle it. Even when I ran.”
She shakes her head, eyes glassy. “You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You broke my heart.”
“I know.”
He steps closer again, eyes shining. “I’m not asking for everything. I’m not asking you to forget what I did. Just… let me show you I mean it. Let me fight for you now. Please.”
She’s trembling now. From the emotion or the ache or the absolute weight of everything he’s saying—she doesn’t know.
“Johnny,” she whispers. “Please don’t do this if you’re not sure.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
There’s silence.
His thumb brushes her cheekbone, tentative, like he’s scared she’ll disappear if he touches her too roughly. God, it would be so easy to just lean in, to let her lips find his and forget the wreckage he left behind. She feels her body swaying toward him before her mind catches up.
Johnny leans closer, their noses almost touching. His eyes flick down to her mouth. It’s instinct, muscle memory— the thing that’s always pulled them back to each other.
She squeezes her eyes shut, then jerks back just enough to stop it. Her voice cracks, but her words are sharp:
“I hate that I still want you,” she whispers. “I hate knowing that one kiss would make me forget everything you put me through.”
The air between them goes still, heavy. Johnny freezes, lips parting like he’s been punched in the gut. His hand drops, useless at his side.
Her chest rises and falls too fast, but she steels herself, straightening her shoulders.
“Not yet.”
Johnny doesn’t argue. He just nods, slowly, even though it nearly kills him.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Not yet.”
But there’s a ghost of hope in his eyes now.
Because not yet isn’t never.
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It had been two weeks since Y/N let him back in.
Not all the way.
Just enough to test if he really meant it.
And Johnny had shown up like his whole world depended on proving her right for trying again.
Coffee every morning, even when his own schedule was brutal. Her favorite pastries in a little pink box with her name written on the top. Fresh flowers— always the weird colorful bunches she liked, with sunflowers and tulips and those little green pompom things he didn’t know the name of.
He carried her purse without being asked.
He cleaned her entire apartment on a random Wednesday while she was out running errands. She came home to candles lit, her laundry folded, and Johnny sitting on the floor building IKEA furniture she swore she didn’t know how to build.
He sent her a love song every day. No captions. Just the link and a heart.
And through it all, he never pushed. Never asked for more. Never once acted like he was owed anything just because he was being good now.
Y/N couldn’t lie. Part of her was scared.
Scared this was another high before the crash. Scared this was just Johnny love bombing her into forgetting all the pain he caused and do it all over again.
But he never asked her to forget. Only to trust him to be better.
And tonight, sitting beside him on a bench outside their favorite ice cream spot— he hadn’t stopped smiling since they walked in.
It was late, the neon lights from the storefront painting him blue and pink.
“Johnny?”
Y/N blinked out of her thoughts to see a woman— tall, pretty, definitely someone from Johnny’s orbit— waving as she approached.
“Oh my God, hey,” the girl said, hugging Johnny quickly. “It’s been forever.”
“Right?” Johnny grinned. “Y/N/N, this is Bree— Bree, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.”
Y/N blinked.
Girlfriend.
He’d called her that two weeks ago, sure, when they were sitting on her fire escape and he was still wiping tears from his cheeks. But this was the first time he’d said it to someone else. Out loud. Proud. Confident.
“Ohhh,” Bree said with a knowing grin. “This is the girl. Johnny wouldn’t shut up about you during that interview last month.”
Johnny laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What can I say? I’ve got it bad.”
Y/N just blinked. Like her brain couldn’t process the sudden influx of serotonin.
They only chatted for a minute, then Bree left with a wave and Johnny turned back to her, licking chocolate from his spoon like nothing had happened.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he teased.
“You… introduced me.”
“…yeah?”
“As your girlfriend.”
He paused, smile twitching. “I mean… you are.”
She stared at him, something warm blooming in her chest. “You’ve never done that before.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “Felt good to say it.”
Her heart clenched. In the soft, warm, hopeful kind of way.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Later that night, back at her apartment, the moment she closes the door behind them, she says it.
“Johnny.”
He turns, keys still in his hand. “Yeah?”
“Tonight… that meant a lot to me.”
He swallows. “Good. It meant a lot to me, too.”
“No—I mean… hearing you say it. That I’m your girlfriend.”
He steps toward her slowly, expression softening. “You are. You always were, even when I was too much of a coward to say it.”
Her chest tightens.
“You made me feel like I didn’t matter,” she whispers. “But tonight you made me feel like… like I was yours. In front of someone else. Without hesitation.”
Johnny's eyes drop, almost shy. “You are mine. If you'll still have me.”
And that’s all it takes.
She kisses him.
Desperate. Gentle. Like she’s been holding it in for hours, days, weeks.
He melts into it instantly, hands cradling her waist, lips moving with so much love it almost breaks her.
When they finally pull apart, his forehead rests against hers, breath short.
“God,” he says softly, “I really fucking missed you.”
She exhales, shaky, her hands curling into the fabric of his jacket.
“Stay,” she whispers.
His arms tighten around her.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And that night, for the first time since they got back together, he sleeps in her bed again.
Wrapped around her like he finally gets it. Like he knows what it means to stay.
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Three months later
Movie night at the Baxter Building had officially become impossible.
Y/N tried—she really did—to pay attention to the screen, but Johnny had other plans. He kept tapping her shoulder, whispering some dumb commentary in her ear, brushing his hand against hers just to see her roll her eyes. Every time she leaned forward, he leaned with her. Every time she shushed him, he grinned and did it again.
On her other side, Ben finally groaned, throwing the blanket off his lap as he got up.
“Where are you going?” Johnny asked, already laughing.
“My room,” Ben muttered. “Where I’ll start the movie over and actually be able to watch it without you two constantly yappin.”
Y/N winced. “Sorry, Ben!”
Johnny waved a hand. “No, don’t apologize to him. He’s just being dramatic.”
From the kitchen, Reed’s voice drifted in, dry as ever. “He’s not being dramatic. I’ve been in here for twenty minutes and I’ve only heard your voice the whole time.”
Y/N suppressed a laugh behind her hand. Johnny gasped, mock offended. “Wow. My own brother in law, betraying me like this. You’re supposed to support me.”
Ben shot him a glare on his way out. “Didn’t know getting a girlfriend would make you ten times more annoying.”
Johnny just leaned back against the couch, smug, arm sliding around Y/N’s shoulders. “Jealous,” he said, loud enough for Ben to hear down the hall.
Y/N shook her head, hiding her smile as she curled closer into his side. It was ridiculous, messy, exactly them— and she wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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author's note: guys... this is so cray cray im so sorry it took me so long to get this one out LMAO. i've been super busy lately. like i said before, i accidentally became important at work so i've had a lot of projects and havent been able to write on the clock😭😭😭 and this is like my main time to write cause it's a 9-5 so by the time i get home, my brain is not braining anymore😭 but i've been slowly getting more free time so hopefully i'll be able to get more stuff out!
anyways! i hope you guys enjoyed!! i have like 2 more johnny drafts LOL. but feel free to send requests and i'll get to them i promise besties 😭😭 and thanks again for being so patient with me these past few weeks ily MWAH
so many things i need to finish editing and writing but my wheel is turning real bad rn yall😭💔
i've been super obsessed with djo these past few weeks i've been thinking about a steve harrington fic LMAO i cant i have so many other things to worry about😭😭😭
unless...
miss you sunny hope all is going well!!🩷
queen i miss yall too😭😭 i was so ready to make my comeback last week AND THEN I GOT COVID😭 i've had the worst tension headache for the past like 5 days it's not even funny😪 i'm feeling a lot better today so hopefully i can actually get to writing now😭🙏
hi! i love your 'clueless' series, and i wanted to know, do you have any headcanons for the powers that the mc has? like, how does she get them, or how does she discover it? do you have any backstory for that in mind? or are you leaving it up to our imagination, that would be cool too))
omg😭 well yes! so obvi our girl has electrokinesis but she's still not like, at her full potential. we'll get there eventually trusttt LOL. personally, i've lowkey headcanoned that her mom was a one night stand and she let herself her experimented on for money😭😭 and then reached out to tony when she realized something was veryyyy wrong. so tony was involved in the later stages of her pregnancy and then she d*ed and tony was left a single dad😭😭😭
as far as how she discovered them, i'd say she was probs like 6 years old and down in the lab with tony and he kept warning her not to play with the cables and stuff and she got electrocuted BAD but was completely fine and that awakened them.
she's been training with nat ever since they met. same thing with steve and thor but he's rarely ever around. tony just wants her to be able to protect herself😪
but honestly it's like whatever LOL you're all more than free to come up with your own backstory!!! i'd honestly LOVE to know what you guys have headcanoned!!