Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Walker knew the moment his suppressant shot had failed.

It was at the end of a mission. The indication started as a tingle in the base of his spine—an itch, the ghost of something he'd forgotten how to feel. But he shouldn’t be feeling this. He had done everything. Everything. He sat through his shots, took his suppressants, slapped on those goddamn scent blockers, and sprayed on alpha pheromone cologne.

By the time the team had made it back to the Tower, the ache had bloomed low in his gut. Heat. Real heat. No clinical numbness to dull it, no synthetic cocktail running interference. Just biology, raw and unforgiving.

He sprinted to his room and shut the door behind him and immediately dropped his shield and gear, panting. His skin was too tight, his breath too shallow. His glands throbbed beneath his skin, leaking pheromones like a distress flare, and the panic nearly overtook the burn.

No. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. And he definitely couldn’t do this again.

John had only ever experienced one heat before. That was purely because of his (ex)wife Olivia, his alpha, wanting a child. John hated his secondary gender, but something about that pleading look in her eyes, was more than enough for him to give her exactly what she desired. He didn’t take his scheduled shot that time and before he knew it, he was holding his pup for the first time. His pup.

The thought made him clutch his own palms, curling deeper into the floor, pressing his back to the wall, knuckles white.

God, he wanted his baby boy. (He lost those privileges.)

But his mind started to shift. Maybe it was the smell of his own slick, but one name came to mind that felt like both a risk and a salvation.

Bobby— Bob.

The alpha who didn’t feel like an alpha. Who looked at John like he wasn’t just a soldier. Who didn’t flinch at the sharpness in John’s voice or the brittle edge of his pride. Who had once said, quietly: “You’re not alone either.”

John whimpered, calling the alpha.

“My room. Now.”

And immediately hung up.

Bob was there seconds later, his scent reaching the door before he did: warm, grounding, barely leashed concern. John was barely lucid by then, sweat-soaked and shaking, curled in a nest of discarded blankets that didn’t help.

When the door creaked open, John snarled—reflex. A warning. Stay out. Don’t look.

But Bob only closed the door gently behind him and knelt at a respectful distance.

“I know what this is,” Bob said quietly. “Your scent’s all over the hall. I won’t touch you unless you ask.”

John growled low in his throat, trying to force control into his voice. “Get out. You shouldn’t see me like this. I can handle it.”

Bob’s brow furrowed. He didn’t move.

“You called me, John. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The alpha’s eyes immediately softened as he saw John shivering in despair. The team had made sure Bob would never feel alone. That included John. Now, it was Bob’s turn to do that for John.

John’s heat cracked over him in another wave, and this time it took him to the floor, fists clenching in the blankets as his body begged for relief. His instincts screamed: Alpha. Need. Mate. But his pride—his fragile, crumbling pride—fought to the bitter end.

“I didn’t mean to call,” he spat, trembling. “I was just, damn it, I’m not some needy—”

Bob was already closer, hands still at his sides, his muscles tense with restraint. His own scent had deepened in response to John’s, his body reacting despite his careful control. But his voice stayed calm. Gentle.

“You’re not weak. You’re in pain. Let me help you. That’s all.”

John could smell it now— warm vanilla and sandalwood. Not aggressive. Not demanding. Just there. Inviting.

“I don’t want a bond,” John rasped.

“You won’t get one unless you ask for it,” Bob said simply.

The next wave shattered him.

He didn’t remember lunging. Didn’t remember pulling Bob down into the nest.

Bob had gently began undressing John while pressing kisses and calming the omega with his scent. The room soon became a mix of smoked vanilla and espresso oil, cedar wood and gunmetal. And then the blonde had practically tore off Bob’s jeans.

Every one of Bob’s caresses was a spark of cold fire on John’s body, and he found himself completely entranced by the alpha’s scent. Just the way their bodies aligned, the way Bob wrapped him in strong arms like John wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Like he wasn’t broken. Useless.

John gasped as he finally came up for breath after wrestling Bob’s tongue. “ Please, Bobby, I need you. Breed me.”

The words shot straight to Bob’s cock. “ Of course.”

It was a pleasant surprise seeing the alpha’s cock, long and girthy. A god cock.

Well.. Bob is a god. 

Not wasting a second more, John guided Bob across his juicy cunt. And finally, he pressed himself onto the alpha’s cock, Bob’s hands immediately holding his hips in place. The omega let out a screamish moan, eyes rolling back.

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme, daddy!”

Bob released a guttural groan, bucking up involuntarily. John had threw away all his inhibitions, begging for Bob’s knot, wailing to be bonded. Slick and sweat-soaked and half-feral with need, he had forgotten what shame even felt like. There was only the warmth of Bob’s scent, the soft brush of his lips at John’s neck, and the unbearable truth of how much John wanted this— wanted Bob.

John sobbed as he bounced, tears streaming down his cheeks from the ecstasy and emotions he was feeling. It was all too much.

Bob carefully wiped John’s tears dry with his thumb before roughly flipping them over. He was now the one in control, and he buried John into the mattress as he buried his own face in the omega’s neck. He sniffed and breathed into the scent gland there, opening his mouth to gently suck, his teeth resting there. It was a plead from the alpha.

John shivered, wrapping his legs around Bob’s waist in an animalistic fashion. Bob’s hips stuttered, a knot forming.

“Mark me, Alpha.” John whispered. A command.

And for once, Bob didn’t think it through. He bit John hard.

And that sent the omega over the edge. John wantonly moaned, spilling white streaks across his stomach. He involuntarily tightened around Bob’s knot, which caused the alpha release his seed into him. And after, he just hummed quietly, flopping beside John.

They were both too out of it to realize what they had done.

— — — —

Two Weeks Later

John stared at the test.

Positive.

Chapter Text

John had fought Hydra operatives with broken ribs. He’d stood in front of cameras and lied through his teeth with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He’d walked back into the Tower covered in blood that wasn’t all someone else’s, standing tall like nothing could touch him.

But this?

This was worse.

The white stick sat on the counter like a lit fuse. He’d taken three tests. All of them said the same thing. He was pregnant. Pregnant.

John hadn't expected this. He honestly should have. The rawness of that night—no suppressants, no barrier, only instinct and care and heat—had cracked something open, deep inside.

His body knew it. He could feel the changes—subtle, hormonal shifts, an ache in his belly that wasn't pain but... presence. He’d known in his gut before he even saw the results. But seeing it, printed in those dumb digital letters, made it real.

He pressed a hand to his stomach, chest tight.

And now he had to tell Bob.

Because Bob had stayed. He hadn't run. He hadn't looked at John like a burden.

He’d looked at him like a choice.

And maybe, for the first time, John would choose him back.

Bob, who’d held him through the worst of the heat, murmured soft things into his skin even when John refused to look him in the eye. Bob, who hadn’t touched him since, not without permission, like he was scared to push—like he was waiting for John to decide what came next.

And then there was the rest of their team: Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, and Ava.

John would tell Ava first.

She was his friend. He trusted her if it came down to being blindfolded and having to walk across a bridge above a body of acid. They shared the same shield when they were being shot at, and she was always his back-up for missions.

Maybe talking to her more than twice a day was a little unusual, but he needed her.

He found himself in front of Ava’s door. But before he could even meet the door with his closed palm, she phased through.

“Care to explain why your scent’s been really messing with my nostrils these past few days?” She spoke firmly, but with a certain concern.

John paled. Did she know?? Did everyone know??

The alpha seemed to sense his panic.

“Woah, Walker, what’s going on?”

And he broke. “ I’m pregnant.”

Ava’s mouth parted slightly, and her eyes were trailing across his body in disbelief.

“Fuck, say something—“

“Alright, alright. My room now, John.” She saved his first name for serious occasions.

Ava sat down on the bed and John swiftly shut the door behind them, immediately falling into her lap. Into the soft scent of amber, rose petals, and white tea.

He began to cry silently. She decided she wasn’t going to be the one to speak first. She simply stroked his hair in a repetitive but soothing motion, almost like he was a dog. A scared animal.. which wasn’t too far off.

“What am I going to do? ” He helplessly breathed.

“Whatever is best for you. I’ll support you because you’re my friend.”

He looked up at her, his eyes glassy and his cheeks tear-streaked.

“Only you, John Walker, jump out of buildings biweekly but sob for this,” She joked, but stopped immediately when she saw him sniffle in despair. “May I know what happened?” Ava was pressing softly, both with the question and the hand on the back of John’s neck.

“I.. I had my heat.” He spoke quietly.

She was the only one on the team— other than Bob— who knew about him being an omega. And that was because John told her. Bob only found out because he found suppressants John forgot in the bathroom.

When John told her, she simply hugged him tightly and released that tranquilizing scent of hers. Ava kept his secret to herself. That was a true bond. Trust.

She exhaled a breath as she heard him begin to explain. “I thought the shots and suppressants—“

“The super serum completely drowns them out!” He snapped angrily.

Because of taking that goddamn serum, his omega biology had become an unbearable mess.

“I didn’t know this would happen, and I was being so reckless—“ He whimpered.

“Woah, calm down. Just a question.” She murmured, the scent of black pepper and white tea now mixing with John’s panicked scent of hot metal and burnt coffee grounds.

He looked up at her. “I’m so lost.” His whimper elicited a steady hand brushing against his cheek.

He could have wailed again if it weren’t for his brain telling him to get a grip. “This isn’t my first time.. but I just don’t have it pin me to be the perfect... mom.” He almost laughed, but it was too bitter to pass for humor. “I’m not... normal, Ava.”

Ava felt her heart break. “You are so much more than what you think you are. And you’re not alone. Since you haven’t seemed to notice, I’ll tell you straight. The team is here for you, too. We’ve always got your back, you know that?”

“They don’t even know I’m an omega! Well except, Bob, but Bob is—!”

“Part of our team, and so willing to help you.” She cut him off. “Has he betrayed your trust and told anyone about you being an omega?”

“Well no, but..”

“But what?”

John bit his lip, helplessly sobbing into her lap.

“He’s the father.”

Realization had finally taken Ava’s face and gave her a very passionate kiss.

Oh shit.

“..so it was you guys making that noise?”

John eyes flew up in disbelief. He glared at her before he started.. laughing. Ava joined him.

Before long, they were both wiping his tears, some of them from laughter.

“Sooo, Bob.” She winked.

He playfully punched her shoulder. “Quit that.”

“I just.. wow.” She giggled like a child.

But this time, John wasn’t giggling with her.

“It was a one time thing,” He tried to explain, but Ava interrupted immediately.

“Is that what you want?”

John didn’t answer.

Ava studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “Listen, you’re going to be a great mom. I know it.” She said it like she had no doubt in her mind. “Bob will be right there with you. I know he will. And you’ve got me, too. I’m not going anywhere. And the team. When you tell them, we’ll become even closer. You don’t have to do this alone.” She reassured, allowing him to cuddle into her. “Cause I’m with you till the end of the line.”

He felt himself starting to relax, caramel coffee with leather and gunmetal dancing in the room. He didn’t have to say anything more.

Chapter Text

The bathroom mat was bloody as John’s knees gave out, a shout rumbling from his lungs. His grip on the marble sink loosened significantly.

Upon Olivia’s arrival, she gasped in terror. She tripped over her own feet, scrambling to help.

“JOHN! JOHN!” She panicked, their scents twirling around in the air— burnt and rotten.

John had barely registered what happened, until he noticed where the blood was coming from.

His thighs clenched together and he bellowed in agony. Desperation pooled along with his pain, deep in his gut.

He had just begun his second trimester. Well.. it didn’t count anymore. It seemed all his hope had vanished.

~~~~

John jolted awake in a cold sweat, his lungs thumping against his ribcage as they tried to suck in enough oxygen so he could stop feeling like he was choking. His heart palpitated, fists gripping the bed sheets from stress. His pheromones were burning, his eyes couldn’t focus properly.

Shit.Shit.Shit.

He collapsed back onto the bed, limbs going limp from prior tension.

He hadn’t had that nightmare since.. since it actually happened. 

Before he and Olivia successfully had a son, they’d tried once before. Miscarriage.

He had leaned on Lemar to help him through that time. Fuck, he really missed his best friend.

John hadn’t even waited a month before trying again, and he really couldn’t blame Olivia for not noticing his spiraling. It wasn’t her fault.

It was normal to expect a baby from him. It was his purpose, what he was supposed to bring into the world as an omega. Besides, he was the one who was quick to try again.

John thought he got over it. He wasn’t even a good way into the second trimester. That meant you had to get over it quickly..

John didn’t even realize his hand instinctively cupped his stomach.

Protection.

The thought was mocking.

He looked around, eyes focusing on his alarm.

3:03 AM

He sighed quietly. A singular feeling— craving— drew him away from his deprecating thoughts.

— — — —

John stood in front of the stove. All his cries and hyperventilating made him hungry.

So, he was making mashed potatoes with honey at 3:30 in the morning.

And suddenly a certain Russian, guinea-pig lover walked in.

“Hiii.” Yelena’s voice was a mask of cheer. “What are you making?”

“Not macaroni.” He answered, not paying her any attention. When she didn’t grab whatever she needed and went her way, he looked up and sighed. “Mashed potatoes.. do you want some?”

She shrugged. “Is it just mashed potatoes?”

“Just mashed potatoes with butter.” He didn’t look up from the pot, still stirring with the wooden spoon. “Was going to add some honey to my bowl though.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Is this some American trend?”

John shook his head.

Ah, who gives a shit. 

“I have a craving and I’m pregnant.” He deadpanned. “I’ll eat whatever the hell I want.”

He wouldn’t have noticed the way Yelena’s pupils shrunk in shock if that reaction wasn’t what he was looking for.

“What the hell—?”

John turned off the stove and lifted the pot, setting it down on the counter. He opened the bowl and plate cabinet. He grabbed two medium sized bowls and filled them with the mashed potatoes.

“Apparently there are over 4,000 different kinds of potatoes.” He shrugged, completely disregarding what he said prior. The air was filled with a pleasant aroma, both earthy and sweet. Fresh potatoes that were now cooked.

Yelena’s eyes were superglued to John, monitoring his every movement. He reached for the bear bottle of honey and squirted a generous amount in his bowl, mixing it.

“We are not going to disregard what you just said.” Yelena spoke firmly. She was terrifying, but Walker was far from scared.

“I know, right? 4,000 types seems a little excessive.”

“John Walker.”

Finally, he dropped the act.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to keep it, so buzz off.” He stopped himself from saying ‘if I can manage to keep it.’

The alpha eyed him.

“It’s Bob’s, isn’t it?”

John practically choked on the softest mush he had ever made.

Yelena— forgetting this fact— was quick to do the Heimlich out of instinct, but John held up a hand.

“’M fine.” He rasped. And then he locked eyes with her, slowly nodding to her previous question.

“I see the way you two look at each other when you think the other isn’t looking.” She commented, her tone not leaning any specific way. It was merely a fact to her.

“Maybe you should do the thing with a shirt to tell him. Have it say ‘Congrats, daddy’ or whatever.”

John scoffed, losing his appetite right that second.

He scraped his bowl into the compost before putting it in the sink, Yelena finally taking her bowl and beginning to eat.

“Delicious, Walker, thank you.”

He threw her a thumbs-up before retreating to his room.

Chapter Text

John didn’t change his daily life. He still trained, still jogged, and was still the same.

He didn’t pay attention to dates, didn’t count the days or weeks, didn’t notice how much time passed. Pretended he didn’t, even as he started his second trimester— now over three months in.

As time went on, he found himself training more. No reason.

He gaslighted himself into believing his body wasn’t changing. He wouldn’t take off his compression vest until he was completely alone.

He hadn’t made peace with his situation just yet.

— — — —

The training room echoed with the rhythmic sound of fists meeting foam. John’s breath came sharp through his teeth as he drove another punch into the dummy, pivoted, and kicked hard enough to rattle its metal spine. His heart was pounding, sweat running down his spine — but not from exertion. Not entirely.

He was too hot. Too shaky. The rubber mat under his boots felt thinner than usual, like it couldn’t hold him. He gritted his teeth and kept going.

Left. Right. Elbow. Pivot.

“Again,” he muttered to himself, repositioning. His balance was a little off today. Too many carbs last night? Not enough sleep? He ignored the gnawing tightness in his lower belly. Just nerves. Just fatigue. Just—

“Little off, aren’t you?”

John froze. Just half a second, just enough to register the voice.

Bucky stepped into the room like he hadn’t just startled the hell out of him, carrying a bottle of water and watching John like he was a mission in progress.

Bucky, who was so unapologetically omega it made John jealous. Of course Bucky used scent blockers on missions and in public, but at the Tower, he was omega as can be. The scent of cinnamon, pine, and rain was always strong, and he nested properly. He didn’t have to keep his status a secret, and nobody gave him shit for it either. John was boiling with envy.

“You’re leaning too much on your right leg when you turn,” Bucky said, coming closer, but not too close. He gave a demonstration of a kick. “Could throw your knee out like that.”

John forced a smirk. “Appreciate the critique, coach.”

Bucky didn’t smile back. His eyes were sharper than usual, focused in that way that made John’s skin itch. He’d learned early on that Barnes didn’t say much unless he meant it.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” John said too fast. “Just— working off tension.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “You always throw your hooks like that when you’re stressed?”

John turned back to the dummy and hit it hard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just noticing things,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re usually tighter. More controlled.”

John’s stomach twisted— not in the metaphorical way, in the real way, like his body was reminding him that he was over 3 months along and it didn’t give a damn about appearances.

He took a step back. “Look, I’m fine.”

Bucky let it go, but he didn’t leave. Just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes following every movement like he was waiting for John to collapse.

John hated how much that made him feel like yelling— or like he might cry. Neither option would help.

Bucky watched him in silence for another few seconds, then pushed off the wall.

“You wanna spar?”

John blinked. “What, now?” The thought was.. scary, if he was being truthful. It wasn’t Bucky himself. It wasn’t about his strength or history, it was the way Bucky looked at people, like he could see past the lies they told themselves. As if he would see right through Walker if they sparred.

“Unless you’re scared of getting knocked on your ass.”

John’s ego flared. He snorted. “Yeah, alright, Barnes. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They cleared space, and John pulled on sparring gloves, willing himself to focus— to forget the ache in his lower back, the weird hollow feeling behind his ribs, the heat curling low in his gut. Just muscle memory. He’d done this a thousand times.

Bucky circled him slowly, loose and relaxed, the way he always was when he wasn’t on a mission. John mirrored him, shoulders square, hands up. The first few exchanges were clean— fast strikes, dodges, footwork.

But John’s timing was off.

He went to block a jab and was half a second late. Tried to feint left, but his balance shifted wrong. He covered for it well enough, but Bucky’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

“You’re dragging,” Bucky said, not even winded.

“I’m not—”

Bucky came in again, quicker this time, and John moved to counter- but his arm didn’t quite come up fast enough. Bucky caught him clean in the ribs and spun him, not hard, but hard enough that John staggered and fell on his side.

The mat felt cold under his forearm. His chest was heaving.

Bucky froze. “Shit—John?” Concern.

“I’m fine,” John said, breathless. “Just slipped.”

Bucky offered a hand. John ignored it and stood on his own, jaw clenched.

“You don’t slip,” Bucky said quietly.

John didn’t look at him. “Guess today’s special.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Bucky’s voice was softer now. “You sick?”

“No.”

“Something wrong?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Bucky didn’t push it, but the silence between them was heavier now. Not angry— just tight, filled with all the things John wasn’t saying.

John wiped sweat from his brow and turned away. “I’m done for today.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked, still watching him. “You don’t look done.”

“I am,” John snapped. He wasn’t sure who he was mad at: Bucky, his own body, everything. All of it.

He grabbed his towel and left without another word.

— — — —

Bucky stood at the kitchen island, pouring two cups of tea from the boiling kettle. His movements were careful. Not in a rush. Waiting.

The mug on his left was a white mug covered in black stars, and the other on his right was a simple grey.

Ava came in, sitting across from him.

“Hiya.” Her voice was groggy from the nap she just took, although her smile was playful.

Bucky slid the star-covered mug to her, movement gentle.

“Thank you.” A hint of her amber and rose pheromones creeping in.

Bucky had to control himself from shivering. He only personally knew one other alpha who smelled like roses.. but he got away. “No trouble at all.” A beat. “You’re close with Walker, right?”

Realization gave the alpha a deceptive hug. Did Bucky know?? She titled her head.

“Yeah, why?” She was surprised with how casual she made herself sound.

“He seemed.. off during sparring.” Bucky hummed, absently squeezing a lemon slice into his grey mug.

Ava made the connection. Bucky didn’t know. But a bullet of concern quickly grazed her. “Did anything happen when you guys were training?”

“He.. fell.” The word rolled off his tongue. He looked up at Ava, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a sip. “When I asked him about it, he got weirdly defensive. I don’t know, he’s just been.. weird.”

“He’s not hurt, is he?” She was almost too quick to ask. But Bucky didn’t pay any mind to that.

“Yeah, he’s fine.”

She quietly exhaled a relieved breath. “That’s.. all?” She inquired.

“It’s not just that. He seems.. scattered. Not himself.”

Ava shrugged, before adding. “I have bad days..” She confessed as both her hands went around her mug, the heat warming her palms. “My body.. it’s unstable. The molecular structures. It gets really bad sometimes. It hurts a lot. There are days where it’s not that bad, and days that I spend curled into myself forcing John to read me a book,” She laughed at the last part.

Bucky’s eyes met hers in a softened gaze, his pheromones leaning more into the cinnamon side. “I’m sorry.”

Ava noticed the shift in his scent and looked down at her tea. When Bucky found out about the situation, it would be because Walker told him.

“Don’t be.” She took a sip. “What I’m trying to say is this: a supersoldier can also have bad days, no matter how much serum he has coursing through him. Especially if said supersoldier is a war veteran with PTSD. I believe you know something of the sort.”

Bucky smirked, taking another sip of tea for himself. “Point taken.”

The subject of the conversation quickly shifted to mission reports, what groceries they would get from the upcoming grocery run, and what movies they would watch on this Friday’s movie night (it was Bucky’s choice).

Bucky smiled. A warm, genuine smile. Maybe it was the lighting.. but she almost looked like Dot.

“Thanks for the tea, Barnes.” She got up and rinsed her mug. She put it in the dishwasher, turning to him. “Going to put your arm in?”

He laughed, detaching it. “It really does clean it though.”

She chuckled as he stuffed it in the back of the dishwasher.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” Her voice was soft as she headed back to her room.

“Rest well, Av.” He watched as she left, immediately missing the light smell of rose petals.

— — — —

John’s slumber was interrupted as he plummeted from his bed, bile crawling up his throat. Through his half-lidded eye sight, he struggled from the hard floor and scrambled to reach his bathroom before it started.

He pushed his way in, disoriented as he collapsed to his knees and leaned against the toilet seat with his elbows.

It was cruel torture, his throat muscles practically ripping themselves open as his earlier meal was now coming out of him the same way it went in.

He cried out before forcing himself suppress the noise he was making. His whimpers were the sound of a squirming puppy.

He wanted needed his alpha to hold him through this. He needed Bob. Needed his man to tell him everything was going to be okay.

His helpless sobs and his wracking body were a hard slap to reality. 

He can’t pretend anymore. He has to tell Bob. Has to tell the rest of the team. 

Has to.

Chapter Text

Bob liked distractions. Reading was his favorite one.

Currently, he was snuggled into his favorite baby blue blanket on the couch.

Bob was an alpha, but he wasn’t all gruff and rugged. He was fond of pillows and nests, and he fancied softer things too.

His father had always gotten mad at him for it.. but he wasn’t here now. Bob was free to do as he pleased. After a lot of self-assurance, Bob even indulged in a few teddy bears in his room.

He had started reading a new book, gifted to him by Bucky. It was about mental health, essentially another self-help book.

As Bob read, he found his eyes blurring the words. His mind had gone elsewhere.

He flipped the page, struggling to focus on the words rather than his thoughts.

Whenever he was aware he was overthinking, he shut his thoughts out completely. Today, that wasn’t working.

He couldn’t think about anything other than John. Bob tried to shake those thoughts away, but they stuck to his brain like a tattoo.

Why was John ignoring him? Was it because of what happened when he was in heat? Did Bob do something? Did Bob hurt him?

That last thought specifically made the alpha’s heart ache.

He had to physically restrain himself from approaching John and asking him directly. That wasn’t a smart decision.

He groaned and closed the book, reaching for the cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table. He went back to his room, deciding if he should take a quick nap before dinner.

What the alpha didn’t expect to find was the omega he’d been trying so hard to dismiss standing in his room waiting for him. Even stranger, John had wrapped himself in Bob’s quilt.

“Got a minute?” The omega asked quietly.

For you, always.

“Yeah,” Bob set his mug and book down on the desk, gently tossing his blanket on the bed. “Are you okay?”

The supersoldier felt his stomach twist.

“Not really.” He laughed, devoid of mirth.

Finally, the omega’s scent registered.

John wasn’t wearing a scent blocker, but that by itself didn’t catch Bob off guard. It was unusual, but he’d smelled John’s coffee and gunmetal many times. Seldom times, Bob even faintly detected caramel and chamomile.

What finally registered was the milky scent all omega’s have when they’re— oh shit.

Bob’s lips parted, eyes widening in disbelief.

John sensed the alpha’s shock, and he curled in on himself. The quilt was now pulled much tighter around himself— around the area of his stomach.

John whimpered, his fragrance of coffee quickly turning sour.

Bob inhaled like he was about to say something, but John kept going, words falling faster now.

“It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. I was in heat, you offered, and I needed someone.”

“..and now?” Bob’s voice was too soft for an alpha’s.

“And now I’m pregnant! I’m throwing up every morning, and my body feels like it’s not mine anymore, and all I can think about is—” He chokes. “—the last time.”

Bob’s expression shifts. Not pity. Not fear. Something quieter. Steadier. He steps closer but doesn’t touch him.

“What happened last time?” He asked carefully.

“My alpha. Olivia. We lost the first one. Miscarriage. Then the second—she took him. Said I was unfit. Said I was a danger. She left, and I can’t see him anymore.” John’s voice cracked, and he couldn’t hold back his sobs anymore. He crumbled into Bob’s arms.

The alpha felt his heart shatter, ache for his omega pooling deep within his gut. The instinct to protect, the instinct to care for John was becoming harder to argue against. Bob embraced him, supporting the omega with his arms.

John frustratedly hit his hand against Bob’s chest, yet cuddled closer.

“I didn’t want to tell you. Because I don’t trust alphas who say they care. Because this doesn’t feel like a gift, it feels like a curse.”

Bob nods, slowly. No argument. Just silence, letting it hang.

Then he tilted John’s chin, meeting the omega’s glassy eyes.

“I will support you, John. You are carrying my pup, and you are my omega. Bonded. I’m not leaving.”

John doesn’t shrug him off.

“I don’t need a white knight. I just needed to tell you. That’s it.” His breath trembled.

“You don’t have to need me. But I am here.”

That lands heavier than it should. John nods, jaw tight, like that’s all he can give right now.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not. I love you, John.”

John’s heart soared, palms becoming sweaty and cheeks turning a rosy pink. He looked for any sort of dishonesty. Any sort of insincerity. There was none. Eyes are the most telling feature of someone, the windows of their soul. Bob’s were so bright, he was telling the truth.

“I love you too..”

John let the quilt fall to the floor. He wasn’t wearing his compression vest. Instead, he was wearing a solid baby blue t-shirt that snuggled around his growing belly.

“..four months.” John whispered, both his hands protectively cradling it.

Bob’s eyes were glued to the bump, fascinated. “..may I?” He shakily asked. 

John’s head tilted in innocent confusion. But he trusted Bob, so he nodded.

Bob knelt down in front of him, using both of his knees. He put his ear to John’s belly, feeling tears well in his eyes. 

“Hey, little one.” His voice cracked, in the most endearing way.

John’s own eyes watered, and he felt a pang in his heart. His hand gently clutched the alpha’s brown curls. 

Bob looked up at his omega, lip quivering.

“I’m really going to be a dad..”

The words made John’s heart flutter. He nodded. He knew right then and there Bob would be the best dad.

Chapter Text

A spare room in the Tower had been turned into a nursery. White walls, worn baseboards, a single window that let in just enough light to make the dust in the air look like glitter.

Now, it smelled like paint.

“Are we really doing yellow?” John asked, standing in the center of the room with a roller in one hand and skepticism in his eyes.

“It’s not just yellow,” Bob said, holding up the swatch like it made a difference. “It’s called ‘Sunrise Whisper.’”

John snorted. “It should be called  ‘A Banana Died Here.’”

Bob grinned. “Better than the gray you wanted. Babies need warmth.”

John rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

His own room was plain white, lacking the normal amount of blankets and pillows an omega should have. The space was also missing warmth, missing decorations and the ‘lived-in’ vibe. He tried so hard to bury the omega side of him. He never allowed himself the luxury of nesting, or acceptance of who he was.

With the whole pregnancy thing however, John was spending most of his time in Bob’s room. He slept with the alpha ever since the big reveal, scenting all of Bob’s teddy bears. It was cozy, and it was now their room.

He dipped the roller into the tray and started on the next wall. He didn’t say it, but it helped. Doing something with his hands. Moving. Controlling what little he could.

The baby wasn’t due for another five months, but the weight of it had settled in early. Everything felt fine. John’s blood tests were still strong. But John still checked his pulse twice a day like a habit. Still woke up sometimes with one hand on his stomach, breath short, expecting something to go wrong.

“You missed a spot,” Bob said gently, pointing.

John turned and smeared the roller directly onto Bob’s chest, leaving a big streak of yellow across his oxford blue sweater.

Bob blinked. “Wow. Vandalism?”

John smirked. “I hate that sweater.”

Bob stepped forward like he was going to retaliate, roller in hand, but paused when John instinctively shifted his weight. His arm had defensively braced for impact. Not that Bob would ever hurt him, but reflexes were reflexes. Old habits.

Bob sagged, gaze softening.

John noticed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m fragile.”

“You’re not fragile,” Bob said, voice low. “You’re pregnant.”

John turned back to the wall. “Same thing.”

“Not to me.”

They painted in silence for a few minutes. The tension eased, replaced by the slow rhythm of roller strokes and the fragrance of new beginnings. The walls began to glow—soft yellow, a little uneven in places, but warm.

John eventually broke the silence. “You don’t have to keep doing all this.”

Bob didn’t look up from the corner he was working on. “Doing what?”

“Being here. Playing house. Acting like this is normal.”

Bob stopped. Turned.

“This is normal,” he said, setting his roller down. “Maybe not for everyone. But it is for me. I want this. I want you . And I want our kid to have a room that smells like fresh paint and bad color names.”

John’s throat tightened.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said. “I can’t even put a crib together without swearing at the manual.”

Bob smiled, stepping closer. “Good thing I’m great at instructions.”

John arched a brow. “Are you? Because I distinctly remember your IKEA bookshelf collapsing immediately .”

“That was sabotage,” Bob said solemnly. “You weakened the screws.”

John didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He felt the warmth creeping in again—not from the paint, but from the presence. From Bob .

Bob gently reached out and pressed a streak of yellow onto John’s cheek with his thumb.

“There,” he said. “Now you match the walls.”

“I swear to God—”

But he didn’t pull away.

Bob leaned in, forehead touching John’s, and for a long moment, there was only quiet. No battles. No pasts. Just them. A room. A future.

John closed his eyes. “Sunrise Whisper,” he muttered. “Still a dumb name.”

Bob chuckled. “Maybe. But it suits us perfectly, sunshine.”

John giggled, genuine and bubbly. He could feel himself float. This was the lightest he’d felt in ages.

”Oh zip it, asshole.” He grabbed Bob by his sweater collar and kissed him. Their chests pressed against each other, getting paint all over John’s shirt. 

Chapter Text

John wasn’t supposed to be on this mission.

That was the line.

The hard, unspoken, deeply-scented boundary that Bob begged him not to cross.

“You’re five months, John,” he pleaded, hands splayed over John’s hips, breath warm against his neck. “You’re not just mine anymore. You’re ours. Please.”

It was no longer just the two of them. Now there was another life involved: their pup.

And John had promised. Promised he wouldn’t be reckless. But he’d gone anyway.

— — — —

John shouldn't be here.

The thought had been echoing through his head since the mission started—since they'd dropped into the warehouse and his feet hit the concrete with just a little too much force. It wasn’t pain. Not exactly. Just wrong. Too much pressure in his abdomen. A low ache in his lower back that pulsed every time he turned too fast or crouched to clear a corner.

The warehouse reeked of mildew and danger. It was one of those half-collapsed buildings used for shady deals and tactical regrets—wide open floor, too many blind corners. John hated it. His vest chafed. His stomach churned. His patience was thin and fraying. He kept moving. He had to.

Ava and Yelena were a few meters ahead, their formation tight and practiced. Bucky was covering rear, and Alexei was.. well, trying to be quiet, bless him.

But they kept glancing back.

Ava's gaze flicked toward him too often. Yelena kept giving him that look: you know this is dumb but I’m not stopping you. 

Bob would’ve stopped him. But Bob wasn’t here.

John adjusted the strap on his vest, breath catching when the motion tugged at something deep in his abdomen. His hand pressed down, instinctively, palm curving over the spot like it could anchor him in place.

He couldn’t help it. The armor vest didn’t quite sit right anymore. His hips ached. His lower back burned. The tactical belt dug where it never used to.

Five months meant he was showing, and trying to hide it under standard gear was a mistake.

He felt it in every step.

But he didn’t stop.

The extraction point was less than sixty seconds away. The building was clear, the asset secure. They just had to cross the catwalk and descend through the far stairwell. Easy.

He could do this.

One step. Two. Sharp inhale. Something tugged low inside him, and he stumbled—barely.

Alexei turned just in time to catch the movement. “Hey—hey, whoa. What happened?”

Yelena and Ava’s snapped to his direction, assessing him.

“Nothing,” John said, biting down on the nausea that flared behind his ribs. “Just landed wrong earlier. Tweaked something.” John straightened. “It’s nothing. Let’s move.”

Yelena moved ahead without a sound, Ava flanking her with all the stealth of a trained ghost. Bucky followed, checking corners with soldier precision. Alexei, in contrast, was a clanking wall of Russian concern, barely trying to be subtle as he trailed John like a bodyguard who didn’t trust the president’s judgment.

Which, fair.

— — — —

The mission was clean, for once. Too clean.

They’d swept the warehouse faster than expected. Bucky called the all-clear, voice tight in John’s comm, and now the team was regrouping on the upper catwalk for exfil. John followed behind Ava and Yelena, Alexei just ahead of him. His steps were steady—mostly.

His stomach tensed. Not from nausea, not yet. Just tight. Strained.

He shouldn’t have jumped from the scaffolding earlier. Bob was going to kill him.

Except Bob wasn’t here. Didn’t even know John went. That was the whole problem.

“Breathe through it,” he muttered under his breath, keeping one hand on the railing as they moved. “You’re fine.”

He wasn’t planning on telling Bucky and Alexei at the moment.

His boots thudded against the metal grate floor as he moved to catch up—but the sharp twinge in his side made him falter. Just a step. Barely noticeable.

Except nothing ever escaped Bucky Barnes.

“You good?” Bucky asked, turning, sharp-eyed.

“Fine,” John muttered.

“You winced.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

John sighed and tried to keep walking—but then it happened again. A step too fast. A sudden sharp cramp like a pulled muscle, low and deep in his gut. His hand flew to his stomach before he could stop it. Protective. Instinctual. Just a light brace.

That’s all it took.

Alexei saw it.

He froze mid-step.

“...No,” Alexei said, not loudly, but with the horrified clarity of a man seeing a car crash in slow motion.

John swore under his breath. “Don’t.”

“What did he just do?” Bucky turned from ahead, eyes narrowed.

“Absolutely nothing,” John said quickly.

“He touched his stomach,” Alexei hissed, pointing like it was an international incident. “Like omega. Pregnant omega. He— oh my.”

Yelena stopped dead in her tracks.

Ava sighed. “Well. That’s it.”

“I knew something was weird!” Alexei said, voice rising. “You’ve been off all week! Bob’s losing his mind!”

Bucky blinked. “Wait. Wait.”

“Don’t,” John snapped. “Don’t say it.”

“You’re pregnant?” Bucky gaped. It made sense all of a sudden. When they were training, John’s aversions. “And you’re an omega! And you’re out here with us?”  Too much was going on. 

“Oh my god,” John groaned. “You weren’t supposed to—“ He look up, jaw clenched, throat tight. “Do not make this a thing.”

“It is big thing!” Alexei was full-on waving his arms now. “You have pup inside you. I would have tied you to the couch!”

John glared. “That’s why Bob’s not here.”

“Speaking of,” Bucky said, now whispering harshly, “does he know you’re here? Does he know we didn’t know you had a whole ass pup inside you? Because he’s going to kill us.”

“Except Yelena. She’ll get a free pass.” Alexei chuckled.

“Obviously,” Yelena smiled sweetly.

“Do you have any idea how terrifying Bob is when he’s worried?” Bucky grumbled. “This isn’t just gonna be ‘you’re grounded,’ it’s gonna be ‘I destroy a satellite if someone touches your hand wrong.’”

“He’s home,” John bit out, “because he trusts me.. although I might have not told him I was going. But he trusts in our team, and you guys had my back—“

“Yeah?” Bucky snapped. “Let’s see how long that trust lasts when he finds out we let your pregnant ass rappel down a wall.”

John leaned against the railing, breathing slow and shallow, one hand still protective over his abdomen. It wasn’t bad. Not dangerous. Just tight. Just a reminder.

“You jumped off scaffolding!” Alexei practically shrieked. “We have to get you home! You could’ve fallen, could’ve been shot, we didn’t even bring snacks—”

“I swear to God,” John growled, “if you say the word nest, I will push you off this catwalk.”

He felt their eyes on him, heavy with realization.

“Look,” he muttered. “I’m fine. The mission’s over. Let’s not make this a big thing, alright?”

“Just—“ Bucky cut himself off. “How far?”

“Five months now I believe.” Yelena cleaned off her dagger and stuffing it back in her belt.

“Five months?!” Bucky and Alexei harmoniously gasped. 

“Please focus,” John begged. “I’m fine. We’re going to get the drive, exfil in ten, and then you can all have a big emotional moment with scented blankets or whatever the hell you want to do.”

Alexei was still muttering in Russian.

John winced again. His knees buckled slightly, and that was it.

Bucky moved forward to steady him, one hand bracing his arm. “Easy. Easy. Jesus, Walker, you should’ve said something. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“He did say something,” Yelena muttered.

“To us. Because we have basic deductive reasoning and access to his laundry.” Ava rolled her eyes.

“You knew?!”

“We weren’t thrilled about him coming along either.”

“I’m fine,” John tried again, but it came out strained.

“You’re not fine.”

Bob’s voice. Low. Controlled. And deadly quiet.

John froze.

He forgot to switch off his comm channel.

A silence fell like a dropped knife.

“Bob—” John started.

Alexei physically flinched.

Yelena sighed. “We’ll be home in twenty.”

No answer. Just the soft click of the comm cutting out.

“You are one screwed man, John Walker.” Bucky chuckled.

“Yep,” Yelena nodded.

“I don’t know if screwed is the word I’d use. Bob is going to cradle him like a Fabergé egg and smell him for an hour straight,” Ava muttered.

John groaned and leaned into the railing, one arm still over his stomach, the other over his eyes.

“I hate everything.”

“Never mind. Let’s get you home before Bob sends a drone.” Yelena slid her arm under his shoulders, nodding to Bucky.

— — — —

The mission was a success, mostly because John didn’t pass out and no one got shot. A win, by all standards.

Bob was waiting when the van rolled up, pacing in front of the door like an Alpha-shaped hurricane. His scent was heavy in the air. Worry, tension, longing.

The second John stepped inside, Bob was there, hands on his face, scenting his neck, checking him over like he might evaporate.

“I’m fine,” John said, exasperated but softening. “It went fine.”

Bob cupped his face. “You shouldn’t have gone. I know you’re capable, I know that—but I’ve never spent three hours wanting to rip my own heart out before. You promised.” 

John’s breath hitched.

Behind them, Alexei cleared his throat. “Uh. So, hey. Funny thing, about the mission—”

Bob turned his head very slowly.

“Oh,” he said, voice calm and terrifying. “So you found out.”

Alexei raised his hands. “He cradled his stomach. It was instinct!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Bucky added quickly. “He just... radiated guilt.”

“Mmhm.” Bob’s hand slid protectively around John’s waist. “Did you let him rappel off a roof?”

“Bob—“

“...yes, but we spotted him!” Alexei chimed.

John sighed and leaned into Bob’s chest.

Bob’s voice dropped, gentle and warm as it was fierce. “Next time, you don’t go. I don’t care how sharp your aim is or how brave you are. You stay. With me. We do this the right way.”

John closed his eyes. “Okay.”

Bob exhaled like he’d been holding it the entire night.

Behind them, Bucky and Alexei edged away.

“Let’s go inside before we all get vaporized,” Yelena said.

“No difference to me.” Ava shrugged.

“I want ice cream,” Alexei muttered. “Pregnancy is exhausting!”

“You’re not pregnant.”

“I said what I said.”

Chapter Text

Valentina took a swig from her coffee cup, reviewing surveillance from a recent mission she sent the New Avengers on.

They were in combat, and she couldn’t help but notice the way John was performing poorly. Not terrible per se, but his reaction times were significantly slower. She pursed her lips, pulling up his erratic vitals.

When she did, a pregnancy flag popped on-screen. She went still. This wasn’t a cramps situation, it was a baking-a-pup situation.

“Well. That’s... biologically inconvenient.” She muttered. And then a smirk curved her lips. “But also politically useful.”

This was an opportunity.

A child between an unstable alpha like Bob and a compromised (apparently omega) asset like John? That's leverage.

A potential hostage, heir, or weapon— depending on how this child develops.

She wouldn’t say that out loud. However, she’s already calculating containment protocols.

— — — —

Bucky was on dinner duty.

Normally, John would have cooked their last meal of the day. He was the best chef in the Tower.

From baked macaroni and cheese that made Yelena coo-coo for cocopuffs, empanadas that could make Ava smile on her body’s worst days, to an American styled goulash Alexei raved about all day whenever John was making it— John was their chef.

For today however, Bucky decided he’d be the one to cook.

Currently, the team was split up. Yelena and Bob were at some pottery class Bucky suggested, Ava was taking a nap, Alexei was watching Russian movies in the living room, and John was taking a shower.

Bucky decided on making chicken paprikash. It was a meal they all enjoyed, and he knew John appreciated flavor in food.

He tried to make it exactly, checking all of the measurements religiously.

He didn’t know why he was doing this. Was it because he needed a distraction from the jealously pooling in his gut? The same gut where Hydra tore out his uterus?

“A pinch of paprika.” He spoke to himself (it helped him work), turning to look at the red spice. “A pinch?”

He hesitantly put his two forefingers together and took some of the paprika in between them and his thumb. He sprinkled it in the bowl.

“Is that paprikash?” John asked from the doorway, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“I thought it might lift your spirits.” Bucky shrugged.

John chuckled softly, coming around and taking the spoon from the bowl. He put it up to his lips, tasting Bucky’s concoction.

His face became cheeky, somewhat smug. “Spirits lifted.”

“In my defense, I haven’t actually ever made chicken paprikash before, so—“

“May I?” John cut him off politely, with a smile that included his teeth. He had a wildly adorable underbite.

“Please.” Bucky’s answer was immediate.

John began to sniff every spice, every ingredient. He got to work.

“Walker?”

John snickered. “I think we’re passed that point, Bucky. You can call me John, you know.”

Bucky laughed softly. “Okay, John.”

“Hmm?” He added some rosemary.

“Are.. are you happy about..” He trailed off.

John looked up.

“Sorry, what I wanted to ask.. are you happy being pregnant? Having a pup? With Bob and..”

“I’m not unhappy.” John answered truthfully. “I never imagined this would happen obviously, but I’m not opposed to it.. I love Bob, and a new pup isn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things.” His voice was calm, peaceful, serene.

It made Bucky insanely jealous.

Bucky nodded and watched as John went back to mixing. The air was thick with silence until John’s concern let itself be known itself known.

“I know something’s bothering you. And I know it’s about my pregnancy, so tell me.” John stopped mixing, grip on the spoon going limp. He glanced at Bucky.

Bucky met his eyes.

How the fuck did he know??

Bucky swallowed, about to deny, but the look on John’s face stopped him. He felt the words leave his mouth like drool from a dog’s.

“I’m jealous.” He admitted, quietly toying with a loose hair tie on the counter. Ava’s.

John’s eyes widened. That was not what he expected to hear.

“Jealous?” He questioned in disbelief. “Why.. what is there to be jealous of?”

Bucky glared at him, irritation flashing across his eyes.

“Goddamn it, asshole, I can’t have babies!” He winced at his own voice, curling in on himself. 

John completely let go of the spoon.

“..it was part of the Winter Soldier protocol.” Bucky shivered, backing himself into the counter. “ The sterilization. They tore out my uterus,” he swallowed back a scream. 

John was horrified. His lips parted in disbelief.

“You are going to have the one thing I want. Your own family. I always thought—“ He inhaled. “I don’t know.. I always dreamed of having a family, a loving alpha and I— I don’t. And you do.” He shakily exhaled. “And I’m jealous because.. because I would give anything to have a fragment of a normal life. After the war, after Hydra, and after Thanos, after everything.” He felt the tidal waves he’d been holding back beginning to rise again. Don’t cry.

“I’m.. I’m constantly reminded of what happened. I’m still getting used to being completely free. I have days where I forget to eat because Hydra’s diet consisted of frozen protein pills. I killed and ate rats on my missions. When I could.”

John felt his own emotions unravel at Bucky’s revelation. Why did his heart feel like it was being crushed?

Stupid pregnancy hormones. Stupid omega hormones. Stupid everything hormones!

“Bucky—“

“Nothing you can say will ever make me feel better, Walker.” The brunet sharply interjected.

John’s shoulders sagged. “..I know.” He gently agreed, feeling his own eyes start to water.

Bucky faced him, defeated. A ruin with tears already slipping past his cheeks.

John’s breath caught in his throat. In the same second, he did something unfathomable. John had cupped Bucky’s face and made him look right at him, his movements soft but firm. Demanding yet kind. Their noses were a mere inch apart.

Bucky’s eyes widened but he didn’t pull away.

John looked at him so admiringly, it was heart wrenching. Maternal instincts were something Bucky hadn’t been on the other end of in decades.

“..I am so sorry.” He croaked, pulling Bucky into a taut hug before he could speak. In that moment, Bucky was a squishy John was squeezing the deprecation out of.

Bucky rested his head on John’s shoulder, his breath stopping he felt the baby bump.

“Look at me, Bucky.” John demanded fiercely.

And Bucky complied like the goddamn soldier he was.

“..you are so damn strong.” John weeped for the man in his arms like he was his own pup, wiping Bucky’s tears. Bucky helplessly sobbed.

“And you shouldn’t have to be all the time..”

“..It feels like my fault.” Bucky confessed, feeling pathetic as he let himself be absorbed in milk and chamomile. 

“Absolutely not.” John raised his voice, his tone powerful. “Your bodily autonomy was stripped away from you, something you should always have a say in. You didn’t choose that.”

— — — —

“This chicken is phenomenal!” Ava complimented Bucky, more than half of her plate already gone.

Bucky nodded, managing a cordial ‘thanks’.

The team hummed in agreement, Yelena scarfing down the food.

“Paprikash is very tasty.” Alexei, just like his daughter, wolfed down his second plate. “Might even challenge John’s cooking!” He laughed.  

Bob glanced at all of them quietly, a thin smile on his lips. He knew this was his mate’s cooking whether John would admit it or not. Why was Bucky taking all the credit for something his omega had made??

Instantly, he felt a hand squeeze his own under the table.

His head snapped to the side. John was looking at him, rosy cheeks and eyes that made the sun jealous. He was smiling. 

He immediately felt better, holding his mate’s hand.

— — — —

“You always did know how to make things messy, John.”

He glared at Valentina, his arms crossed and teeth gritted. He didn’t say a word.

“You’re carrying the genetic legacy of a being who could atomize continents during a bad dream. I’m not judging you, darling. I’m just preparing the fallout shelter.”

“Don’t you dare talk about him like that!” His arms dropped to his sides and he almost lurched forward. He stopped himself at the last second.

Valentina internally face palmed. This was going to be harder than she thought.

“Aren’t you worried?” Her voice was hushed but lacking real warmth.

His fists clenched. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer.

She frowned, pulling up both John’s and Bob’s vitals and records on screen.

“Super soldier serum replicated and improved by a mad scientist fused with a god’s DNA. Think of the results.” She remarked.

The words were getting to him. He was biting his tongue so hard that a metallic taste spread across his taste buds.

“I feel sorry for your womb.” She pushed, continuing. “There is no way that is not going to hurt.”

“That is respectively none of your concern.” Yet he couldn’t deny the thought terrified him. He’d given birth before. But that was both pre-serum and with a normal alpha woman’s DNA..

“Oh, but it is.” Valentina interrupted, jerking him away from his thoughts. She zoomed in on Bob’s vitals and records with the little remote.

“When there’s an issue with one of the New Avengers, it is my business.” She gestured to his stomach. “You’re still undaunted, aren’t you?”

John instinctively crossed his arms again. 

She sighed. “The father of your child is bulletproof, fireproof, every kind of proof! He has the ability fly, the strength of Thor and the Hulk merged, and his senses are boosted past the extremes. He can bend raw energy to his will. A beast if you ask me.”

“That’s enough!” He roared, his pheromones rising to his discomfort. 

There it was. Sweet and unmistakeable vulnerability.

“I’m just trying to look out for you.” She motioned to the screen. 

He blinked before glancing at the screen, meeting Bob’s mugshot. His heart clenched, stomach sinking.

Valentina could smell the fear even through his scent blocker. Distraught and burnt.

She’d offer him ‘protection.’ But really it was all about access. To study the child. To influence how it was raised. To keep Bob on a leash, through John.

“Have you been to a prenatal check-up yet?”

Chapter Text

Friday nights were reserved for pottery class. That was Yelena and Bob’s rule. The two of them would walk to the local pottery studio a few blocks down and mold creations out of wet clay, all while talking about their feelings. It was nice.

Yelena watched as Bob was completely entranced in his sculpting, his tongue out in total concentration as his gentle hands worked the clay.

She chortled playfully. “What’re you making?”

He blinked confusedly, coming back to reality.

“Oh,” He sheepishly answered, “something for John.. just letting my hands do all the work right now. I don’t know what to make him.”

Her expression softened. “You’re in love.” She plainly spoke.

“Wouldn’t have gotten him pregnant if I wasn’t, right?” He smiled shyly. “I love him.. and that’s partially the reason I offered to help him with his heat.”

Yelena smirked. “Happy you’re going to be a dad?”

“Yeah.. yeah, I am.” At that moment, Bob was struck with an idea. His hands moved to the base of the clay.

“Soooo, do we know if it’s a boy or girl yet?” She asked hopefully.

Bob chuckled. “I just know you want the baby to be a girl so we can name her Yelena.”

She practically lit up, grinning. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“If it’s a girl, I’ll ask John if we can name her Yelena.” He promised, his hands gently sliding around his creation as the wheel kept spinning.

Yelena observed the way he was molding the clay now, plenty more intentionally.

“What’s John going to get?”

“A teapot.” Bob bashfully giggled.

“He likes tea?” She questioned.

“We drink chamomile.” He fondly whispered. “Isn’t nearly as good as when he smells like it.”

— — — —

It took three sessions, but the teapot was finished.

It wasn’t flashy and glittering, but it was something Bob poured his heart and feelings into.

He had covered the teapot in white paint before intricately painting little red poppies on it. He put his love into every brush stroke, John filling his headspace. The memory of the night Bob knew he was in love resurfaced.

~~~~

“..poppies are breathtakingly beautiful.” John exhaled, eyes glued to the colorful poppy flowers in the planters hanging from the Watchtower’s terrace.

Bob glanced at him with a curious expression.

“You like flowers?”

The omega instantly nodded. “They’re delicate, yet so resilient. And poppies can persevere through the toughest conditions.”

Bob found himself intrigued by this new revelation. The man in front of him, who was always so rough around the edges, liked flowers.

A week ago, Bob had found John’s heat suppressants. It was a shock, but Bob promised to keep his secret. Since then, he’d started noticing little things about John. Things that didn’t align with the stereotypical alpha front he was putting up for everyone. It was almost like he was a completely different person..

Now they were on the Watchtower balcony talking.

“They are usually the first flowers to bloom on battle-scarred land.” John added, his hands reaching out to gently play with poppy petals.

Bob swallowed, hesitantly feeding into the conversation.

“They’re nature’s hopeful renewal.”

“I believe it’s more of nature’s resilience.” John grinned playfully, meeting Bob’s eyes.

The alpha blushed.

John looked back at the poppies again, sending a pang of yearning through Bob.

“Resilience, huh?”

“Fallen soldiers’ graves are decorated in poppies. Specifically red. For the blood they shed for their country.” John leaned his nose into the bud, inhaling the scent.

“If it’s anyone who knows about that, it’s you.”

Bob gently plucked one from the stem so another could grow in its place, offering it to John.

“The flower of sacrifice, to the man who perfected it.”

The omega’s eyes widened. “..thanks.”

Later that night, John had closed it in a book to preserve it.

~~~~

It was time to give John the teapot.

— — — —

John gasped as Bob revealed the teapot, hands covering his mouth. He felt tears threaten to spill, his heart rapidly beating.

“You didn’t!”

Bob laughed lovingly, emotions overwhelming him as well. He set the teapot down as his mate threw himself into his arms. John buried his head in Bob’s chest, looking up at him through puffy red eyes.

“You remembered.”

“I could never forget, sunshine.”

Chapter Text

When Valentina asked John if he had attended any prenatal checkups, he had politely told her to fuck off.

He was ashamed to realize that no, he hadn’t.

With guilt gnawing at his bones, John asked Bob if he would have liked to go to an appointment with him.

“Wait, seriously? Of course I would!” The alpha earnestly grinned, brushing messy brown hair out of his eyes.

John’s heart swelled at that moment, and it was not just a pregnancy symptom.

— — — —

The alpha could feel his mate’s discomfort as they made their way to the clinic.

“Everything okay?”

The blond nodded. “Just peachy.”

“I can tell you’re nervous.”

John cradled his large bump, his legs momentarily faltering as he got a back cramp.

Bob noticed this, slowing down.

A thought struck him, and he decided to voice it.

“What if I made gender reveal cupcakes for you and the team? It would be a fun way to celebrate.”

John’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?”

“Yes!”

“Sure then.”

— — — —

The nurse was nice. Her pheromones were the calming scent of lavender.

She weighed John, took his blood pressure and a urine sample from him, then asked about his pregnancy symptoms.

She glanced at his file. “5 months, specifically 20 weeks. Have you felt the first kick yet?”

John’s face dropped, his body tensing as he sat up in the medical chair. “No, is something wrong??”

The nurse was quick to reassure.

“No, no. Don’t stress, mama. I simply saw in your file you’ve been pregnant before. Multiparas, omegas who aren’t first-time mothers such as yourself, tend to feel kicking sooner in their later pregnancies. However, there is absolutely nothing wrong. Your vitals are strong.”

John relaxed, leaning back into the medical chair. Bob silently offered support by standing next to his mate and holding his hand. The alpha smiled at the nurse.

“So everything is just right?”

“Well.. your mate’s stomach is over the usual size for 20 weeks. But both his blood pressure and urine test came back with standard results. And his symptoms, like the nausea and swelling, are as expected. Seems to me the baby is healthy.”

John should have been glad. Everything was normal, right? But all he felt was shame, wishing he could crawl into a hole.

Was he really fat now??

Bob glanced down at his omega, noticing the shift in his expression and the change in scent. He leaned down to press a kiss to John’s temple.

Promptly, the doctor came in. The nurse greeted the doctor cordially and wished the couple well before she took her leave.

“Is this the first ultrasound of the pregnancy?” The doctor asked, prepping for the next part of the appointment.

Bob nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She applied gel to John’s stomach and then turned on the screen. She took her transducer and began to move it around his stomach.

Shutting his eyes, John took a few breaths. He wanted to enjoy this, he really did, but he wouldn’t look at the ultrasound when all he could think about was how he let himself go. As soon as he popped this baby out, he’d be hitting the gym in no time.

Bob, on the other hand, was totally engrossed by the screen.

He quietly gasped in awe, noticing something John didn’t get the chance to see. He would ask the doctor about it privately.

— — — —

“You only asked the doctor about the gender, right?” John bit his lip, hoping his mate didn’t ask any follow-up questions about his weight.

They were on their walk back home.

Bob nodded. “And I only asked so I can make the right colored cupcakes.”

The blond nodded, hands protectively cradling his bump again.

“John..” The brunet softly spoke.

The omega looked at his alpha. “Yeah?”

“You really don’t have to worry about the weight.”

John clenched his fists, trying to keep all his feelings in check. “That’s easy for you to say, Bobby. You’re not the one who’s bloated and ugly all the time. The worst part is that during my last pregnancy I wasn’t this heavy. And now I’m—“

“Gonna stop you right there.” Bob finished, carefully wrapping an arm around his mate’s waist and offering support. “You’re carrying a whole ass pup inside you. You are going to gain weight, and that’s normal.”

John’s eyes were watery as he clung himself to Bob’s willing arm.

— — — —

There were too many cupcakes. That was the first thing John noticed.

Six people. Twelve cupcakes.

He stood at the edge of the kitchen like he wasn’t really part of the room, arms crossed tight, trying not to glare at the tray like it had insulted his intelligence. It kind of had.

“You’re doing the math too, huh?” Bucky muttered beside him.

John didn’t look away. “Since when does Bob bake anything that doesn’t come from a packet?”

“Since he knocked up an omega and got hit with a domesticity kink.”

John shot him a look, and Bucky raised both hands. “Kidding. Mostly.”

Bob was moving through the kitchen like some golden retriever in god-mode. Calm. Smiling. Dangerous.

“Why are there twelve cupcakes? There are only six of us.” John asked, arms folded across his chest as he eyed the table. The cupcakes were vanilla, completely white and masking the colored cream inside.

Bob beamed like he wasn’t hiding a universe-shattering secret. “Extras.”

John squinted at him. “Since when do you do extras?”

“Since I became a dad.”

“You’re not a—” John snapped his mouth shut, then cleared his throat. “Not yet.”

Ava raised an eyebrow and pointed at the cupcakes. “So how’s this work? We bite into these things and what, there’s a little flag inside that says ‘congratulations, it’s a war criminal’?”

“Ha ha,” Bob said. “No. Color-coded cream centers. Pink or blue.”

“And why are we doing this?” Yelena asked, clearly still skeptical. “We already know it’s a girl.”

Bob didn’t flinch. Just kept smiling that terrifyingly patient smile of his. “Trust me.”

John looked at the cupcake like it owed him money.

Bob handed one to each of them. “You all go first.”

Ava inspected hers like it might explode. “If this ruins my teeth, I will be suing.”

“I ate worse during World War II,” Bucky shrugged.

Alexei took the first bite, chewed thoughtfully, then looked up, face lit. “Pink! She is going to be strong. I feel it in my heart.”

“Uh…” Bucky said slowly, mid-bite, “Mine’s blue.”

“Pink here,” Yelena said.

Ava tilted her head. “Blue.”

“..Bob?” John wanted to cry, and that made him angry. Why the fuck did he care about some dumb cupcakes and pigmented frosting??

Bob instantaneously understood, swiftly holding out a plate with the largest cupcake. It was even decorated with some edible silver glitter. This cupcake was the special one. The one that contained the truth.

“Yours is the one that matters.”

John hesitated. Everyone stared. He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

He bit into the cupcake. Chewed. Stopped. Looked down.

Split clean down the center: pink and blue.

Side by side. Not swirled. Not random. Deliberate.

“Bob.” His voice was low like a flame. Except that same flame was catching momentum, flaring, burning. Bob was playing with fire, careless of he would get burned.

“Tell me you didn’t—”

Keep this from me.
Lie.
Decide I couldn’t handle it.

Bob didn’t flinch. “It’s twins. A boy and a girl.”

The silence hit like a detonation.

Alexei gasped. Yelena’s jaw actually dropped. Ava blinked once and muttered, “I knew it.” Bucky just sat down with a sigh.

“Twins,” John repeated, almost to himself. His heart was racing, stomach twisting. His next words were laced with venom. “You knew this. You’ve known this. And you—”

“I waited,” Bob said, voice gentle but firm, calm as a man diffusing a bomb. “Because I wanted this moment to be full of joy. Not fear. I wanted it to be special. You were overwhelmed. You needed time. I gave you that, and now I’m giving you this. ”

John didn’t know what to say. He felt exposed. He hated it.

He hated that everyone was still watching.

The cupcake felt heavy in his hand. Too sweet. Too small for the truth it carried.

He swallowed again, barely breathing. “You made me look like an idiot.”

“No,” Bob said. “I made you a promise. That this wouldn’t be something you had to survive. That I’d find ways to make you feel safe. This was one of them.”

John hated how his chest ached.

He wanted to yell. Or leave. Or pretend he didn’t care.

Instead, his voice cracked when he said, “You’re a bastard.”

Bob stepped closer. “I love you.”

John looked at the cupcake in his hand like it had betrayed him. “You used frosting to manipulate me.”

“Successfully,” Ava murmured.

Bob moved a little closer. “We’re having a boy and a girl. Two heartbeats. Two futures. And I want all of it with you.”

John stared at him. Then looked around the room. At Yelena’s awkward soft smile, at Alexei tearing up for no reason, at Bucky pretending not to care, at Ava nodding once like this was all inevitable.

The dam finally broke, tears gushing out of the omega’s eyes. He heaved out pathetic sobs, hormonal cries, and his scent was haywire. Not sour, burnt, or rotten. Just overpowering. Black coffee, worn leather. Which were very present and clear now because John wasn’t wearing a scent blocker.

John’s whole body wracked with sobs, and he was met with the warm embrace of his alpha. And then another. And another. Until the whole pack was squeezed together.

Their scents all mingled. Like Bob’s vanilla bourbon and sandalwood with a hint of fresh linen. And Ava’s amber, rose petals, and white tea with a hint of black pepper. Even Bucky’s cinnamon and pine. 

The fragrance all of them created was home.

“You’re lucky I’m hormonal,” he sniffled, earning a laugh from the others. “Otherwise I’d throw these cupcakes at your heads.” Chamomile and caramel was beginning to creep in.

They all hugged John tighter, giving him the luxury of feeling supported.

“I love you guys.”

And they loved him too.

Chapter Text

3:45 AM

Bob hadn’t slept at all, even with John in bed by his side.

Currently, he was curled into a fetal position and gripping his pillow for dear life, the act futile in bringing him any genuine relief. Bob had moved a few inches away from his mate, facing the other way to avoid looking at him.

Bob’s body was tense, dark thoughts beginning to overtake him.

What if he turned out just like him?

The alpha shivered, a quiet sob escaping his lips at the thought. That earned shuffling on the other side of the bed.

“Bob?” John called, voice drowsy but worried.

Bob stayed deathly silent, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Bob.” The omega’s tone was demanding this time. He was fully awake now. “Don’t ignore me.”

He swiftly straddled Bob, even with his large stomach. However, John had used his energy and he braced his belly against John’s. John forced the alpha to look at him.

Bob let out a strangled gasp, his scent becoming sour. The calming fragrance of sandalwood and vanilla bourbon were quickly replaced by the pungent odor of ashes and burnt sugar. The hint of linen and fresh laundry John would smell when they were alone and in pure bliss had been replaced by the smell of molded fruit and grimy dirt.

John’s heart sunk into his stomach. “Look at me, Robert! Goddamn it, breathe, idiot!”

Bob struggled to stop choking, gazing at his sunshine through clouded eyes.

John used his real name. He never did that. He was desperate to bring him back to reality.

He cupped Bob’s face, ardently kissing his lips. John was begging the alpha to come back to him.

Before his mind could react, Bob’s hands flew to John’s sides to keep him in place. When he began kissing back, John pulled away.

“Explain.” The omega huffed raggedly.

The brunet swallowed. “It’s nothing—“

“No it’s not!” John scowled. “You tell me right now or.. or I’m sleeping in my room.” He threatened.

His room didn’t even feel like his own anymore. It didn’t have colors, or pillows, or blankets, or warmth.. but most importantly, it didn’t have Bob.

Bob’s eyes could have popped out of his head. “Okay, okay, fine!” He threw up his hands in surrender. “Just don’t go. Stay. Please.” He pleaded.

John’s heart constricted as he saw the anxiety in his mate’s features, those soft blue eyes now filled with panic. The omega nodded, gesturing for the alpha to speak.

Bob shakily exhaled, forcing himself to open up. The words came like vomit, unstoppable when uttered.

“What if I turn out like my father? What if I hurt you and our babies? What if—?”

“And this is the part where I stop you.” John briskly interjected. “You are not your father. And I know you won’t ever be.”

Bob’s breath hitched as his mate took his trembling hands and put them on his growing belly.

“You are so kind and loving, and you are nothing like him.” The omega’s voice was firm, so certain. “Remember when I first told you I was carrying our pup? You were so happy, I cried. Tears of joy. And I was terrified of telling you because I didn’t think I could be cared for and loved. You disproved all of my doubts. You’re going to be an amazing dad, and you’re the best mate I don’t know how I got my hands on.” John sniffled, lying down on Bob’s chest.

The alpha’s arms wrapped around the pregnant omega.

Bob felt his scent slowly drift away from rot back to his vanilla and linen, nerves dissipating into practically nothing.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and John glanced up at him with a smirk.

“Just imagine how in a few months, they’ll be two troublemakers who will also call you ‘daddy’.”

Bob let out a wet laugh at John’s crude humor, the fear of hurting this man and their futures and children wavering. He would never. He could never.

The two of them were wrapped in each other’s arms, Bob pressing kisses to John’s temple.

And then it happened.

A twitch against Bob’s abdomen coming from John’s belly.

Bob’s breath hitched and he sat up, leaning against the headboard.

John blinked in surprise, lips parted. “Kick! They kicked.”

The omega squealed, over the moon. He had felt them stir, yes, but kicking was a completely different situation. “It’s kind of fluttery!” He explained, butterflies in his stomach. 

Bob was the cat who got the cream, a big smile John could see even in the dark.

Another few kicks came, and Bob was in awe.

Those were his pups in his omega. His babies.

Unfortunately for John, he couldn’t hold back a sneeze. 

The twins were absolutely pissed, communicating their feelings through a wave of painful kicks to John’s bladder.

“Ow, ow!” He whined, hands gripping at Bob’s shirt. Well now he had to pee.

Bob held him steady, aiding John in not falling off the bed.

“I need the restroom.” The omega embarrassedly confessed, and Bob carefully helped him off the bed. His bump really was starting to get in the way of doing simple tasks. 

When John came back from the bathroom, he was bombarded with his mate’s fascination.

“Sneezing affects kicking? That’s so cool!”

And if John didn’t think that was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. 

Chapter Text

John grunted, bracing his pregnant belly against the handle of the folding step ladder he was standing on.

He groaned out of sheer exhaustion. The omega was only a week over six months but he looked like he was eight months.

Damn twins.

John scowled. They were going to be quite the handfuls when they were born, he just knew it.

With the way they made it impossible for the omega to get into a comfortable sleeping position, John would bet money he’d go through many sleepless nights soothing their cries after they were born. 

At the moment, he was trying to cover the ceiling and walls of the nursery with night lights in the shape of tiny stars and comets. He saw them at the store and thought they were adorable. 

The omega sharply gasped as a cramp shot through his stomach.

“John?” Bob had passed by, stopping in front of the doorway, just in time to see what happened.

He practically flew to his omega’s side, hands ready to catch his mate if he fell. 

John’s head turned to look at his alpha, their eyes locking.

“What are you doing?? Get. Down!”

John rolled his eyes, protesting. “I’m not Humpty Dumpty. Can’t I decorate the nursery in peace?”

Bob’s eyes softened. “You have to understand my worry.. you’re carrying twins. I assume they’re heavy together—“

“Wow, the classic fatshaming.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Bob’s voice had risen a pitch in a mock defense.

John chuckled before carefully turning around on the step ladder, Bob’s hands instantly on both his mate’s sides.

The blond accidentally dropped one of the stars on Bob’s face. His laugh was like bubbles, popping and playful. It was contagious because the brunet ended up giggling.

“My star-boy.”

John bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Bob’s mouth, the alpha eagerly rising on his toes.

“I really like that.” Bob blushed.

To John, Bob was his star.

Not because a decorative star fell on his face. Not because he acted all-American by wearing socks paired with sandals on the beach.
Not even because, with the power of Sentry, he could fly so high up into the night sky, he could touch the stars— or even become a supernova with his power of a million exploding suns.

It was because he shone brightly in every way, that Bob was John’s star-boy.

The softer man was exceptionally loving and considerate. He was a visionary, who inspired the best out of others. Not just John— Yelena, Ava, Bucky, Alexei.

John was certain the love of his life would be the best father because of this reason, and he hoped their kids would take after him.

Chapter Text

John was in front of the mirror, scowling at the shirt stretched over his chest.

Tight. Too tight. It clung to his stomach like a spotlight, as if it wanted the whole damn world to see what he was becoming. He was seven months and two weeks, and exhausted.

He yanked the fabric down again, like it would somehow flatten the giant swell beneath it. But it just rolled back up, catching on the plump curves of his hips. When had those gotten wider?

"Fuck," he muttered, teeth clenched. His voice was sharp. He was angry at the mirror for daring to reflect the truth.

Every inch of him ached. His legs, his back, and God, his chest, his breasts. They were hot and sore and heavier than they had any right to be.

They didn’t sit flat anymore. They bounced when he moved. They hurt when his shirt brushed against them.

When Bob simply looked at him too long, John excused himself for a long shower, ashamed of himself.

He peeled the shirt off in frustration, flinging it onto the bed, and stood in just his boxers.

There they were. The marks. Faint, pink streaks across his hips and sides. Proof his skin was stretching. Warping. Ruining everything he’d worked on for hours in the gym.

He wasn’t Steve Rogers. He didn’t just get his physique because of the serum he took. Karli’s serum enhanced physical strength greatly, but it did not alter a person’s appearance. John had to train for his body.

He never skipped leg day. And he promised he wouldn’t ever, even after his first pup. And he didn’t.

Maybe that’s what triggered his postpartum depression. Why he couldn’t even look at his son with Olivia sometimes. All the doom scrolling and feeling sorry for himself. The pity parties and food binges that would cause six hour workouts.

John hated his love handles, hip dips, cellulite, thunder thighs. Fortunately, they vanished because of his training.

He was handsome..

He used to be handsome.

Obviously he couldn’t bench press the weight of a plane now. He couldn’t even stretch while he was pregnant.

John’s breath hitched, but he didn’t cry. He couldn’t.

The knock on the door came soft. Careful.

“Sunshine?” Bob’s voice was gentle. “You okay?” A pause. “I can… feel you. You’re upset.”

Damn Sentry powers.

Sensing irregular heartbeats, blood pressures, shit like that.

John wiped his face. His cheeks were flushed, but he blamed the heat.

“I’m fine,” he barked back. “Just don’t. I said I’m fine.”

Another pause.

“I come waving a white flag. Well.. white tea. Same thing,” Bob offered, his voice still low. “It’s the peppermint infused one that helps.”

Bob was trying. He always tried. But John couldn’t stand the idea of Bob seeing him like this .

He stepped back from the mirror. Looked at the boxers, which clung to thighs that used to be cut sharper. At his chest, which he’d once been proud of, now red and swollen and sore.

John wrapped himself in a hoodie and opened the door just a crack. Bob stood there with the tea, golden eyes flickering with concern. No judgment. Just warmth.

But John still couldn’t meet them.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the mug without touching Bob’s hand.

Bob didn’t push. He never did when John got like this. He just lingered for a beat longer than necessary, eyes scanning him like he wanted to hold him but wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed.

“I’ll be downstairs,” Bob said. “If you want company.”

“Stay.” John whimpered.

Bob instantly halted, nodding his head slowly. He carefully sat down on the bed. “..everything okay?”

John bit his lip, setting the mug down.

“I feel,” He tried before sighing. “I am so ugly..”

Bob stared at him in disbelief, words falling short. “Is that.. are you serious?”

John groaned, his backside flopping onto the bed. “Don’t— don’t laugh.”

Bob turned around, meeting John’s eyes. “Is this because you’re gaining more pregnancy weight?? Sunshine, you are not ugly.”

John frustratedly grumbled, throwing a pillow at Bob. “Look at me, asshole! Look and in my eyes and tell me I’m not fugly.” Bob had caught the pillow, adjusting it in his lap.

“You’re not fugly.” He deadpanned, eyes locking with John’s.

John glanced away and exasperatedly sighed, staring at the ceiling as tears welled in his eyes. “You’re just saying that because you have to. Since you’re bonded to me or whatever.”

“ Or whatever, my ass, Walker.” Bob scowled, lying down next to him.

“You’re gorgeous.” The alpha started, only to earn a sad gargle from his mate.

He frowned. “John..”

John rolled onto his side, gazing at his star-boy. The constellation that could lead him home any day.

“This is stupid. I’m sorry..”

“You turn me on!” Bob blurted.

John blinked in bewilderment. “..huh?”

Bob internally facepalmed. Way to go.

“Sorry I.. I still think you’re the most beautiful in the world, no matter how your body changes. You take my breath away with your curves, and the way your body looks so much softer. And your breasts, fuck, your breasts. I feel so guilty about fantasizing me playing with them, just all the time.” John’s lips parted as Bob continued spewing. “And I want my head between your thighs. Jesus, I just want you to see how perfect you are!”

There was silence for a moment, before John laughed. Bubbly, sweet. Sultry.

“I hope you now how wet you just made me.”

Bob’s breath hitched. “Seriously??” He was so hopeful.

John chuckled, swiftly straddling Bob. “You mean it?”

The alpha propped his knees up as John practically rutted against his stomach.

“You’re stunning, out of this world level beautiful, crafted by a Greek sculptor—“

“About your head in between my thighs.” John leaned forward to softly nip at Bob’s neck, right on his scent glands with their bond bitemark.

Bob felt his own cock twitch. “Hell yeah!”

John leaned back on Bob’s knees, giggling.

“You sound like a horny high schooler.”

“John, you fuckin’ tease,”

The omega silenced him with a kiss. When he tried to pull back, Bob kept him in place with hands on his hips. And so sloppy kisses and tongue were exchanged, more exploration than anything.

And Bob knew one thing. He was a very lucky man.

His hands tugged the hoodie off of John, leaving the very pregnant omega only in his boxers.

“Bob!” He drawled, watching as the brunet quickly shedded his own sweater and got to town quickly.

Within a bat of John’s eyelashes, Bob had him pinned against the mattress, now above him.

With newfound confidence, Bob grinned as he pulled back, descending to the bedroom floor on his knees. He was very much comfortable with his head between Heaven.

John never once broke eye contact, feeling his cunt drown in slick as he witnessed the alpha on his knees and in between him.

He let out a quiet moan, throwing his head back.

“Alpha, please!” He pleaded.

And so Bob swiftly slid off John’s soaked boxers and discarded them to the hamper. (Well, probably the hamper. He threw them in that direction anyways.)

Bob almost got lost at the first sight of Heaven since.. since he got John pregnant.

“Goddamn it, Bob!” He cried out.

Bob found himself reacting quicker than he thought. His tongue was now pressed against John’s clit, swirling around as a test.

John mewled, clenching the pillows. “Oh God!” He whined, not giving a shit if anyone could hear them in the moment.

Bob felt his own erection digging into the floor, picking his pelvis up to bury his face more into the intoxicating smell of the best caramel latte.

“Nghh! Alpha..” John mindlessly rambled. “Please, please, please..”

Bob had licked his way into the gates of Heaven, burying his nose into John’s crotch even more. As John’s pleads turned more into incoherent moans and mewls, Bob gingerly stroked the base of his mate’s cock.

The swirling of his tongue became letter patterns, and he spelt his name. Repeatedly. Each time more firmly than the last.

Bob claimed. Any chance he got, he’d claim John.

John screamed when Bob sucked his inner lips and let go with a wet pop, the omega’s legs immediately wrapping around Bob’s neck with his ankles hitting each other.

“FUCK, ALPHA! BOB, I’M CLOSE, I’M—“

John shouted as he came on his lover’s face, Bob burying his face deeper as he finished his omega off. He would get the job done, he would help through the high. Don’t stop. Not now.

He milked John’s cock dry, lapped up everything his cunt produced, and massaged his clit until John’s throat went dry from the groans and pants.

Afterwards, John fell back with a quiet groan, the pillows he scented offering a warm brace. Bob smirked against his mate’s messy channel and licked his slick and cum-covered lips.

“You taste amazing, sweetheart. I’d take this over regular coffee everyday.” His words were filthy, stirring something in the omega.

“Shit on a shingle. That was.. fuck, Bob, where’d you learn how to do that?”

“Kind of just.. guessed, honestly? I don’t know, this was my first time ever,”

“I’ve never been eaten out before.”

Bob blinked.

“I didn’t hate that.” John continued. “It felt pretty nice.” His lips twitched into a slight smile.

Bob’s whole face lit up. “Really? I made you feel good?”

“So good. Better than good. Great even.” Bob shuddered as Bob crawled back onto the bed and cuddled into John’s side.

John felt like he was on cloud nine. He didn’t notice a hand coming into to gently fondle one of his boobs.

He gasped. “Oh god!”

Bob flinched. “Sorry!”

“Well don’t stop now!” John sat up, glaring at Bob.

“All this talk about you fantasizing playing with my tits, and you sure don’t know how to milk them.”

Bob flushed. “John!”

“You just ate me out, and this is the part you’re embarrassed of? I didn’t think you’d have any dignity left.”

Bob grunted, rolling over. His face landed straight into John’s chest.

John huffed amusedly.

“You can’t hide in there forever. You need to come up for air eventually.”

Bob moaned in annoyance, his hands cupping his omega’s breasts.

John inhaled a sharp breath, clutching one of Bob’s shoulders.

His breasts were swollen and aching. They were rock hard because John’s lobules were engorged and lactating, causing his irritable mood most of the time.

Bob’s fingers met a nipple, and he twisted it.

John threw his head back, mewling as milk began to flow from his nipple and drip down Bob’s fingers.

The alpha’s curiosity piqued, and he began to massage the sore breasts.

“Wait, wait, wait!” John warned, before milk began to uncontrollably spill from both of his breasts, dripping onto both of their naked bodies, and then onto their sheets.

He shot Bob a nasty glare, who didn’t notice, and took John’s right nipple into his mouth. He began to gently suck as if it were a baby bottle.

John hissed, immediately grabbing a fistful of brown curls.

“Bob!”

There was no reasoning with the alpha. Not when he was guzzling John’s breastmilk by the bucket load.

John realized halfway into his pregnancy that the serum he took made him produce more breastmilk than a regular pregnancy.

With this fact, he wasn’t thrilled.

But having Bob relieve him like this.. it felt so pleasant. John could finally breathe as Bob began to drain his second breast.

When Bob finished, he looked up at John with a proud grin, breastmilk dribbling down the corner of his mouth and chin.

John blushed, wiping the milk away.

“You look like the kitty who got the cream.”

“I have something better than cream.” Bob smirked, leaning in and kissing John’s neck just above his scent gland and bond mark.

Now it was his turn to be a tease.

John playfully pulled on Bob’s hair.

“Come on. I’ll jerk you in the shower, star-boy.”

Chapter Text

Milk.

All John craved was milk.

All he drank was milk.

He demanded Bob buy him a large gallon everyday.

And since John was pregnant with his pups, Bob really couldn’t say no to him. With a bat of those eyelashes, John had his mate doing everything for him.

The omega was never thirsty. He’d go through milk like it was oxygen.

John wouldn’t consider himself snappy.. except when Bucky unknowingly drank the last of the milk John was saving for himself that day.

“You vicious bitch!” John barked.

Bucky had taken a step back.

“I, I didn’t know you needed all four gallons!” He held his hands up. “I thought, since it was the last of it..”

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Bob interrupted both of them, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. “I’ll go to the store to get more milk, sunshine. Do we need anything else?”

John blinked. Bob always stepped in at the right moments.

“Yeah.. just a few other groceries.” He glanced at Bucky. “Sorry.”

The other omega hummed. “All good, pregnancy is exhausting.”

“Especially when there’s no milk.” Bob nudges at John’s shoulder, earning an annoyed grunt from his omega.

Bucky offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay you two. Go get groceries.”

~~~~

A scowl was plastered across John’s face.

His ankles were swollen, his feet were sore.

He glared at Bob, whose attention was completely focused on reading the different milk labels.

“Whole milk, Bobert. None of that 2% crap.” His spine ached, and his brain demanded milk . Not just any milk. It had to be ice-cold , whole, full-fat, and straight from the fridge. Anything less and his inner omega would riot.

“Liquid gold,” John gritted. “That’s what I want. Don’t care if it’s organic or blessed by goddamn space cows. Just, ugh.”

The alpha nodded, grabbing two large gallons of John’s desired milk. His favorite brand and everything.

“Okay, you get the Wheaties for Alexei and I’ll grab some crackers for Yelena’s guinea.” The omega instructed.

“Her name is Precious.” Bob’s voice was soft.

John smirked. “Is it?”

Bob nodded.

“Cute.”

He stopped, placing a hand over his belly as the twins gave a synchronized kick. Bob’s hand was instantly there too, warm, grounding. The bond flared between them. A flash of scent, belonging, mine.

It was.. calming. John hadn’t felt this carefree since he was newly married to Olivia.

He wobbled to the snack section, leaving the cart with Bob (he wouldn’t push shit while eight months pregnant).

He reached for the crackers before—

“Mama!”

John’s reflexes had never been faster, his body snapping toward the tiny, squealing voice.

For a second, he thought he was hallucinating from hormones and milk deprivation. But no. There, barreling across the cracked linoleum floor of Aisle Seven, was his baby. Connor.

There he was.

His hair now longer, messy brown curls bouncing in the wind. A few inches taller than last time his mother had seen him.

Right there. In a too-small hoodie with a rip in one sleeve, jeans that were clearly too short at the ankles, and Velcro sneakers with cartoon characters rubbed almost invisible was Connor. His son. The boy John spent fifteen hours birthing, those hours nothing short of agony and joy, the boy he hadn’t seen in—

“Mommy!” Connor cried, and he ran.

John dropped to his knees despite the protest of his back and belly, catching Connor in both arms. The motion made him gasp, but he didn’t care. His arms wrapped around his boy, instinct screaming: mine mine mine.

His scent, John would know that scent anywhere. Still his. Still his pup.

It had really been over a year. Connor was four now. John did the math, counted the days. John remembered his son’s birthday. The day he was born. It was engraved in the omega’s memory. He remembered the gruel of labor. Remembered the way all his pain magically disappeared when he held Connor for the first time. It felt like a reward. It was a reward.

The pup buried his face against John’s chest, already half soaked from the heat and milk leakage. He didn’t care.

“I missed you,” Connor whispered. “You smell nice, mama. Like when I was little.”

John choked back a sob. “You are little. You’ll always be my little guy.”

He held Connor tighter with one hand cupped over his belly, the unborn siblings shifting and kicking.

John kissed the crown of his son’s head, not realizing he was scenting Connor again.

He rubbed his neck and chin against the scent glands on the pup’s forehead, earning giggles from him.

“Mama!”

That was when Bob entered the aisle, pushing a cart filled with Wheaties among cheeses (pasteurized of course, he couldn’t have unpasteurized dairy products while pregnant) John mentioned craving.

He stoped himself from calling out when he saw the scene before him. Bob swallowed, his heart clenching for his mate. His gaze flicked towards the end of the aisle and he saw her.

John looked up at Bob, then turned to the direction the alpha’s eyes were glued to.

Olivia.

Shopping cart full of overpriced crap. One hand resting protectively on the bump of her new omega.

Her new omega.

The other omega looked glassy-eyed and pampered. His bump was smaller, neater. Olivia was smiling at him, saying soft things John never heard when he was pregnant.

John’s mouth twisted. His eyes dropped to Connor again. His firstborn , wearing scraps from Goodwill , and she was here rubbing someone else’s pregnant belly like he had never gone through fifteen hours of labor screaming into a bite rag.

Bob moved to John’s side, placing a hand over his shoulder. The pressure grounded him. Calmed the war drum behind his ribs.

Olivia looked up.

Saw him.

Her eyes widened.

John straightened slowly, lifting Connor with surprising strength, despite the belly. Despite the exhaustion. His arms adjusted around both Connor and the curve of his stomach. The twins kicked furiously, reacting to the tension.

Olivia’s face twisted. She saw the size of his belly. Saw the way Bob stood behind him like a wall of Alpha heat. Saw John’s glow, his scent, his strength.

And jealousy bloomed in her lungs like a poison.

She should have accepted he had moved on. She had too. Should’ve congratulated him even. He had been her childhood best friend before high school sweetheart.

“Wow,” she breathed, tone saccharine. “Didn’t know you were… expecting again. That’s a lot.”

John’s lip curled. “ Twins ,” he said, almost proudly.

Her smile slipped.

She glanced at her omega’s neat little bump and relaxed.

Connor clung to John tighter.

The blond stepped forward, voice like thunder.

“Look at him, Olivia. Look at him. You’ve got him in damn rags while you’re here coddling this—“

Johh cut himself off as his eyes flickered to his replacement. The other omega looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t say it like that. He’s a growing boy, John. Of course clothes I buy him a month ago are not going to fit him any—“

“Don’t. Just don’t.” John snapped. He carefully handed his son over to Bob, who took him instantly. The alpha held Connor against his chest like he’d always had. Connor looked up, snuggling into Bob’s collarbones. The vanilla in his scent brought on the feeling of trustworthiness. 

Olivia stepped forward, “Connor—”

But John interjected. “We’ll talk custody later. For now? I’m taking him home. He’s spending the night with me. He needs a bath, a proper dinner, and pajamas that aren’t three sizes too small.”

Maybe he was exaggerating how bad the situation really was, but John wouldn’t let his ex-wife build a new life whilst abandoning the child she wouldn’t let him see. It was complete horseshit, nonsense. 

Olivia opened her mouth, but then seemed to see John again. Hair tousled from pregnancy naps, eyes shining from hormones and fury, his omega scent strong and glowing under Bob’s calm alpha pressure. So she shut it. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”

John turned, Bob following him to the checkout out while pushing the cart and cradling the pup.

Chapter Text

John hadn't planned to drop to his knees in the middle of a supermarket while eight months bloated with twins, but the second he saw Connor with a hole in the sleeve of his too-small hoodie and shoes that were more duct tape than sole, John forgot about pride. He forgot about restraint.

Seeing Olivia and her new omega, thin-lipped and avoidant, trailing behind with a loaf of bread in one hand and a recycled tote in the other, John had been consumed by his emotions.

Connor had turned and ran, eyes wide, mouth open in that little shape that always preceded,  “Mama!”

Now, he was in John’s arms.

Now, he was coming home.

— — — —

The elevator dinged open into the New Avengers Tower common space, the quiet buzz of conversation cutting out immediately.

Bucky was first to his feet, eyebrows lifting, tone carefully casual. “You bring a stray home, Walker?”

John’s voice was tight. “My pup.”

Connor clung to John’s shoulder, small fingers hooked into the fabric of his jacket. He hadn’t said much since the store, just held on, silent in that way kids get when they’re overwhelmed. The team watched them closely, their stances shifting from curiosity to concern. Bob had put the groceries down on the counter and Alexei helped him unpack.

Yelena blinked, gesturing. “This is your kid?”

John sharply nodded. “His name’s Connor.”

Ava stepped closer, tilting her head to look Connor in the eyes. “Hey there, little guy. You hungry?”

The pup glanced up at his mother. John nodded, running a hand through his damp hair. “He is.”

— — — —

The bath was warm, with lavender bubbles and a rubber duck that had somehow migrated from Alexei’s room (“Don’t ask,”  was all he said). Bob hovered in the doorway, arms folded but relaxed, while Bucky knelt beside John with a soft towel in hand, catching the water that splashed over the edge.

Connor was pink-cheeked and wrinkly by the time John finally managed to coax him out. John dried his curls gently, careful not to tug.

“You’ve got shampoo behind your ear, peach,” he murmured.

Connor grinned up at him, missing a tooth. “Peach?”

John smiled despite himself. “Used to call you that when you were little. You don’t remember?”

Connor shrugged, suddenly contemplative, eyes on John’s face.

Then, quiet and small, he asked, “Mama… why do you talk funny now?”

John’s hands froze. The towel slipped slightly in his grip. He blinked.

“Funny?” he repeated.

“You don’t sound like you used to. You sound like…” Connor paused, trying to explain with his limited vocabulary. “Like everyone here. Not like back home.” He pouted. “You said ‘y’all’ before, mama.” He said it with a kind of reverence, like a spell he hadn’t heard in too long.

John swallowed.

He hadn’t noticed it. Not really. The shift had been gradual. Just enough of New York’s clipped rhythm bleeding into his vowels, smoothing out his softer consonants, the melodies of home shaved down by survival.

By fitting in.

His voice, once tinged with the slow drawl of an Atlanta boy, now sounded sharper. Quicker. Not wrong, exactly. Just not his.

He looked at Connor, this perfect little boy who still had Georgia in his bones, and felt a sudden ache he hadn’t let surface in years.

“Yeah, baby,” John said, gathering Connor against his chest. “I reckon I did lose a bit of it.”

Connor pressed his face into John’s shoulder. “I liked it. You sounded like home.”

That was what broke him.

Not the market. Not Olivia. Not even the reminder of everything he lost.

That.

— — — —

Bucky found them curled together on the couch an hour later. Connor was sleeping and in one of John’s old military camouflage t-shirts. It was practically a dress on him. Bob sat on the floor in front of the couch, flipping through a picture book with pages spread out so Connor could see over John’s arm. They were both asleep now, Bob quietly snoring and drool pooling from Connor’s mouth onto John’s shoulder.

John didn’t say anything when Bucky brought a glass of sweet tea. He had gone out and gotten it without asking, knowing somehow, and just passed it over.

John took a sip. Let it linger on his tongue.

“Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky shrugged and dropped into the recliner. “You sounded more like you earlier. When you were with him.”

John nodded slowly. “Yeah. Guess I just needed a piece of home to bring it back.”

Bob wordlessly murmured something in his sleep. John looked at him, the tenderness in his gaze was something Bucky wasn’t used to seeing from the other omega.

And John, on the other hand, wasn’t sure he deserved this life. But damn if it didn’t make his throat close up all over again.

Connor yawned against his chest.

“Night, peach,” John whispered, brushing a curl off his forehead. “Mama’s got you now.”

~~~~

The baby monitor crackled softly from the windowsill, but the only sound for now was the buzz of cicadas and the lazy creak of John’s porch swing. The night air was thick with honeysuckle, warm and slow like syrup sliding down a glass. Out past the backyard fence, fireflies winked across the field in soft gold pulses, scattered like stars that had forgotten where the sky was.

John leaned back with a glass of sweet tea in one hand, sweat still clinging to the back of his neck from the cookout earlier. His t-shirt smelled like charcoal and fried chicken, and his thumb was stained with a bit of barbecue rub.

The screen door banged lightly behind him, and Olivia stepped out, barefoot, holding a drowsy baby Connor wrapped in a soft yellow blanket.

“Someone wanted his mama,” she said with a little smile. “But now he’s too sleepy to admit it.”

John opened his arms and Olivia passed the bundle over, pressing a kiss to his temple as she sat beside him.

“Hey, peach,” John whispered into Connor’s downy curls. The nickname had come before he could help it. Maybe it was the soft fuzz of Connor’s baby hair, or the way he smelled after a bath, or just the fact that everything precious in Georgia was a peach to him. “Mama’s right here.”

A quiet passed between them. Familiar. Warm.

“You’re soft like a Georgia summer these days,” Olivia said after a beat, teasing, but there was affection in her voice. She brushed a curl from his forehead. “My sweet peach.”

He chuckled. “You ever get tired of calling me that?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Not once.”

Inside the house, the remnants of the day lingered: plates of cornbread wrapped in foil, butter left soft on the counter, a pot of shrimp and grits cooling on the stove, and laughter that had stuck to the walls like smoke. Neighbors had come and gone, bringing mason jars of sweet pickles and stories about their dogs and kids and broken lawnmowers.

The kind of living that wasn’t loud, just... full.

John looked out over the yard, at the moonlight crawling across the grass and the whispering hush of crickets in the trees. Here, everything felt slower. Not stagnant. Just gentle. Kind.

He kissed Connor’s forehead, feeling the weight of him sink deeper into sleep.

“Think I could stay like this forever,” he murmured.

“Then do it,” Olivia said simply. “We’re not going anywhere.”

~~~~

Now, in the concrete and steel of the New Avengers Tower, with sirens wailing faintly in the background and a city that never slept pressing in from all sides, John watched his son drift off to sleep in something that smells like his mom, warm and safe again in his arms.

But something had shifted.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped being Olivia’s peach, or when the porch swing had become a subway bench, or when his vowels had straightened out like soldiers in a row. But now that Connor had noticed... now that he had noticed...

He missed it. All of it.

The fireflies. The food. The soft-spoken greetings from neighbors who didn’t need to know your politics to bring you pie. The easy air.

And the way he used to talk.

He curled protectively around Connor and let the city noise blur into something far away.

“Mama misses home too, peach,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

“Lemar!” John guffawed as his best friend tackled him into a pile of hay they had just raked.

The beta let out a roar before chortling so hard his ribs started to hurt.

“Stable shenanigans” is what Mrs. Hoskins had called it.

But only Lemar had ever made John laugh like that. And the faint smell of cherries never ceased to soothe the omega’s nerves.

The horse in the stall behind them whinnied, a beautiful, pure white mustang. A real rarity in nature. And she was unofficially John’s so long as he was taking care of her. He thought Lemar and him lucked out when it came to quick work for cash. 

John’s body turned electric as he rode out of the stables and into the fields on her.

On his worst days, or even when he had to get away from his parents for a little bit, he’d just saddle up and ride.

And her name..

Milkshake.

~~~~

John internally cursed as he checked the calendar.

“Uh-oh, something wrong?” Bucky called from across the room, leaning over the kitchen counter and stirring his cup of tea.

John exasperatedly sighed. “I don’t know how I missed this. I have a prenatal appointment on the same day I planned to take Connor to see this pop-up superhero event. But I can’t miss this stupid prenatal scan.”

He tried to relax his tense muscles, but it wasn’t working. He had just received split custody over Connor after the supermarket incident because Olivia wanted to keep the peace. But now, she’d have an argument to use against him in court if he didn’t keep up his end of the deal. He wanted to take care of Connor. Desperately. But the timing was absolutely horrible.

Bucky had taken a sip of his tea, setting the mug down gently. “I could.. babysit him for a few hours if you’d like. Take him to the..” He trailed off, gaze averted.

John looked up, practically beaming. “You’d do that for me?? You’d actually take him for a few hours??” He practically pounced on Bucky with a grateful hug. He’d blame that on his hormones later.

Bucky’s hand instinctively went on his back. “Yeah, no problem. Teammates, right?”

— — — —

Bucky fixed Connor’s jacket collar, brushing it flat with gentle hands. The four-year-old grinned, gap-toothed and bright-eyed, looking right up at him. His fingers were sticky from the cotton candy Bucky definitely hadn’t intended to buy.

“You got sugar on your face, kid,” Bucky muttered, pulling a crumpled napkin from his jacket pocket. Connor squirmed dramatically but let Bucky dab at his cheek.

Unannounced to the pair, Captain America himself, Sam Wilson had witnessed their exchange and approached from the ticket booth, sunglasses pushed up onto his forehead. “You spoil him worse than Torres spoils Redwing,” he said with a smirk.

“You spoil Redwing,” Bucky shot back, eyes filled with delighted surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just wanted to check out the community. I’d ask you the same question but..”

Connor’s eyes sparkled. “Captain America!” He squealed.

Bucky speedily shushed him, swiftly checking if anyone noticed them. It didn’t look like anybody had, thankfully.

Sam felt his heart melt, chest filling with pride. “That’s me.” He whispered, adjusting his cap.  Connor gasped excitedly and Bucky scooped him up.

“This is Connor, huge fan of yours apparently. He’s John’s pup. John had to go to a prenatal scan so I’m looking after him.”

Sam’s eyes glinted as they shifted to the boy in Bucky’s arms and he smiled cheekily, taking off his shades. “Is Captain America your favorite superhero?”

Connor shook his head vigorously. “No! Falcon’s better!”

Bucky couldn’t conceal his shit-eating grin. “Better luck next time.”

He met the alpha’s gaze and for a moment, the two adults just stared into each other’s eyes with that playful, puppy-love glimmer.

Connor got sick of it fast.

“Uncle Buck, can we go to the Falcon tent now? You said there were metal wings!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I said maybe, and if you didn’t melt into a puddle of sugar and chaos first.”

Sam ruffled Connor’s hair. “Let’s go, Little Man.” He noticed the little astronaut pins on the backpack Bucky was carrying, obviously belonging to Connor. “You can teach me and Uncle Buck about space stuff while we walk.”

Bucky playfully nudged the alpha, Connor already eagerly pointing forward.

They walked down the main path of the kid-friendly superhero street fair. It was one of those community events where cosplayers roamed and half the booths sold Avengers merch without bothering to pay licensing.

Sam and Bucky kept a low profile: hoodies, shades, and baseball caps. But Connor? He wore a knockoff Falcon wingsuit and was loving every second of it.

Bucky didn’t notice the woman with the phone camera at first.

She was across the street, crouched by a mural, pretending to take a photo of the paintwork. Her lens angled just enough to catch Sam kneeling beside Connor, grinning wide as the kid explained how “his dad says the moon was made of cheese.” Bucky laughed behind them, arms folded across his chest, relaxed in a way that was rare for him.

It was a perfect photo.

Too perfect.

— — — —

The headline dropped before they got back to the car:

"Captain America & Ex-Congressman James Barnes: Co-Parents to a Secret Son?"

Subheadline:

“Sources close to the New Avengers confirm  young child spotted with Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes in New York City. Who is the mystery child, and what are they hiding?”

It had over 270,000 retweets in two hours.

— — — —

Back at the compound, John was pacing.

“You left with him for two hours and now the entire country thinks Sam fathered my kid?” His voice cracked on the last word, more emotional than angry. He pressed a hand to his belly, exasperated and off-balance. “Do you know what Olivia’s going to do to me?”

“John—” Bucky started, eyes softening.

But John turned on him with a snarl. “No. No, don’t ‘John’ me. This is why I don’t trust anyone with Connor. I should’ve canceled the damn appointment and taken him myself.”

Sam, ever the peacemaker, tried to interject. “We didn’t plan this. Some lady took a photo. And it’s not like we were doing anything weird.”

“It’s not about weird,” John snapped. “It’s about optics . About her lawyers seeing this and deciding I’m unstable or neglectful or using my son to score political points. You think Olivia won’t drag me into court again?”

Silence fell. Even Connor, sitting on the couch and playing with a LEGO set, seemed to notice the tension.

Then Bob entered the room.

“What's going on?” he asked slowly, gaze flicking between John and Bucky, then to Sam. His golden aura pulsed faintly, just enough to put everyone on edge.

Sam held up his phone wordlessly.

Bob read.

His jaw clenched. “...Are they seriously implying you two had a secret kid together?”

“Yep,” Bucky muttered.

“And that he’s your kid?” Bob gestured to Connor, who had now stacked LEGO blocks into what looked like Rapunzel’s tower.

“Apparently,” Sam said.

Bob blinked. “But he looks nothing like Bucky.”

Everyone stared.

“I mean..” Bob cleared his throat. “I just, I assumed the public would pick up on that.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged in resignation. He was well aware with how the situation looked. “Yeah, because the internet is famously good at nuance and racial context. People see a black alpha next to a white omega with a mixed pup together in public and they leap through the standard assumptions.”

John ran a hand down his face, then lowered himself slowly onto the couch. His hand found his stomach, grounding himself.

After a long beat, he muttered, “Olivia’s gonna take him from me.”

“No, she won’t,” Bucky said firmly, sitting next to him.

“She will,” John said bitterly. “She already thinks I’m a disaster. A broken, hormonal wreck who bonded with the literal Sentry. And now I’ve got my kid playing public prop to Captain America’s next scandal.”

Connor looked up suddenly. “What’s a scandal?”

Bucky softened. “Nothing, buddy. Just adult stuff.”

Connor squinted at them. “Is Sam my new dad now?”

The room went still.

John’s breath hitched.

Bob moved instinctively, pulling Connor into his lap. “No, sweetheart. You’ve got one dad. That’s enough trouble for now.”

Connor giggled. “Okay. But I still like Sam.”

Sam winked at him. “Good taste, kid.”

— — — —

John stared at his phone. The three dots blinked at the bottom of the screen in Olivia’s text thread for what felt like a full minute. And then:

Olivia: We need to talk.
Olivia: ASAP.
Olivia: I don’t want Connor in the middle of whatever this is.
Olivia: I’ll call in 10.

John swallowed hard, fingers twitching as he paced the hallway. Bucky lingered by the wall, arms crossed.

“She’s gonna take him back. Just watch,” John muttered. “She’ll say I’m endangering him. That the New Avengers are unstable. That I’m unstable.”

“She won’t,” Bucky said quietly.

John stopped. “You did see the articles, right? ‘Captain America and His Winter Husband Raise Secret Son’— Winter Husband, Buck. Winter. Husband.”

Bucky winced. “Yeah. That was rough.”

The phone rang.

John accepted it with a trembling hand. “Olivia.”

Her voice was clipped, but not angry. “Is he okay?”

“What? Yeah. Of course he’s okay.”

“Then why is the internet calling him Sam Wilson’s secret love child?” she snapped. “John, I told you to be careful. I’ve been fighting to make this co-parenting thing work, but if people think my son is a pawn in your PR circus—”

“He’s our son.” John bit out, voice cracking. “And it wasn’t a circus, it was meant to be something fun for him. A field trip.”

“Without you. ” Her voice dropped, squashing any of his explanations. “You told me you’d be there.”

“I had a prenatal scan! Bob and I needed to be there. Do you think I wanted to miss spending time with my pup?”

There was a long silence before she spoke again.

“You should’ve told me. You should’ve let me know someone else was taking him.”

John closed his eyes. “I know. That I should have. I messed up. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not trying to take him from you,” she replied.

John could feel those soft eyes of hers looking at him through the phone. Olivia always had a way of dissecting exactly what was on his mind. 

She didn’t have it in her to hate him. Even now. And he didn’t have it in him to move on.

“But if you don’t get this under control, the court will get involved again. And I’m not shielding you next time.”

John swallowed. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”

“You already did,” Her words were delivered softly. She wasn’t arguing. Not right now. “Just be better. For him.”

— — — —

The New Avengers compound was surrounded by news vans.

Sam sighed into the mic, eyes hidden behind aviators. “Just to be clear: I don’t have a secret child. I don’t have a public child, either. I am not dating ex-congressman James Buchanan Barnes. We were just taking a teammate’s son out for a Saturday afternoon. That’s it.”

The reporters pounced.

“Whose son is he?”

“Is John Walker fit to parent, given his absence from interviews and the general media?”

Sam held up a hand. “Whoa. Let’s not go there. This team is complicated. But we’re family. And family has each other’s backs, especially when things are messy.”

One reporter raised her voice. “But isn’t it true that ex-congressman Barnes has a history of—”

“Of what? Being traumatized by multiple world wars and still showing up to babysit a four-year-old with glitter on his face?”

There was a chuckle from the crowd.

Bucky stood to the side of the podium, gaze glued to Captain America with what John would only call “goo-goo eyes” (soft and longing) if he were there.

But John wasn’t with them. Bob put his foot down and declared an stress-free day at home. Sam glanced over.

“And for the record,” he added, “that little boy? He’s lucky. He’s got more people in his corner than most kids ever will. A loving mom, a dad, a bunch of superhero not-uncles and not-aunts, and apparently a very nosy internet.”

Laughter erupted again. Softer, this time.

“Let’s leave the kid out of it. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

Click. Flash. Shutters whirred as the headlines shifted from scandal to reputation management.

— — — —

Later that night, the tower was quiet.

John lay on his side on the couch in the new nursery, one hand cradling his bump, the other stroking the fuzzy ear of a stuffed bear. Two bassinets sat side-by-side in the corner, waiting.

Bucky sat beside him on the floor, legs stretched out, fingers idly sorting baby clothes.

“You okay?” he asked after a long pause.

“No,” John said, voice hoarse. “But I will be. Eventually.”

The moonlight caught on the soft edges of the painted walls, tiny clouds and golden stars, painted painstakingly by Bucky after Bob admitted he had zero spatial awareness for stencils.

“You know,” Bucky said slowly, “I think Connor’s gonna be a great big brother.”

John smiled faintly. “He keeps asking if the babies will have superpowers.”

“They might. You and Bob? You two are a nuclear power plant and a southern drawl.”

John snorted. “That’s Bob. I’m just the caution tape around the danger zone.”

Bucky leaned over and bumped their shoulders together gently. “You’re doing fine.”

John turned his head. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “You’re scared, you’re pissed, and you’re tired. But you’re still trying. Still doing your best. That’s more than most pups get.”

John’s eyes welled up, but he blinked fast. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispered.

“Maybe not,” Bucky said. “But the kids do. So you’re gonna get up tomorrow and keep fighting. And I’ll be here, annoying you every step of the way.”

Bucky gently brushed some blond hair out of John’s forehead.

“Also, you bought five baby hats with tiny animal ears. You know they can’t wear them all at once, right?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m judging a little.”

“Don’t make me cry on your hoodie, Buck.”

“Fair. This is my good one.”

— — — —

“Enough chocolate milk for you today. I ain’t dealing with a sugar crash.” John lectured, pulling the newly finished sippy cup away from Connor.

Connor glared at him and then at the cup John kept on refilling with sweet tea.

John sighed, putting both of the empty cups into the sink. Connor mindlessly babbled, adjusting his plastic toy T-Rex’s arm.

John turned to him.

“You like horses, right, peach?”

The pup’s eyes lit up. He nodded his head eagerly.

“Then why don’t we go on a trip back home. Mama will show you so many horses, sugar, your cute little head will spin. I promise you.”

Jonathan Fulton Walker never made promises.