Summary: Rome does not change without resistance. As Geta grows into a ruler guided by thought instead of cruelty, his twin Caracalla begins to unravel—his illness ignored, his rage unchecked. When violence erupts, love turns to fear, and fear turns into control.
Part 1
Tags: Establish relationship, Geta is obsessed, Geta is down bad, reader is an intellectual, reader is just as obsessed, fighting, cw: physical attack on reader, political, hurt/comfort, Caracalla is not okay, dialogue heavy. No description of reader. No use of Y/N.
A/N: I had to make Caracalla the villain, sorry to any Caracalla fans 🙂 If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
Word Count: 7.0K
Masterlist
The library door opens. You don’t look up at first. The sound is familiar—the muted scrape of wood against stone, the soft echo of footsteps you’ve learned to recognize. You’re already forming the words you’ll say, some quiet observation half-born between lines of text, expecting Geta to appear beside the table.
Instead, the air shifts. Heavier. Sharper.
You lift your gaze. The man standing in the doorway is unmistakable.
Smaller in the shoulders, posture rigid with barely restrained violence, eyes dark and restless like something caged too long. His presence fills the room not with authority, but with threat—the kind that demands space even when it hasn’t earned it.
Caracalla watches you like you’re an object misplaced among the shelves.
“So,” he says at last, voice low and curling with contempt, “this is the whore my brother’s been seeing.”
The word lands deliberately. A test. A provocation.
You do not flinch. You rise slowly from your seat, smoothing your stola as though he has commented on the weather rather than your worth. When you incline your head, it is flawless—neither submissive nor defiant. Simply correct.
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” you say calmly. “I am Marcus Aelius Severianus’ daughter.”
His mouth twitches, unimpressed. “I know who you are.”
“Then allow me to finish,” you reply, tone still even. “Courtesy suggests that if you choose to insult someone, you should at least do them the respect of knowing their name.”
His laugh is short, ugly.
“You speak boldly for a woman who owes everything she has to my brother’s attention,” Caracalla says, circling the table as his eyes rake over you. “I expected more. Something… remarkable.” He gestures vaguely at you. “You don’t look special.”
You clasp your hands behind your back, unbothered. “And yet,” you say lightly, “here you are.”
His eyes narrow. “I’ve seen women like you before,” he continues, warming to his cruelty. “Pretty enough to distract. Clever enough to pretend they matter. You whisper, he listens, and suddenly Rome is expected to bend around your sentiments.”
You say nothing. You let him speak.
“You’re not a general. You’re not a senator. You’re not even useful,” he goes on. “You’re soft. Decorative. Temporary.” His lips curl. “I don’t understand why he’s so… taken.”
Still, you wait. It unsettles him—your silence. The way you do not rush to defend yourself. The way you observe him instead, eyes thoughtful rather than afraid.
When he finally pauses, you speak.
“Is that all?”
He blinks. “What?”
“You came all this way to insult my appearance and question my worth,” you say gently. “I assumed there would be more substance.”
His jaw tightens. “Careful.”
You smile faintly. “I am.”
You step closer—not invading his space, but refusing to yield it. Your voice remains soft, measured, almost kind.
“You accuse me of influencing your brother,” you continue. “And yet you’ve spent several minutes doing exactly the same thing—attempting to intimidate, belittle, and provoke. Tell me, Caesar, is that how you usually persuade people? Or is force the only language you trust?”
His eyes flash.
“I don’t persuade,” he snaps. “I command.”
“Then you must be very disappointed,” you reply smoothly, “to discover that command without respect only breeds compliance. And compliance is brittle.”
He scoffs. “You think you understand power?”
“I think,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “that you mistake fear for loyalty. It’s a common error among men who rely on it.”
The insult lands. Clean. Precise.
Caracalla steps closer, looming now. “You’re bold for someone with no protection.”
You meet his gaze, unblinking. “On the contrary,” you say quietly. “I have my mind. My name. And the inconvenient habit of being correct.”
His nostrils flare. “You think my brother listens to you because you’re intelligent?” he sneers. “He listens because you fuck him.”
Something colder enters your eyes—not anger, but resolve.
“If that were true,” you say, voice steady as stone, “then any woman could have done what I’ve done. And yet here we are—with Rome changing, senators unsettled, and you standing in a library you clearly don’t value, arguing with someone you claim doesn’t matter.”
Silence crashes down between the shelves.
“You underestimate me,” you add softly, “because it comforts you to believe I’m small. But if I were as insignificant as you say, you wouldn’t be here.”
For a moment, you think he might strike you. Instead, he laughs—sharp, unhinged. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” Caracalla says. “Men like my brother always tire of women who forget their place.”
You incline your head once more, graceful as ever. “And men like you,” you reply, “always fear the ones who never had one to begin with.”
He stares at you—furious, unsettled, uncertain.Then he turns and leaves, the door slamming behind him.
You exhale slowly. And return to your book. Because knowledge, you have learned, is far sharper than cruelty—and infinitely harder to silence.
The palace feels different now.
Not quieter—Rome is never quiet—but measured. Deliberate. The corridors hum with purpose instead of tension, and when servants pass, they no longer move as if bracing for impact. You notice these things. You always do.
Geta notices them too.
He walks beside you through the colonnade, his pace slower than it once was, as though he’s learned that urgency does not always equal importance. Sunlight spills through the arches, warming the marble beneath your sandals. Somewhere beyond the walls, Rome breathes—vast, demanding, alive.
“I dismissed the petition from Numidia,” he says, breaking the silence. His tone is thoughtful, not triumphant. “They wanted more grain diverted. Again.”
You hum softly, neither approving nor disapproving.
“And?” you prompt.
“And I asked why,” he continues, glancing at you sidelong. “Not them—my advisors. I wanted to know what conditions led to the request.” A pause. “They were… surprised.”
A faint smile touches your lips. “Were you?”
He exhales, amused. “No. But I was annoyed that no one had thought to ask before.”
You stop walking and turn toward him, expression unreadable. “What did you find?”
“That the shortage wasn’t famine,” he says slowly. “It was hoarding. Local magistrates padding their reserves before winter.” His jaw tightens. “I had them removed.”
You study him for a moment. “And the grain?”
“Redistributed. Directly.”
You nod once. No praise. No correction.
Geta watches you closely. “You think it was the right choice.”
“I think,” you say carefully, “that you arrived at a solution that addressed cause rather than symptom.”
His mouth curves into a smile—small, pleased. “You never just say yes.”
“No,” you reply lightly. “If I did, you’d stop thinking.”
He laughs under his breath, then shakes his head. “You’re infuriating.”
“And yet,” you say, resuming your walk, “you keep asking.”
He follows immediately. That is the difference now.
Later, you sit with him in a smaller audience chamber—no throne, no spectacle. Just cushions, scrolls, and a map spread across the table between you. He leans over it, brow furrowed, tracing borders with his finger.
“The Senate wants increased levies from Hispania,” he says. “They argue it’s prosperous enough to bear it.”
You glance at the map. “Is it?”
He hesitates. “Yes. But—”
“But?”
“But prosperity doesn’t mean excess,” he admits. “And overtaxing breeds resentment.”
You tilt your head. “And resentment leads to…?”
“Resistance,” he finishes.
You offer nothing else. Geta sighs, leaning back. “Gods, you do this on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“Make me finish the thought myself.”
A smile ghosts across your lips. “My father used to say that answers given freely are rarely kept. Conclusions reached alone tend to linger.”
Geta looks at you then—not like an emperor assessing an advisor, but like a man marveling at a mystery he still hasn’t solved.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he murmurs. “You never tell me what to do. You never push.” His gaze softens, intense and unguarded. “And yet everything feels clearer when you’re here.”
You meet his eyes. “Clarity isn’t influence. It’s perspective.”
He shifts closer, close enough that his knee brushes yours. His voice drops. “You’ve changed me.”
You do not deny it. You simply say, “You were capable of change long before I arrived.”
His hand finds yours—warm, possessive, reverent all at once. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, lingering.
“I think about you constantly,” he admits, unapologetic. “When I’m in council. When I sign decrees. When I wake.” A breath. “When I sleep.”
Your fingers tighten around his. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Everything worth having is,” he says quietly.
You smile, just a little. “Spoken like an emperor.”
“No,” he corrects. “Spoken like a man who knows what he wants.”
There are still moments—small ones—when the old Geta surfaces. A sharp word to a servant. A snap of impatience when things move too slowly. Each time, you do not scold. You simply ask.
“Was that necessary?”
“Did that achieve what you wanted?”
And each time, he pauses.
Sometimes he grimaces. Sometimes he exhales and corrects himself aloud. Sometimes he catches it before it happens at all. Progress.
You do not tell him about the library. You do not tell him about the venom in Caracalla’s voice, or the way his eyes lingered too long, or the threat coiled beneath every word. You keep it locked away, carefully, deliberately.
Because Geta is finally learning restraint.
Because anger comes easily to him, and unlearning it has taken effort—your effort. His too. Because you will not risk undoing it. Not yet.
Not when he looks at you like this—like you are both anchor and horizon. Not when he reaches for your hand before he reaches for power. Not when he asks questions instead of issuing commands.
For now, you let peace exist. And you sit beside the man who is becoming a better emperor—hoping, quietly, that the world will allow him the time to finish becoming one.
The Curia Julia is full. Senators crowd the marble benches in heavy togas, voices overlapping in practiced indignation. Scrolls are unrolled and rerolled, arguments sharpened like knives meant to draw blood without appearing to do so. This is familiar ground—this is where Rome pretends it is ruled by discussion rather than power.
At the center, upon the raised platform, sit the twin emperors.
Caracalla lounges with open impatience, fingers drumming hard against the arm of his chair, jaw already tight as though the very act of sitting through debate offends him. Beside him, Geta sits upright. Listening.
The proposal is read aloud—again. Increased levies from Hispania. More grain, more coin, more pressure applied to a province already stretched thin. The senators speak as though this is inevitable, as though Rome has always taken and therefore must continue to do so.
When the last voice fades, silence follows.
Geta exhales slowly. “No,” he says.
The word lands softly—but it lands. Murmurs ripple through the Curia. “No?” one senator repeats, incredulous. “Caesar, Hispania is prosperous. The people can endure—”
“They already are enduring,” Geta interrupts, not raising his voice. “That is precisely the problem.”
Geta continues, gaze sweeping the chamber. “Increasing levies will not strengthen Rome. It will hollow it out. You will drain loyalty for short-term gain and call it stability.”
A senator ask. “Then what would you propose instead, Caesar?”
Geta pauses. Not because he doesn’t know—but because he chooses his words carefully.
“We restructure the military supply contracts,” he says at last. “Several are bloated, outdated, and riddled with inefficiency. Grain rots in warehouses while provinces starve because middlemen profit from delay.” His eyes narrow slightly. “We cut them out.”
The chamber stills. “That would require oversight,” someone mutters. “Audits. Bureaucracy.”
“Yes,” Geta agrees. “And it would save Rome more than increased levies ever could.”
A beat. Then whispers—sharp, startled. The solution is better. Smarter. Harder—but sustainable.
Caracalla laughs, loud and brittle. “This is absurd.”
All eyes snap to him.
“You would rather coddle provinces than remind them who rules them?” he snaps. “It’s our empire too, brother. Or have you forgotten that?”
Geta turns to him, expression controlled. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Caracalla rises abruptly. “Then act like it! Rome was built on conquest, not compromise. Fear works. It always has.”
“And it always collapses,” Geta replies coolly. “Eventually.”
“You don’t get to decide this alone,” Caracalla snarls. “I am emperor as much as you are.”
A dangerous silence follows. Geta stands. The movement is unhurried, but unmistakable.
“I do,” he says. “Because someone has to choose Rome’s future instead of indulging its worst habits.”
Caracalla’s face twists. “You think you’re wiser than me now?”
“I think,” Geta says, jaw tightening, “that I’m willing to think at all.”
The senators hold their breath.
Geta turns back to them. “The levies will not increase. The contracts will be reviewed. Funds will be redirected internally.” A pause. “This is my decision.”
Caracalla slams his hand against the stone. “You don’t get to—”
“Enough!” Geta shouts.
The word echoes—raw, uncontrolled. For a heartbeat, he looks almost startled by himself. A slip.
Caracalla stares at him, fury flaring bright and wild. “You think shouting makes you strong?!”
“I think,” Geta snaps back, voice still raised, “that I’m tired of cleaning up your tantrums!”
That does it. He storms out of the Curia, sandals striking stone like blows. The doors slam.
Silence crashes down in his wake.
Geta remains standing, chest rising and falling, fists clenched at his sides. Then—slowly—he straightens. “We are adjourned,” he says, voice steady once more. “Carry out the orders as stated.”
The senators rise, stunned, already whispering as they file out.
Night settles thick over the palace. In Imperial Palace, torches burn low and steady, shadows stretching long across painted walls. Most of the city sleeps.
Caracalla does not. He sits alone in his chamber, pacing like a caged animal, breath uneven, thoughts spiraling. The echoes of the Curia still ring in his head—Geta standing, speaking, deciding. Senators listening. Obeying.
Not him. Her.
Her calm voice. Her certainty. The way Rome has begun to bend—not to him, but through her.
“She thinks she’s untouchable,” he mutters, fingers twitching. “A woman. A witch.”
His chest tightens, anger curdling into something feverish, paranoid, unhinged. Every rational restraint frays at once. He doesn’t summon guards. He doesn’t announce himself.
He moves.
You are alone in Geta’s private chambers, seated near the low table where scrolls are neatly arranged. The faint scent of oil and steam lingers—Geta is bathing, just beyond the inner doors. You’d intended to wait only a moment.
The door slams open. You look up.
Caracalla stands there, eyes wild, breath ragged, fury radiating off him like heat.
You rise at once. “Caesar—”
He lunges.
His hand closes around your arm, brutal and sudden, hurling you backward. The table overturns with a crash, scrolls scattering across the floor.
“You think you’re clever?” he screams. “You think you’ve won?”
You struggle, striking at his chest, his shoulder—anything you can reach. “Get away from me!”
He backhands you hard enough to send you stumbling, pain flaring across your cheek. “Whore,” he snarls. “Poisoning him. Turning him against his own blood!”
You don’t curl inward. You don’t freeze. You fight.
Your elbow catches his ribs. Your heel slams down on his foot. You shove, claw, strike—desperate, furious, refusing to yield ground even as terror claws at your spine.
“Coward,” you spit, breath shaking. “You attack women because you can’t command respect!”
That only enrages him further. He grabs for your throat, fingers tightening—
The inner doors fly open. “Get away from her!”
Geta bursts into the room, hair damp, robe barely secured, rage blazing in his eyes. He doesn’t hesitate—he throws himself between you and his brother, shoving Caracalla back with all his strength.
Geta grabs him, wrestling him away, voice cracking with fury. “Guards! Praetorians—now!”
He struggles to restrain his brother, shouting over the chaos. “Help! To the chamber!”
Caracalla fights like a man possessed, screaming obscenities, thrashing against Geta’s grip as you scramble back, heart hammering, breath coming in sharp, painful gasps.
Footsteps thunder down the corridor. Steel flashes as the Praetorian Guard floods the room, dragging Caracalla away as he howls and curses, still reaching for you even as they restrain him.
“Touch her again and I’ll—” Geta’s voice breaks into a snarl, raw and unrestrained.
The guards haul Caracalla out, his rage echoing down the hall. Silence crashes down.
Geta turns to you at once, crossing the room in two strides. His hands hover, uncertain—afraid to touch you too hard, afraid not to touch you at all.
“Are you hurt?” he demands, voice shaking. “Gods—tell me he didn’t—”
You steady yourself, spine straight despite the tremor running through you. “I’m alive,” you say, breath unsteady but your gaze clear.
Geta closes his eyes for a moment, horror and fury warring across his face. He pulls you into his embrace, tight, like he's the one who needs the comfort.
And for the first time since Rome began to change—everything feels terrifyingly fragile again.
The change is immediate. And suffocating.
You notice it the first morning after—the way the door opens before you reach it, the way footsteps echo just a little too closely behind your own. Praetorian Guard stand at attention outside every chamber you enter, their presence unyielding, their eyes never quite meeting yours.
Geta is never far. If he cannot be beside you, someone else is there in his place. Always. Watching. Waiting.
“For your safety,” he says the first time you ask, his voice tight with a fear he does not bother disguising. “I won’t let anything happen to you again.”
Again. As though danger were a lesson you failed to learn.
You do not argue then. You are still sore, still shaken, still waking in the night with your heart racing and your body remembering hands that should never have touched you. You understand fear. You even understand his.
But understanding does not make it easier to breathe.
Days pass. Then more.
You cannot walk the gardens alone anymore. The library—once a sanctuary—now feels monitored, the quiet broken by the presence of guards stationed just close enough to remind you that solitude is no longer yours to claim. When you pause at a balcony, a shadow pauses too.
Geta watches you constantly. Not with suspicion—with devotion. With terror. With the kind of attention that mistakes vigilance for care.
He reaches for your hand more often. Stands closer. Interrupts conversations you’re having with others, gently but decisively steering you away. When you try to step out of his line of sight, his jaw tightens.
“You shouldn’t wander,” he says.
You stop and look at him. “I wasn’t wandering. I was walking.”
His response is immediate. “Alone.”
You let it pass. At first.
Caracalla is confined to his chambers.
The news spreads in murmurs through the palace—guards posted, doors sealed, attendants rotated under strict instruction. He is not exiled. Not imprisoned. Contained.
You hear his name spoken in lowered voices, always followed by the same word: unwell. You feel something sharp twist in your chest every time.
You do not excuse what he did. You never will. But you know what untreated sickness looks like when power rots around it. You know the difference between justice and neglect.
“They’re punishing him,” you say quietly one evening as you sit with Geta, the lamplight warm between you. “Not helping him.”
Geta stiffens. “He attacked you,” he replies flatly.
“Yes,” you say. “And he’s ill.”
Silence stretches. “You don’t owe him sympathy,” Geta says.
“I’m not giving it to him,” you answer calmly. “I’m questioning what this solves.”
His jaw tightens. “It solves you being safe.”
You study him for a moment before speaking again. “Does it?” you ask softly.
He looks at you then, brows drawn together. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve locked him away without counsel, without treatment, without intervention,” you say. “You’ve put guards on me as if I were glass. You’re ruling out of fear, not reason.”
His voice sharpens. “I nearly lost you.”
“You didn’t,” you say gently. “And I won’t let that moment decide who we become.”
The words hang between you. He turns away first.
Another time, you try again.
“I don’t feel free,” you tell him quietly as he walks you back to his chambers, guards trailing a careful distance behind. “And I need you to hear that.”
He stops walking. “Freedom is meaningless if you’re dead.”
“And safety,” you reply, “is meaningless if it costs me myself.”
He exhales sharply, frustration flaring. “You don’t understand—”
“No,” you interrupt, still calm, still measured. “You don’t want to.”
That lands. But it does not change anything.
The guards remain. The watching continues. The distance between what you say and what he hears widens into something dangerous and quiet. You stop bringing it up after that.
Not because you’ve changed your mind—but because you recognize the look in his eyes now. The one that means he has already decided. The one that means your words, for once, are no longer shaping his thoughts.
You walk the palace surrounded by protection you did not ask for. You sleep in a room guarded by men who answer to someone else. And for the first time since you met Geta, you feel it—Not fear of Rome. Not fear of power. But fear of what love becomes when it forgets to listen.
You choose the garden because it is quiet. Because it is yours.
The side path is overgrown enough that no one thinks to look there anymore, the hedges curling inward as if conspiring to keep secrets. You time it carefully—when the guards shift, when attention is elsewhere, when Geta is buried in council and certainty.
The pond waits for you like it always has.
Cool. Still. Unwatched.
You strip down without ceremony and slip into the water, the shock of it stealing your breath before relief rushes in. For the first time in days—weeks—there are no eyes on you. No footsteps. No whispered instructions to stand back.
Just water and sky and the sound of your own breathing.
You swim until your muscles ache pleasantly, until the tightness in your chest loosens. You float on your back, staring up at the open air, and let yourself remember what it feels like to exist without permission.
When you finally dress and make your way back toward the palace, the night feels… wrong.
Too loud. Too fast.
Voices echo through the corridors—shouted orders, hurried footsteps, the sharp ring of panic cutting through marble halls. Torches blaze where they shouldn’t. Servants run instead of glide.
Something is spiraling.
You barely take three steps inside before hands grab your arms. “Here!” a voice shouts, breathless with relief and hysteria. “I found her—I found her!”
You wrench back instinctively. “Unhand me!”
But the grip tightens, not cruel but desperate, as if you are something lost and nearly shattered. You catch fragments as you’re pulled along—missing, panic, the emperor—
You don’t struggle again. You already know where they’re taking you.
Geta’s private chambers are in chaos when you’re brought in.
Geta is pacing like a man unmoored, hair disheveled, robe half-forgotten. His hands are clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white. When he sees you, relief flashes across his face—violent, overwhelming—
—and then it curdles.
“Out,” he snaps at the servants. “All of you.”
The doors shut. The silence is unbearable.
“Where were you?” he demands, spinning toward you. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
You straighten slowly. You are still damp, still smelling faintly of water and night air. “I went swimming.”
His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “You disappeared.”
“I stepped away,” you correct.
“You vanished,” he roars. “The palace was in an uproar. Guards were mobilized. I thought—” His voice breaks, then hardens. “What were you thinking?”
Something in you finally snaps. “I was thinking I couldn’t breathe.”
He freezes.
“I was thinking,” you continue, voice rising despite yourself, “that I am not a prisoner. That I am not fragile glass to be locked away. That your fear has wrapped itself around my throat so tightly I can barely remember who I was before this.”
“That fear is keeping you alive!” he shouts back.
“No,” you fire back. “It’s choking us.”
He steps closer, towering now, anger bleeding through restraint. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Your hands curl into fists. “I get to decide myself.”
“You don’t understand the danger—”
“I understand it perfectly,” you interrupt. “I understand Caracalla is ill. I understand Rome is volatile. I understand power attracts violence.” Your voice shakes, but you don’t stop. “What you refuse to understand is that I am not something you can lock away until it’s convenient.”
His eyes burn. “I am your emperor.” The words hit like a slap.
“And you will listen to me,” he continues, voice loud, cracking. “I decide what’s best. I decide how you’re protected. You are mine!”
Silence detonates.
You straighten fully, spine locking into place, every trace of softness draining from your expression.
“No.” The word is quiet. Absolute.
“You are not my owner,” you say, voice steady as stone. “You do not get to claim me because you are afraid. I owe you nothing—not obedience, not silence, not myself.”
His mouth opens. But you don’t let him speak. “I chose you,” you continue. “I stood beside you. I challenged you. I believed in what you could become.” Your eyes shine, but you do not cry. “The moment you decided love meant possession, you lost the right to stand there and tell me who I am.”
“You’re being unreasonable—” he starts.
“No,” you cut in. “You are unreasonable.” You turn toward the door.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he says, voice breaking now.
You pause, just long enough to look back. “I’m not walking away,” you say softly. “I’m leaving.”
Then you open the door and step out, the sound echoing through the chamber like a verdict. Behind you, an emperor stands alone—and for the first time, his authority cannot make you stay.
The bowstring hums as you release it.
The arrow cuts cleanly through the air and strikes the target dead center, the impact sharp enough to make the wooden frame shudder. You reach for another without pause, muscles moving on instinct, breath steady but tight in your chest.
Again. This one lands just beside the first.
You welcome the ache in your arms, the burn in your shoulders. It gives the restlessness somewhere to go. Each pull of the string is controlled, deliberate—far easier than untangling the thoughts that circle endlessly in your mind.
You’ve been home for days now.
Long enough for the palace to feel distant, unreal. Long enough for the quiet to settle in—not peaceful, but honest. You rise early, practice until sweat dampens your hair and your hands are raw, then practice some more. When you aren’t shooting, you think. When you aren’t thinking, you shoot.
It helps. A little.
You’re retrieving arrows when you sense someone watching.
Your mother stands at the edge of the practice ground, hands folded neatly before her, expression soft but searching. She doesn’t interrupt. She waits until you finish your set, until you rest the bow at your side and finally turn toward her.
“How are you doing?” she asks gently.
“I’m fine,” you reply automatically.
She doesn’t smile. Instead, she steps closer, her gaze steady, knowing. “No, you’re not.”
You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. There’s no point. She’s never been fooled by half-truths—not from you.
“Come,” she says quietly, gesturing toward the house. “Sit with me.”
Inside, the air is cool and familiar. She pours water, waits until you’re settled, then takes the seat across from you. For a moment, neither of you speaks.
Then the words come. You tell her everything.
About Caracalla—his instability, his cruelty, the way violence had been simmering just beneath the surface long before it spilled over. Her hand flies to her mouth at that, shock breaking through her composure.
“You were attacked?” she breathes.
You nod. “I fought him off. Geta intervened.”
Her jaw tightens. “Gods.”
You continue. About the guards. The watching. The way safety had turned into a cage. About trying—again and again—to speak to Geta calmly, carefully, only to be unheard.
And finally, about the fight. About the words he said. About leaving.
When you finish, the room is quiet again, heavier now with everything laid bare. Your mother reaches across the table and takes your hand.
Her grip is warm, steady. “I’m proud of you,” she says.
You blink, surprised. “You are?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “For standing up for yourself. For walking away when someone tried to take something from you that was never theirs to claim.”
You swallow. “I wasn’t trying to be brave.”
“I know,” she replies softly. “That’s why it counts.”
She studies you for a moment. “How do you really feel?”
You consider the question carefully. “I’m not… angry,” you admit. “Not exactly.” Your voice wavers despite yourself. “I’m sad. That it happened at all. That it came to that.”
She nods, as though she expected nothing else.
Then she leans back slightly and exhales, a small, rueful smile touching her lips. “Your father and I fought,” she says.
You look up, startled.
“Oh, not like children,” she adds dryly. “But we disagreed. Sharply. Especially when we were younger.” Her eyes soften with memory. “There were moments when words were said that couldn’t be taken back. Moments when pride got in the way of listening.”
“What did you do?” you ask quietly.
“We cooled,” she says simply. “We walked away when we needed to. And then—when the anger passed—we spoke again. Honestly. Not to win, but to understand.”
She squeezes your hand. “Love isn’t the absence of conflict. It’s the willingness to return to each other after it.”
You stare down at the table, absorbing that.
She sighs softly.
“You know,” she says at last, almost conversationally, “you’ve never been good at hiding heartbreak.”
You look up, startled. “I’m not—”
She lifts a hand gently. “You don’t have to explain.” Her gaze is kind, but unyielding. “If you didn’t still love him, you wouldn’t be this miserable.”
The words land with quiet precision. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s no point denying it—not to her, and not to yourself.
“…You’re right,” you admit. “I do.”
She nods, as if confirming something she already knew. “Then that means you still care,” she says. “And caring makes things complicated—but it also makes them worth examining.”
She leans back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. “To love someone,” she continues, “is to forgive them—if they deserve it.” Her emphasis is gentle, but deliberate. “Disagreements, missteps, even painful moments… those are not unusual. Especially in a relationship as young as yours.”
You look down at your hands. “It didn’t feel small.”
“No,” she agrees. “Because it wasn’t.” A pause. “But one moment does not define a person. Repetition does.”
Her eyes meet yours. “Your father and I stumbled when we were young too. We learned where our tempers ended and our values began. The important thing was that we listened after. That we changed.”
She reaches out and squeezes your hand. “You still have time. Both of you do.”
You swallow. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you leave,” she says simply. “Because you chose him—and that means you can choose not to, if he continues to offend your dignity.”
The words settle into you, firm and grounding.
“Giving someone a second chance,” she adds, “is not weakness. It’s hope. But staying when someone refuses to change—that’s when love becomes a cage.”
You breathe in slowly. “I don’t regret choosing him,” you say quietly.
She smiles, soft and proud. “Then give him the chance to prove you were right.”
The morning feels heavier than the others.
You dress with careful movements, smoothing fabric that doesn’t quite sit right over a heart still unsettled. The maids flutter around you, whispering softly as they help fasten clasps and arrange your hair. You’re almost ready—almost steady enough to face what waits at the palace—when one of them appears near the doorway.
“My Lady,” she says, voice hushed but urgent, “Emperor Geta is here.”
Your breath catches. Here.
Not summoned. Not waiting in marble halls. Here.
You don’t answer. You simply turn and walk, skirts gathered in your hands as you move faster than propriety would advise, straight through the villa and into the atrium.
And there he is.
Geta stands near the center of the room, shoulders slumped as though the weight of Rome has finally decided to rest there instead of behind him. He looks… wrong. No regalia. No ceremony. His eyes are rimmed red, his expression drawn tight with sleeplessness.
He doesn’t look like an emperor. He looks like a man who has lost something essential.
The moment his eyes find you, something breaks in his face. He steps toward you—slow, uncertain, as though afraid you might disappear if he moves too quickly. When he reaches you, he hesitates, arms lifting but not closing, waiting.
When you wrap your arms around him, he exhales shakily and finally holds you—careful at first, reverent—then tighter, like he’s afraid you might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he says into your hair, the words rough, unpolished. “Gods, I’m so sorry.”
You don’t speak yet.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands rising to cup your cheeks. His thumbs brush beneath your eyes, gentle, as if memorizing the shape of your face.
“These days without you…” His voice falters. He swallows hard. “They were the most sorrowful I’ve ever known. I’ve failed in battles, failed Rome before—but this…” He shakes his head. “This was worse.”
His forehead rests against yours.
“I disappointed you,” he continues quietly. “And I hate myself for it. I let fear rot my judgment. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was cage you.” A bitter laugh escapes him. “I was so afraid of losing you that I didn’t realize I was the one pushing you away.”
His eyes search yours, raw and unguarded. He presses his brow to yours again, hands still warm against your skin.
“I won’t pretend I didn’t say what I said,” he murmurs. “Or that I didn’t mean it in my fear. But I see it now. I see how wrong I was.” A breath. “If you can forgive me—if you’re willing—I will do better. Not because I said so. But because I love you.”
The atrium is silent around you. Your vision blurs before you can stop it.
You nod once, a sharp, broken motion, and the tears spill over despite your effort to remain composed. “I forgive you,” you say, voice unsteady but certain. The words feel heavy—and freeing—all at once.
Geta exhales like the breath has been punched from his lungs.
“I was miserable too,” you admit quietly. “I didn’t realize how much space you’d taken up in my life until I left. I got used to you—your presence, your mind, your stubbornness.” A small, sad smile touches your lips. “There was a void. Everywhere.”
His grip tightens, just slightly.
“I understand your fear,” you continue. “I really do. I’m afraid too—of losing you, of what Rome could do to you, to us.” Your voice trembles, but you don’t look away. “But I won’t pretend that what happened didn’t hurt me.”
“I know,” he whispers. “And I’m sorry. Again. I’ll say it as many times as you need.”
You lift a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “I never doubted that you love me,” you say softly. “Not once. I know your concern came from care. I just—” You take a breath. “I need you to handle it better. To trust me. To listen.”
He nods fervently. “I will.”
“There are only so many chances I can give,” you say, honest but not cruel. “And I don’t want to find out where the limit is.” Your eyes shine as you meet his. “Because I love you too. So much.”
Something in his expression breaks completely then. He pulls you into him, forehead against your shoulder, arms wrapped around you as though anchoring himself. You hold him just as tightly, both of you clinging to what nearly slipped away.
Time passes unnoticed. You breathe together. You exist together. The world waits.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are soft—still wounded, but steady. You lean in without thinking, drawn by the familiar pull, and he meets you halfway.
The kiss is slow. Careful. Full of everything you didn’t say. And for now, that is enough.
Morning light slips softly through the curtains, warming the marble floor and the tangled sheets you wake in.
You reach out instinctively. Empty.
You blink, orienting yourself, and then you hear it—the faint rustle of fabric, the quiet murmur of movement beyond the screen. You push yourself up just as Geta steps back into the room, already dressed, hair neatly arranged, the weight of the day settling back onto his shoulders.
Still, he smiles when he sees you awake. “Morning,” he says softly, as if he has nowhere else to be.
He comes to the bedside anyway, bending to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there longer than necessary. He always does. No matter how early. No matter how urgent the Curia waits.
You smile, pushing yourself up on your elbows. “You were trying to leave without saying goodbye.”
He scoffs lightly. “As if I could.” He sits at the edge of the bed, brushing his thumb absentmindedly along your hand. “What are your plans today?”
“I’m meeting my mother,” you say. “We’re going into the city. Father’s dies natalis is in a few days—we thought we’d find something suitable.”
His brow lifts slightly. “Already? Gods, time moves too quickly.”
“You’re the emperor,” you say lightly. “You don’t get to forget dates.”
You fix him with a look. “Which reminds me—you should free up your schedule that night. Family dinner.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. I’ll be there.”
Satisfied, you lean back against the pillows. He lingers, still seated, still not moving.
“You’re stalling,” you note.
“I am not.”
“You are,” you insist. “You’ll be late.”
He sighs theatrically, then leans in to kiss you again—slow, unhurried, entirely unnecessary.
“For luck,” he murmurs.
You laugh softly against his mouth. “You need more than luck. You need to go.”
“Cruel woman, my wife is.” he says, though there’s no heat in it.
He finally stands, then pauses, turning back as if struck by a thought. He kisses you again, gentler this time, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Good luck today,” he says quietly.
“And you,” you reply. “Try not to terrify the Curia.”
He grins. “No promises.” He leaves at last, reluctantly, glancing back once more before disappearing beyond the doors.
You settle back into the quiet, smiling to yourself. For a busy man, he always finds time—especially for you.
Prosperity comes quietly. Not with banners or triumphal arches, but with steadier streets, fuller markets, and fewer whispers of fear. Rome does not feel conquered by its rulers anymore—it feels kept.
Under Geta, cruelty fades from habit into memory. His temper still exists—he is no saint—but it no longer governs him. He listens more than he speaks. He asks more than he commands. And when he errs, he corrects himself without spectacle.
The people notice.
Grain arrives when it should. Housing projects expand instead of stalling. Magistrates are audited instead of indulged. Rome grows stronger from the inside out, not by reaching farther, but by standing firmer.
And for the first time in a long while, happiness becomes something ordinary.
One of Geta’s first truly difficult decisions comes quietly as well.
He orders physicians to attend his brother.
At first, Caracalla refuses violently. He rages. He accuses. He calls it weakness, humiliation, an insult to imperial blood.
Geta does not rise to it. Instead, he sits with him. “I cannot allow what happened before to happen again,” he says evenly. “Not to my wife. Not to Rome. And not to you.”
Caracalla scoffs. “You think this is for her?”
“It’s for all of us,” Geta replies. “And I will not pretend you are well when you are not.” The words are firm—but not cruel.
“I won’t lose my brother,” Geta adds quietly. “Not to pride. Not to illness.”
Something in Caracalla finally cracks—not into rage, but exhaustion. He turns away, jaw clenched, and says nothing. But he does not refuse again.
Doctors come. Slowly. Carefully. Progress is uneven, stubborn, imperfect—but it is real. And for the first time, Caracalla is not punished for being unwell. He is treated.
As for you—you are far from idle.
As empress, you take charge of the Imperial Household itself: the servants, the freedmen, the daily mechanisms that shape the emperor’s environment long before policy ever reaches parchment. You learn names. Patterns. Loyalties. Who is competent. Who is corrupt. Who whispers, and who works.
You become a gatekeeper. Petitions flow through you—requests for audience, favors, appointments, mercy. You recommend some. Delay others. Redirect many. You do not command openly, but nothing moves past you without consideration.
Power suits you—not because you crave it, but because you respect its consequences. Geta never interferes. He trusts you.
And in private, you are still the same two people who once argued in gardens and libraries—still infatuated, still drawn to each other as though time has done nothing to dull the pull.
Now, there is talk of a child. Not pressure. Never pressure. You say one evening, almost absently, that you think you would like one. Someday. Soon, perhaps.
Geta goes very still. Only then does he ask, carefully, “Is that truly what you want?”
You smile at him. “Yes.”
And that is enough.
He never rushes you. Never measures your worth by heirs. He wants a child because you want one—because you imagine a future large enough to include it.
You are content. Rome is content. And the empire, for once, is not held together by fear or force—but by thought, restraint, and two people who chose each other again and again.
Summary: Introduced into the imperial court as a senator’s daughter, you refuse to flatter, refuse to perform, and—most dangerously—refuse to agree when reason demands otherwise. Emperor Geta notices not your beauty, but your mind.
Part 2
Tags: Fluff, getting together, developing relationship, Geta has a crush on you, a bit obsessed, Geta is down bad, reader is an intellectual, reader is kind of playing hard to get, but mutual pining, political, growth arc, Caracallar barely mentioned (sorry), dialogue heavy. No description of reader. No use of Y/N.
A/N: Here it is! If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
Word Count: 9.1K
Masterlist
The palace is already loud when you arrive—music swelling against marble, laughter spilling over itself, the sharp scent of wine and incense hanging thick in the air. The emperors have invited every noble family worth acknowledging, and you attend because attendance is expected, not because you wish to be here.
You move through the banquet with practiced grace, nodding, smiling, exchanging pleasantries with the sons and daughters of senators and generals. You try. You truly do. But every conversation feels the same—boasts of lineage, shallow praise of the conquest, exaggerated delight at the excess laid out before them. Nothing sparks. Nothing holds.
Eventually, you drift back toward your parents, resignation settling quietly in your chest.
That is when your father’s hand rests lightly at your elbow.
“Come,” he murmurs. “You should be introduced.”
You already know to whom.
He guides you forward, your mother at his side, toward the raised seating where the twin emperors recline amid silks and cushions. They are flanked by concubines draped like ornaments—beautiful, bored, watchful. The contrast is striking and deliberate.
You school your expression before stepping closer.
“This is my family,” your father says, bowing with measured respect. “My daughter.”
You lower your head in a flawless, elegant incline, every lesson your mother ever taught you settling into place like armor. When you straighten, you meet their gazes calmly.
Geta looks you over first. His gaze lingers—assessing, unashamed. A faint smile curves his mouth.
“You are very beautiful,” he says plainly, as though commenting on the weather.
Around you, others would have flushed, bowed deeper, rushed to gratitude. You do none of those things.
“You honor me, Caesar,” you reply, voice even, neither coy nor overeager.
Something flickers—brief, unreadable—but his attention does not sharpen yet.
Caracalla looks past you almost immediately, already bored, fingers idly tapping the arm of his seat.
“And how are you enjoying the banquet?” Geta asks, his tone polite, rehearsed.
“It is… impressive,” your father answers smoothly.
“Yes,” your mother adds, serene. “The emperors are generous hosts.”
You nod in agreement, offering nothing more. Politeness, perfectly executed.
Geta’s smile widens a touch. “There will be a fight later,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the far end of the hall. “A fine one. I hope you’ll remain long enough to see it.”
Inside your mind, your eyes roll so hard they nearly ache. Another spectacle. Another distraction dressed as glory.
Outwardly, you incline your head once more. “Of course, Caesar.”
You do not look at the concubines. You do not look impressed.
And though Geta does not yet realize it, that restraint—the absence of performance—is the first thing that sets you apart.
Time slips by unnoticed. The banquet shows no sign of slowing—music still drifting through corridors, laughter swelling and breaking like waves—but you have long since eased yourself away. No one stops you. No one ever does.
You wander until the noise fades into something distant and harmless, your steps carrying you into one of the inner palace gardens. Moonlight spills softly over trimmed hedges and marble paths, silvering the petals of carefully arranged flowers. Roses, jasmine, night-blooming lilies—each placed with intent, yet alive enough to feel almost wild.
You stroll without purpose, hands loosely clasped behind you, breathing more easily than you have all evening.
Behind you, footsteps approach.
Geta had been heading toward his chambers, a concubine trailing obediently at his side, when he caught sight of you among the flowers—alone, unguarded, utterly uninterested in the revelry meant to glorify him. He stops. His gaze lingers.
Without explanation, he dismisses the girl with a brief gesture. She hesitates, confused, then withdraws silently, leaving the garden suddenly very still.
You hear him before you see him. “Shouldn’t you be inside?” he asks, stepping onto the path as though he owns even this quiet space. “Enjoying the banquet laid out in my honor?”
You turn slowly to face him, unstartled, inclining your head in acknowledgment. “It is generous,” you say honestly. Then, after a brief pause, “But gatherings like that have never held much appeal for me.”
His brow lifts. A scoff follows, quick and dismissive. “Nonsense. Everyone enjoys parties.”
A faint smile touches your mouth—not mocking, not deferential. Merely amused.
“With respect, Caesar,” you reply lightly, “I believe many enjoy being seen at parties. The noise, the wine, the performance of delight.” Your gaze flicks briefly toward the palace doors before returning to him. “That is not quite the same thing.”
He studies you now, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “And what is it you enjoy, then?” he asks.
“Quiet,” you answer without hesitation. “Conversation without witnesses. And gardens, apparently—places where nothing is demanded.”
A beat passes. Then you add, your tone still smooth, carefully measured, “Though I imagine for an emperor, silence must feel… unfamiliar.”
It is a jab—wrapped in silk, sharpened just enough to be felt.
For a moment, you wonder if you have overstepped.
Then Geta lets out a short laugh, more surprised than offended. “Careful,” he says. “Most people work very hard not to speak to me that way.”
You meet his gaze evenly. “Most people are trying to gain something.”
You resume your walk along the garden path, gravel whispering beneath your sandals. You expect him to remain where he is—emperors are not known for following—but footsteps fall into rhythm beside yours.
Geta speaks casually, as though discussing something trivial. “You say you gain nothing from me,” he says. “Yet your father serves at my pleasure. I could dismiss him tomorrow. Ruin him. Make your life… unpleasant.”
You do not stop walking.
“That is true,” you answer calmly. “You could.”
He watches you closely now, waiting for fear. It does not come.
“But,” you continue, turning your head slightly toward him, “you gain something from my father as well.” You slow just enough to make him listen. “My father helps Rome thrive, does he not?”
You gesture faintly with one hand, counting without counting. “He negotiates without inflaming factions. He manages provinces without draining them dry. He satisfies the people without feeding their worst instincts.” Your voice remains even, respectful—but unyielding. “He advises with reason when others clamor for spectacle.” You finally stop and face him.
“Would you truly threaten to destabilize Rome,” you ask softly, “simply to remind a senator’s daughter that you can?”
For a moment, the night stretches between you.
Then Geta smiles. Not the polished, imperial curve meant for crowds—but something sharper, more genuine. Amused.
“No one questions me,” he says, almost thoughtfully.
You tilt your head, considering. “Then your conversations must be dreadfully dull.”
The smile widens.
“Careful,” he warns, though his tone lacks heat.
“Oh, I am,” you reply lightly. “Which is why I avoid them altogether.” You glance back toward the palace, where music and laughter spill endlessly into the night. “Endless praise, endless agreement. I despise conversations where everyone already knows what they’re supposed to say.”
A short laugh escapes him—unexpected, unrestrained. “For someone who claims to enjoy quiet,” he says, “you are remarkably bold.”
“And for someone who claims absolute power,” you answer smoothly, resuming your walk, “you seem relieved to finally be contradicted.”
He falls into step beside you again, eyes bright now—not with anger, but interest. For the first time, Geta does not feel obeyed. He feels challenged.
The roar of the crowd rolls through the Circus like thunder, banners snapping overhead as the chariots tear past in a blur of color and dust. You should be watching the race—and you are—but you feel it before you see it. His gaze.
You glance up toward the imperial seating just as the chariots round the turn, and there he is. Geta is not watching the track. He is watching you. Not openly enough to invite scrutiny, but not subtly either. When your eyes meet, neither of you looks away first.
The race ends in a surge of shouting and triumph. Red banners lift high. The victors are claimed by the crowd.
You make your way out with the others, content, when a familiar voice cuts through the noise.
“I didn’t expect to find you here.”
You turn, unsurprised to see him standing just behind you, hands clasped loosely behind his back. The meeting feels accidental—unavoidable, even.
“I didn’t expect you to notice,” you reply.
He arches a brow. “I assumed you’d be weaving, or visiting the baths, or reading poetry somewhere quiet. Not spectating chariot races.”
You laugh softly, unable to stop yourself. “Your knowledge of women must be quite limited, Caesar, if you believe that is all we do.”
For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ve gone too far.
Then he chuckles—low, genuine, clearly entertained. “You are remarkably consistent,” he says.
He gestures toward the track. “So tell me. Which team?”
“Red,” you answer without hesitation.
A smile spreads across his face. “Then congratulations. You seem to be lucky.”
You shake your head. “It wasn’t luck.”
He studies you. “No?”
“I chose red deliberately,” you say, matter-of-fact. “Their horses were fresher—stronger hindquarters, longer strides. The lead auriga favors tighter turns, and the track today rewards that. Blue was too aggressive at the start; green’s second horse was limping before the final lap.”
You pause, then add lightly, “It was simply a matter of counting chances.”
For a moment, he just stares at you. Then, amused disbelief flickers across his face.
“You know a great deal about horses,” he says.
You smile, smaller this time, almost fond. “I think they’re magnificent animals.”
Something in your tone—quiet, sincere—makes his amusement soften into something else. Thoughtful. Curious.
The crowd continues to surge around you, chanting and celebrating, but the noise fades again, just as it did in the garden.
Geta looks at you as though he is beginning to realize something unsettling.
You are not unpredictable. You are observant. He wonders what else you see that others miss.
“I prefer riding on their backs,” you add, almost absently, “rather than standing on a chariot.”
That finally does it.
Geta stops walking.
He turns to you fully now, surprise plain on his face. “You ride?” he asks, as if the notion itself is suspect.
“Yes.”
A short laugh leaves him before he can stop it. “You are a strange woman.”
You raise a brow, unfazed.
“It’s unusual,” he continues, recovering quickly, voice slipping into something more certain. “Women are… domestic creatures by nature. Soft. Fragile. You aren’t meant to ride.”
Your eyes roll before you can restrain them—an ungraceful betrayal of your thoughts. You catch yourself a moment too late.
“Tell me, Caesar,” you ask calmly, “does riding make me less of a woman?”
He studies you, clearly not expecting the question.
“I have the anatomy of a woman,” you continue, voice steady, unembarrassed. “I can bear and birth a child. I bleed every month as all women do.” You hold his gaze without flinching. “None of that changes because I sit on a horse.”
Silence stretches between you, thick and dangerous.
“You have dangerous views,” he says at last.
You smile—small, sharp. “No,” you reply. “Yours are.”
His eyes narrow. “Explain.”
“You reduce women to what is convenient,” you say, unhurried. “Soft things are easier to control. Fragile things are easier to dismiss. But declaring what women are meant to be does not make it truth—it only makes it policy.”
You tilt your head slightly. “That is far more dangerous than a woman who knows how to ride.”
For a long moment, Geta says nothing.
Then—unexpectedly—he laughs. Not mocking. Not cruel. Thoughtful. “You speak as if you’ve never been told to stay quiet,” he says.
“Oh, I have,” you answer lightly. “I simply choose not to listen when it makes no sense.”
His gaze lingers on you now, no longer amused alone—but engaged, sharpened, alive.
You realize something then. You have crossed a line.
And instead of punishing you for it, Geta looks as though he might step closer.
The visit comes without warning. Imperial staff arrive at your family home in the late afternoon, crimson-edged cloaks immaculate, expressions unreadable. Servants fall into stillness as the message is delivered with formal precision:
You and your father are invited to one of Emperor Geta’s private banquets.
Not the grand affairs meant to dazzle Rome.
This one is small. Intimate. Invitation only..
When the doors close behind the messengers, the house feels suddenly quieter.
You stare at your father. “Me?” you ask, unable to keep the confusion from your voice. “Why would I be invited?”
Marcus Aelius Severianus does not answer immediately. He remains standing, thoughtful, his brow furrowed—not pleased, not proud. Concerned.
“Emperors do not invite without reason,” he says at last.
Your mother’s hand tightens slightly around the fold of her stola. “And when an emperor takes interest,” she adds softly, “it is never simple.”
Your father exhales slowly. “It would seem Emperor Geta has noticed you.”
The words settle uneasily in the room.
You open your mouth to respond, then close it again. You have no explanation you can safely offer—not one that would ease them. They do not know about the garden. Or the race. Or the conversations that were never meant to be anything more than chance.
Your mother’s gaze moves to you, searching your face. “You’ve done nothing to draw attention, have you?”
“Nothing improper,” you answer truthfully.
That does little to reassure her.
They exchange a look—your parents, seasoned enough to understand power, old enough to know how dangerous curiosity can be when it belongs to a man who answers to no one.
“Geta is not a man whose interest can be refused lightly,” your father says. “Nor indulged without caution.”
You nod, outwardly composed, even as something tightens in your chest.
They do not know that you have already spoken to him as an equal.
That you have contradicted him. That he laughed instead of punishing you.
All they see is the risk.
And for the first time since the invitation was spoken aloud, you understand something clearly:
Whatever this is becoming, it has already moved beyond your control.
The palace feels different when you enter it this way—quieter, more deliberate. You and your father are guided through marble corridors by silent attendants until you reach the triclinia. Lamps cast warm light across polished stone and low couches arranged in careful symmetry.
The gathering is small, as promised.
A handful of senior senators and close imperial advisors are already present, their conversations faltering briefly when they notice you. Confusion flickers across their faces—quick, controlled. You are clearly not expected. Still, no one remarks on it. Experience has taught them better.
You take your place beside your father, posture impeccable, expression serene.
Then the room stills. Geta enters.
Everyone rises and bows. You do the same, lowering your head with practiced grace, neither lingering nor rushing the gesture. When he signals for the dinner to begin, servants move swiftly, and conversation resumes as though on cue.
You remain silent.
The men speak of progress—of provinces secured, resources extracted, influence expanded. They discuss the future with confidence bordering on carelessness, plans stacking upon plans without pause to examine their foundations.
You listen. You always do.
Then one of the advisors speaks—proposing a course of action so short-sighted, so riddled with potential backlash, that your mouth reacts before your restraint can intervene.
You scoff. Softly—but unmistakably.
The advisor turns toward you, brows knitting. “Is there something you wish to add?” he asks, voice edged with mild irritation.
You meet his gaze calmly. “Forgive me,” you say smoothly. “There was something caught in my throat.”
A pause. You incline your head. “My apologies.”
Your father stiffens beside you. You feel his glance like pressure against your skin—measured, disappointed, warning. Not here. You keep your eyes lowered.
Across the room, however, someone else has noticed. You look up just in time to catch Geta watching you, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not disapproval. Not surprise.
A grin—quick, knowing. He says nothing. He does not intervene. But the moment lingers, sharp and private, as the discussion resumes around you. You return to silence, hands folded neatly in your lap.
Yet you can feel it now. You are no longer merely present.
You are being watched.
The guests begin to disperse in low murmurs, cloaks gathered, sandals whispering against marble. Servants move efficiently, clearing dishes, dimming lamps. The triclinia empties with practiced speed, leaving behind only echoes of conversation and the faint scent of wine.
Before your father departs, Geta leans in and murmurs something to him—quiet, deliberate.
Marcus Aelius Severianus stiffens almost imperceptibly.
He turns to you a moment later, expression carefully neutral. “The emperor wishes a private word with you,” he says softly. Not a question. It never is.
You nod, because you must.
Your father leave with the others, your mother’s gaze lingering on you a second longer than usual—measured concern, nothing more she can safely show. Then you are alone in the great room, the space suddenly feeling much larger without witnesses.
Geta approaches without ceremony.
You are the first to speak.
“I thought I was quite clear,” you say calmly, “that I don’t enjoy banquets. Yet here I am.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “This was hardly a banquet by Roman standards,” he counters. “Fewer people. No spectacle.”
“Still a banquet,” you reply lightly.
He exhales, something between amusement and resignation. “I didn’t know how else to summon you,” he admits. “Anything more direct would have been… conspicuous. Or crude.”
You tilt your head, studying him. “You achieved the opposite.”
His brow furrows. “Explain.”
“My presence here was noticed,” you say evenly. “Some of those men were already confused by it. They will talk. They will assume.” You gesture vaguely toward the doors the guests exited through. “A senator’s daughter invited to a private imperial dinner is not subtle.”
He considers that. “And is that so terrible?”
“It might be,” you answer honestly. “You are one of the most sought-after men in Rome. Attention follows you whether you invite it or not.” Your gaze meets his. “I would prefer not to inherit it by association.”
A beat passes.
“You fear gossip,” he says.
“I fear unnecessary interest,” you correct. “Rome is rarely kind to women who become topics rather than people.”
He studies you closely now, not offended—thoughtful. “You think several steps ahead.”
“I have to,” you reply simply.
Silence settles—not tense, not awkward. Just aware.
“At least now,” Geta says slowly, “you know this was intentional.”
You give him a faint, wry smile. “I suspected as much.”
“And yet,” he adds, “you stayed.”
You hold his gaze, unflinching. “Curiosity cuts both ways, Caesar.”
This time, his smile is smaller. Sharper. More sincere.
You are standing closer now—close enough to notice the faint scent of wine and incense clinging to him, close enough that your voice does not need to rise.
Geta tilts his head slightly. “You were very quiet at dinner,” he says. “A shame. I was almost looking forward to seeing you argue with my guests.”
You blink, then give him a look that is half disbelief, half amusement. “I know the time and place for such things,” you reply. “Earlier was neither.”
He hums. “Yet you wanted to.”
You do not deny it. “My presence was already questionable. Creating a scene would have only confirmed suspicions.”
His smile widens. “So you restrained yourself.”
“I’m capable of it,” you say dryly.
“And still,” he adds, eyes bright, “you scoffed.”
You sigh softly. “It was an accident.”
“No,” he says, amused. “It was instinct.”
You shake your head, then glance at him sidelong. “You have a curious interest, Caesar—finding enjoyment in being argued with.”
That earns you a laugh. A real one.
“I didn’t expect it myself,” he admits. “Ordinarily, I punish insolence.”
You arch a brow. “Ordinarily.”
“You,” he continues, unbothered, “are different.”
“That sounds dangerous,” you say lightly.
“It is,” he agrees. “You intrigue me too much.”
You study him for a moment, then smile faintly. “Careful. That almost sounds like infatuation.”
He does not hesitate. “It might be.”
The honesty of it gives you pause.
“I couldn’t possibly be worth your time,” you say after a moment. “There are many far more eager for your attention.”
He steps closer—not enough to crowd you, just enough to be deliberate. “Eagerness has never impressed me,” he says. “You think. You resist. You choose your words.” His gaze holds yours. “That is rarer.”
Silence settles again—not heavy, but charged.
You glance toward the corridor. “I should go,” you say. “It’s been some time.”
He nods, accepting it without protest.
You pause, then add, “Next time—do it normally.”
A slow smile curves his mouth. “There will be a next time?”
You meet his gaze once more. “If you wish to speak to me,” you say calmly, “just ask.”
You turn and leave before he can respond.
Your father is waiting just beyond the doors, cloak already gathered. He gives you a look—measured, knowing—and then, quietly, “That took a while.”
You allow yourself the smallest smile.
The next time, he does exactly as you told him to.
Imperial staff arrive quietly, efficiently. You are fetched before your parents even realize you are gone—escorted through familiar streets and into the palace with a swiftness that leaves no room for protest. By the time you might have questioned it, you are already being guided through towering doors and into the throne room.
Geta is already there.
He stands when you enter—not formally, but deliberately. You bow as etiquette demands, smooth and precise, then straighten.
“How often,” you ask at once, “do you intend to see me?” You tilt your head. “It’s barely been days.”
“All the time,” he answers without hesitation. “Preferably.”
Your eyes roll despite yourself. “Of course.”
Amused, he gestures toward the doors. “Walk with me.”
You do, falling into step beside him as he leads you through the palace. Corridors open into rooms of every size and purpose—audience chambers, private halls, galleries filled with statuary. At times, he pauses, frowns slightly, then changes direction.
“You don’t remember?” you ask lightly.
“There are… many rooms,” he says.
You smile. “Perhaps you don’t need this much space if you can’t even recall it all.”
He chuckles, unoffended. “Careful.”
Eventually, you arrive at a set of tall doors, opened by attendants who immediately vanish again. Inside lies the palace library.
You stop short. Your jaw drops.
Shelves rise higher than you’ve ever seen, lined with scrolls and codices, knowledge stacked upon knowledge. The air smells of parchment and ink, quiet and reverent. Your own collection—carefully curated, beloved—suddenly feels laughable in comparison.
“This…” you breathe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Geta watches your reaction with clear satisfaction. “I rarely visit,” he admits.
You glance at him, unimpressed. “Predictable.”
He lifts a finger in mock warning. “You are testing me today.”
You ignore him entirely, already moving among the shelves. Your hands trail reverently along spines as you scan titles you’ve only heard of, authors you’ve long wanted to read. You pull one free. Then another. Your expression is nothing short of wonder.
Behind you, he laughs softly. “All this time,” he says, “I could have impressed you with books. It seems it would’ve been much easier than I thought.”
You don’t look at him as you answer. “You’re still not finished impressing me.”
But you are smiling.
“Did you always like reading?” Geta asks, watching you move from shelf to shelf as though the rest of the palace has ceased to exist.
“Yes,” you answer easily. “My father taught me to love it.” You draw a scroll free, careful with its age. “He told me nothing is more important—nor more powerful—than knowledge.”
You glance back at him. “With knowledge, you control conversations. You shape outcomes. You can even win wars.” Your fingers rest against the parchment. “No war is ever won by brute force alone. Not without thought.”
He scoffs lightly. “Rome conquered the world with force. And we succeeded.”
You turn fully then, expression sharpening—not confrontational, simply honest. “Rome succeeded because it had numbers,” you say. “Because it used slaves. Because it consumed resources faster than its enemies could adapt.” A pause. “That is not the same as superiority.”
Your distaste is subtle, but unmistakable.
“Our armies could still be outsmarted,” you continue. “The chances are small, yes—but not nonexistent. Smaller forces win when larger ones stop thinking.”
He studies you, arms folding loosely. “Then I have nothing to worry about.”
You smile faintly, but there is no humor in it. “That is exactly when you should worry.”
His brow lifts. “Explain.”
“Arrogance is dangerous,” you say quietly. “It makes people vulnerable. Those who believe they are untouchable stop learning.” You close the scroll gently. “And ignorance can always be exploited.”
Silence settles between the shelves.
Geta does not interrupt you. He does not laugh this time. He simply looks at you—thoughtful, measuring, as if you have shifted something he did not realize was fixed.
“You speak as though Rome could fall,” he says at last.
You meet his gaze calmly. “Anything that stops listening can.”
For the first time since you entered the library, Geta does not look like an emperor surrounded by endless power. He looks like a man who has just been reminded that power must be maintained—not merely assumed.
He steps closer.
Not abruptly—nothing about him is rushed—but near enough that the space between you softens, dissolves. His hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek with a familiarity that should startle you.
It doesn’t.
You don’t withdraw. Instead, you lean into the touch, just slightly, a silent acknowledgment that you are aware of what he’s doing—and that you allow it.
Geta watches your reaction closely. “You continue to fascinate me,” he says quietly.
You smile, the corner of your mouth curving. “I do that with knowledge too.”
A low laugh leaves him. “I’ve noticed.”
His hand lingers a moment longer before falling away. He gestures vaguely around you, at the towering shelves, the endless rows of thought and memory. “This library could be yours,” he says. “I would have it filled further—anything you wish.”
For the first time since you entered the room, your composure falters.
You lower your gaze, just briefly. Not in submission—never that—but in something closer to being caught off guard. Your fingers tighten around the scroll you’re holding.
“That,” you admit softly, “is an attractive offer.”
Then you look back up at him, recovery swift, eyes bright with mischief. “You sound a little desperate, Caesar.”
His smile is slow, unapologetic. “Perhaps I am.” The honesty of it hangs between you, unguarded.
The string hums as you release it, the arrow slicing cleanly through the air before burying itself in the target with a satisfying thud. You reach for another, steady and focused, when you sense movement behind you.
Your mother’s voice comes before her footsteps do.
“So,” she says mildly, “how long were you planning on letting me pretend not to notice?”
You turn, bow lowering slightly. Aelia Domitia Livia stands at the edge of the practice grounds, hands folded neatly before her, expression composed—but sharp. There is no accusation in her gaze. Only awareness.
“You and your father are not the only observant ones in this family,” she continues. “Nor the only intelligent ones.”
You exhale, half a smile tugging at your mouth. “I never thought you were.”
She approaches, eyes flicking briefly to the target you just struck—dead center—before returning to your face. “What is happening between you and the elder emperor?”
You hesitate only a moment. “We talk.”
Her brow lifts. “You do more than talk.”
You don’t deny it.
She sighs softly, not angry—worried. saying your name in the way she only does when she means to be heard. “You know his status. You know the weight of his attention.” A pause. “And you know the man Emperor Geta is believed to be.”
You nod. Of course you do.
“He stands opposed to many of the things your father believes,” she continues. “To many of the things we believe.” Her gaze softens just slightly. “I trust your judgment. But trust does not erase danger.”
You rest the bow against your side. “He hasn’t been unpleasant to me.”
“That does not make him safe.”
“I know.” You meet her eyes. “But I’ve debated him. Challenged him.”
Her composure cracks—for just a heartbeat. “You did what?”
You shrug lightly. “I disagreed with him. More than once.”
“You could have been punished,” she says sharply. “For insolence. For treason.”
“But I wasn’t,” you reply quietly. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
She studies you now, searching for recklessness—and finding conviction instead.
“I think,” you continue carefully, “that he’s sheltered. Raised in power too young. Surrounded by people who never contradict him.” Your fingers tighten around the bow. “That doesn’t make him cruel by nature. It makes him unchallenged.”
Your mother is silent.
“I believe he can be shaped,” you say. “That he can be… better.”
“That is a dangerous belief,” she says at last.
“Only if I’m wrong.”
She steps closer, lifting a hand to your cheek in a gesture so familiar it nearly undoes you. “You sound very certain.”
“I am,” you answer.
She lowers her hand, eyes steady. “Then be careful,” she says softly. “Believing you can change a powerful man has undone far wiser women than you.”
You incline your head. “I know.”
She holds your gaze a moment longer, then turns to leave—pausing just once.
“And Daughter,” she adds, without looking back. “Power does not enjoy being shaped. Remember that.”
Left alone again, you raise your bow.
The target hasn’t moved. But you know the real one has—and it’s far more dangerous.
The Domus Augustana is alive with motion—servants scrubbing marble, hanging banners, adjusting lamps and cushions in preparation for the grand banquet celebrating General Acacius’ return. The air smells of polish and incense, anticipation layered over exhaustion.
You walk beside Geta as he oversees the preparations, his pace unhurried, his presence enough to make servants bow lower and move faster. Orders are given sharply. Corrections are not gentle. You notice how shoulders tense when he passes, how eyes drop too quickly.
On the far side of the palace, Caracalla conducts his own inspection, loud and impatient, but distant enough to feel irrelevant to what is happening beside you.
Geta does not seem to notice—or care—how he has been raised by power itself. Authority is instinctive to him, effortless, unquestioned.
You watch for a while.
Then you speak. “You’re being cruel.”
He stops, turning to you with clear irritation. “They’re low lives,” he replies flatly. “Why should I be kind to them?”
You do not lower your voice. You do not soften the words. “Would you rather they have your back out of subjugation,” you ask, “or out of loyalty?”
His jaw tightens.
“Loyalty endures,” you continue calmly. “Subjugation breeds resentment. Resentment breeds rebellion.” You meet his gaze without flinching. “They’ll flee when they have the chance. Or worse.”
He exhales sharply. “I don’t need a lecture.”
“I’m not lecturing,” you say. “I’m reminding you.”
He scoffs. “And why would you bother?”
“For your greater good,” you answer simply. “It benefits you.” A pause. “If I wanted amusement, I’d flatter you like everyone else.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re exhausting.”
You smile faintly. “You’re the one who keeps asking to see me.”
For a moment, the palace noise seems to dull around you—the scrape of brushes, the murmured apologies of servants fading into the background.
Geta studies you, annoyance still there, but threaded now with something else. Thought. Reluctant consideration.
“You challenge me far too often,” he says.
“Yet,” you reply lightly, “you haven’t told me to stop.”
He turns away, resuming his walk, but his pace is slower now.
And the servants, you notice, are no longer being shouted at—only watched.
You pass the garden without meaning to—until you do.
Your steps slow, then stop altogether. The moonlight pools the same way it did that night, silvering the paths and petals. You turn toward it almost unconsciously, and after a beat, Geta follows.
You walk the path again, retracing it as though memory has weight. He watches you do it, something distant settling in his gaze.
“This brings me back,” he says quietly.
You nod. “Me too.”
Suddenly, he reaches out—firm, decisive—and stops you. His hand closes around your waist, pulling you closer. You don’t resist. You let yourself be drawn in, the distance between you vanishing as though it was never meant to exist.
“I remember what I said,” you murmur. “I was… foolishly daring.” A soft breath leaves you. “But perhaps I had an intuition that night.”
He studies your face, closer than ever. “You challenged me,” he admits. “And it excited me.” His thumb presses lightly at your side. “I’ve only ever known flattery. Blind devotion.” A pause. “I grew bored of it.”
You search his eyes.
“And you,” he continues, voice lower now, “have a voice that makes people listen.” His gaze holds yours. “Even an emperor.”
You smile at that—briefly. Then the smile fades, replaced by something more serious.
“There’s something you must understand,” you say softly. “I won’t stop.” You meet his gaze fully. “The day I do is the day you tell me to leave.”
His grip tightens, just a little.
“Can you endure my honesty?” you ask. “If I stay, I will speak as I always have.” You hesitate, then continue, quieter now. “Everything I’ve said—everything I will say—will be for your benefit. Not because I seek favor.” A breath. “But because I find myself caring for you. Wanting nothing but good for you.”
Silence stretches, fragile and full.
“I understand,” he says.
Then he closes the distance entirely and kisses you.
There is no hesitation—only intent. You kiss him back at once, hands rising to anchor yourself to what is suddenly, unmistakably real. The world narrows to the garden, to the warmth of him, to the knowledge that whatever this becomes will be neither simple nor safe.
But it is chosen. And for now, that is enough.
You do not return home that night.
Morning comes softly instead—filtered light slipping between curtains, warmth pressed against your side. Your body aches when you stir, sore in a way that makes your breath catch, but it is not unwelcome. Heat rises to your cheeks as memory follows sensation, fragmented and vivid.
You turn your head. Geta is still asleep.
In rest, stripped of vigilance and command, he looks younger. Not the emperor, not the ruler shaped by expectation and cruelty—just a man. A handsome one, you think distantly, as you always have. His brow is smooth, lashes dark against his skin, breath slow and even.
You watch him longer than you mean to.
You think of Rome. Of the women who would have killed to be where you are now, who would have strategized, flattered, performed for years to earn this closeness. And you got here by doing the opposite—by arguing, contradicting, refusing to bend. The irony almost makes you smile.
As if sensing your gaze, he stirs. His eyes open, sharpening instantly when they find you.
“Are you alright?” he asks at once, voice still rough with sleep.
You blink, then huff a quiet laugh. “With the way I feel,” you say lightly, “one might think you attempted to murder me last night.”
His expression breaks—amusement replacing concern. He laughs, low and unguarded. “Are you complaining?”
“Not at all,” you reply, shifting just enough to feel the ache again. “I’m fine. Sore.” You consider the word, then add, “But not unpleasant.”
Relief flickers across his face, quickly masked by something warmer.
You lean in and press a kiss to him—unhurried, certain.
For once, there is no argument waiting between you. No challenge, no lecture, no power to test. Just the quiet aftermath of a choice you do not regret.
The maids move quietly around you, efficient and discreet, helping you wash and dress as though this were any other morning. You thank them when they finish—earnestly—and they bow, eyes carefully averted, before slipping out of the chamber.
Alone again, you step toward the mirror. You barely have time to adjust the fall of your garment before you notice them—faint bruises along your neck, unmistakable despite the softness of their color. You stare for a moment, then laugh under your breath.
“You really were trying to kill me,” you say lightly as you turn back toward the bed. “I should report you. You’re like a mosquito.”
Geta laughs openly at that, completely unapologetic. “I wanted people to know you’re mine,” he says. “Anyone who dares try otherwise will suffer the consequences.”
You lift a hand at once. “Careful,” you warn, tone gentle but firm. “That would be unnecessary.”
He quiets—not offended, but listening.
You step closer, closing the space between you again. Your voice softens. “I know I’m yours,” you say simply. “That’s enough. Anyone who tries anything would be met with immediate refusal.”
His gaze holds yours, something fierce easing into something steadier.
Then you sigh. “Now tell me—how exactly am I meant to go home to my parents?” You tilt your head. “This is entirely your fault.”
A smile curves his mouth. “I could come with you,” he suggests easily. “Ask for your hand in marriage. Immediately.”
You choke on a laugh. “My father would collapse.”
“I would catch him.”
“No,” you say quickly, still smiling. “I’ll tell them myself. Give me that choice.” You look at him steadily. “Then you can ask.”
He considers you for a moment, then nods. “Very well.”
A pause. “You realize,” he adds, amusement returning, “you’re the only one who orders me around like this.” You smile, adjusting your cloak. “Someone has to.”
You return home to a silence that immediately tells you everything.
Your parents are waiting. Your father stands near the atrium, arms folded, expression carefully composed. Your mother sits nearby, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. The moment you step inside, their gazes lift to you in unison.
“You didn’t come home last night,” your mother says, not accusing—observing.
You straighten, lifting your chin. “I’m an adult,” you reply evenly. “You don’t need to be concerned over my every movement.”
Your father exhales slowly. He does not raise his voice. He never does when something truly matters. “I trust you,” he says. “You know that.” A pause. “But it is also a matter of your safety. Gods forbid something happened to you—and we would not even know where to look.”
The weight of that lands.
Your resolve softens. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly. Then, after a moment, “I was at the palace.” You offer nothing more. It is enough.
Your father nods once, acceptance clear even if unease remains. He turns and walks away, giving you the dignity of no further interrogation.
The palace is overflowing tonight.
Light spills from every archway, music layering itself over conversation until the air feels thick with celebration. General Acacius’ return has drawn all of Rome’s elite, and the emperors sit as hosts upon the central couches—imperial, untouchable.
You notice it immediately. Geta sits without concubines at his side.
It is unusual enough that others notice too—whispers curling like smoke through the hall. Beside him, Caracalla lounges in excess as always, surrounded, loud, indulgent. The contrast is stark.
You do not approach Geta.
Not yet. It would be conspicuous. Instead, you let your gaze meet his once—just long enough for recognition—before you turn away and do what is expected of you. You mingle. You speak with senators’ sons and daughters, with minor officials and distant relatives of generals. Each conversation dulls within moments. When you offer a counterpoint—measured, reasonable—you are met with narrowed eyes and polite disdain. A woman arguing is tolerable only when she is amusing.
You excuse yourself more than once.
Eventually, a new figure approaches—taller, broader, carrying himself with the unmistakable weight of command worn too long. General Acacius.
You incline your head respectfully, saying your name. “Daughter of Senator Marcus Aelius Severianus.” You offer a small, genuine smile. “Congratulations on your success—and on your return in good health.”
His expression softens slightly. “Thank you.”
“I’ve heard you returned from Asia,” you continue. “I hope it treated you well.”
He exhales, something tired slipping through his composure. “It was beautiful when I arrived,” he says. Then, after a pause, “Less so when I left.”
The words are careful. Too careful.
You catch the hesitation, the faint shadow of shame beneath the triumph. You sense fatigue—bone-deep, moral, the kind that victory does not erase.
“I imagine it takes much to keep conquering,” you say quietly. “Especially when the necessity becomes… unclear.”
He studies you for a moment, surprised—not offended. “That is not a common sentiment tonight.”
“No,” you agree. “But it is not an uncommon truth.” For the first time since he entered the hall, Acacius looks relieved—if only briefly.
You speak with General Acacius only a moment longer. You ask after his wife, Lucilla, noting her absence with quiet tact, and wish them both good health. He thanks you, sincerely, and you take your leave before the weight of the hall settles back onto him.
You drift away from the crowds, through a side passage, until cool night air brushes your skin.
The balcony overlooks the city. Rome stretches endlessly below—torchlight flickering through streets packed with common people celebrating in the open air. Their voices rise in raw joy, unrestrained, so different from the polished revelry behind you. Two worlds, divided by height and marble.
You rest your hands on the stone railing and simply watch.
Someone calls your name.
You don’t turn. You don’t need to.
Geta steps beside you, his presence as inevitable as the city itself. He leans against the balustrade. “You should join the festivities for once,” he says. “It celebrates Rome’s victory.”
You glance at the streets below before answering. “It isn’t something I feel proud of.”
He looks at you now. “No?”
“Our victories mean stepping on others,” you say quietly. “Slaughtering them. Taking what was theirs.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “I don’t find joy in that.”
He exhales sharply. “That is how empires are built.”
You turn to him then. “Rome already has many mouths to feed. How much wider do you want it to be?”
His eyes gleam with something fierce, unashamed. “Until we conquer the world.”
The words settle between you, heavy and absolute.
“That ambition,” you say softly, “scares me.”
He scoffs, dismissive. “You always criticize me.”
“I don’t criticize,” you reply. “I question.”
“And why must you always do that?”
“Because no one else will,” you say, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And because I care what kind of world your ambition leaves behind.”
For a moment, the noise of Rome swells below you—cheers, songs, drunken laughter—celebrating triumph without counting cost.
Geta looks at the city, then back at you, jaw tight.
“You make everything complicated,” he says.
You smile faintly. “Only the things that matter.”
“Fear works,” Geta says firmly. “It keeps people in line.”
You turn toward him fully. “Fear works temporarily,” you reply. “Then it turns inward. It rots.” Your voice stays calm, but intent sharpens it. “Diplomacy creates allies. Allies endure.”
He scoffs. “You speak as though conquest is the problem.”
“It’s not the only problem,” you say. “It’s the one you’re focused on.” You gesture vaguely toward the city below. “You chase quantity, not quality. What use is expansion if what you rule is hollow?”
He studies you. “Explain.”
You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “Gods,” you mutter. Then, louder, “You never really look out, have you, Caesar?”
His jaw tightens, but you continue before he can interrupt.
“Rome’s quality of life is deteriorating. The common people suffer more than they eat.” You nod toward the streets where torches still burn. “You think their celebration proves otherwise.”
“It does,” he argues. “Look at them.”
“They celebrate because we tell them to,” you counter. “Because it’s the only thing they’re allowed to celebrate.” Your voice softens, but only slightly. “If they had full plates, or secure roofs over their heads, they would celebrate that too. Harder. Longer.”
Silence stretches.
“We pour everything into the military,” you go on. “Into conquest. And we ignore the very center of Rome.” You place a hand against the stone railing. “Its people. That is what makes Rome—Rome.”
You turn back to him.
“I want Rome to survive,” you say quietly. “To prosper. As much as you do.”
Your hand lifts, hesitating only a fraction before you caress his cheek. The touch is gentle, grounding.
“And I want you to survive too,” you add. “Imagine their gratitude—not fear, not obedience, but loyalty. Imagine what kind of emperor they would remember.”
He does not pull away. He looks at the city again, then back at you—conflicted, thoughtful, unsettled.
Morning light filters softly through the curtains, warm against your skin. You stir—and find him already awake. Geta sits at the edge of the bed, robe drawn loosely around him, watching you with an intensity that fades the moment your eyes open.
“You’re awake,” he says quietly.
You smile, still half-lost to sleep. “I could say the same.”
“I have to prepare for a Senate meeting,” he continues, not hiding his reluctance. “I’ll return as fast as I can.”
You push yourself up slightly, resting on one elbow. “Don’t let me distract you from your imperial duties,” you say lightly—but sincerely. “Rome wouldn’t forgive me. And neither would I.”
He studies your face, then asks, more seriously than you expect, “Give me your word you’ll still be here when I return.”
You don’t hesitate. “I will.”
He exhales, tension easing just a little. “I dread those meetings,” he mutters. Then, with a crooked smile, “And I have no idea how I’m meant to face your father now, knowing he knows I woke beside his daughter.”
You laugh outright. “Try not to look guilty,” you suggest. “That might help.”
He snorts. “Impossible.”
Rising, he gestures toward the door. “Eat,” he says. “I’ll have the maids see to you—help you get ready.” He leans down and kisses you—unhurried, grounding—before pulling back. “Have a good morning,” he adds softly.
“And you,” you reply. “Try not to terrify the Senate too much.”
His smile lingers as he turns and leaves, duty calling him away.
You remain there a moment longer, listening to his footsteps fade—aware that for once, power and tenderness have shared the same room.
You make your intentions known early.
You tell the palace staff you’ll be spending the day in the library—and that they should spread the word. “So an emperor doesn’t spiral when he can’t find me,” you add lightly. They blink, then smile despite themselves. You thank them, sincerely, and disappear among the shelves.
Time becomes irrelevant.
You read—scroll after scroll, codex after codex—losing yourself in histories, philosophy, accounts of distant provinces you’ve never seen. The library is quiet in the way only knowledge can be, and for once, nothing intrudes.
Until footsteps echo at the threshold.
Geta enters without hesitation, as though there was never any doubt where you’d be. You close the book you’re holding and turn just as he reaches you.
“Caesar,” you greet warmly.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he pulls you close—arms firm around you, holding you as if you’ve been gone for months rather than hours. You laugh softly but don’t resist, resting your hands against him, allowing it.
“You’re dramatic,” you murmur.
“I had to endure the Senate,” he replies dryly. “That alone warrants compensation.”
You smile. “How did it go?”
“Well enough,” he says. “Caracalla threw a fit. I’m used to it. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“I’m glad,” you say honestly.
His gaze drifts past you to the table—now stacked with open scrolls and books, carefully arranged. “It seems,” he says, amused, “you’ve already made this library yours.”
You follow his gaze, unrepentant. “I didn’t want the knowledge to go to waste.”
He chuckles, softer this time. “I’m glad you found your place here.”
You look around the room—the towering shelves, the quiet reverence, the sense that this space, at least, welcomes you without question.
And when you look back at him, you realize something has shifted. Belonging.
You return home the next day to warmth instead of worry. Your father greets you first, pride plain on his face, joy unguarded. Your mother follows close behind, eyes bright with relief. For a moment, you feel almost absurdly normal—just a daughter coming home.
“What did I miss?” you ask lightly, setting aside your cloak.
Your father lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Yesterday,” he says, “the emperors agreed to halt further conquest efforts—at least for now—to focus on housing.”
You stop. “What?” The word slips out before you can contain it.
Delight blooms almost instantly, sharp and unexpected. “They did?”
“They did,” he confirms. “Redirecting resources inward. Repairs. Construction. Relief.”
You shake your head, stunned. “That’s—” You smile, unable to help it. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
Your mother studies you carefully. “Did Emperor Geta say nothing to you?”
“No,” you reply honestly. “He only said the meeting went well.”
Your father frowns slightly. “That’s unusual,” he admits. “He was the one who pushed hardest for it. Caracalla refused at first.”
Your mother’s lips curve into a teasing smile. “So,” she says, “what spell did you use?”
You roll your eyes. “None. I didn’t tell him to do anything.” You pause. “I only reminded him. I offered an argument.”
Your mother’s expression shifts—subtle, thoughtful.
“If that’s true,” she says slowly, “and he didn’t boast about it to you… didn’t even tell you…” She trails off, then nods to herself. “Then it wasn’t done to impress you.”
Your father looks at you now, seeing something new. “He must have genuinely thought it through.” The realization settles quietly in your chest. You didn’t persuade him with charm. You didn’t demand or manipulate. You spoke. He listened.
You feel something like hope—not just for Rome, but for the man who rules it, the man who you loved.
The warmth of the moment settles—and then something sharp follows it. You straighten slightly. “You should know,” you say carefully, “this doesn’t mean Father can use me as leverage.” You look between them. “I won’t betray Geta’s trust like that.”
Your father does not look offended. He looks thoughtful.
“I would never ask it of you,” he says at once. “It was never my intention.”
Relief loosens something in your chest. “I know,” you say quietly. “But I needed to say it.”
You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I’ll always be loyal to you,” you tell them both. “To this family.” Then you pause, breath steadying. “But Geta is…” You trail off, then try again. “He’s different. It’s a different kind of loyalty.”
Your father nods slowly, understanding settling in his expression. “There are many forms of loyalty,” he says. “The dangerous ones are the ones we refuse to name.”
Your mother watches you with gentle intensity, then smiles. “You’re choosing,” she says simply. “That matters.”
You draw in a breath. This is the moment you hadn’t realized you were bracing for.
“Then,” you ask, voice steady despite the weight of it, “do you both accept… the relationship I have with Emperor Geta?” You don’t dress it up. You don’t deflect. This is you confirming it—by your own words, at last.
They exchange a brief glance.
“Of course,” your father says without hesitation. “We trust your judgment.”
Your mother nods. “We always have.”
The simplicity of it nearly undoes you. You let out a slow breath, something close to a laugh. Whatever path you’re walking—dangerous, uncertain, tangled with power—you are not walking it alone. And that, you realize, is its own kind of strength.
You arrive at the palace a few days later while Geta is still occupied with his duties. The staff recognize you at once; no explanation is required. “Tell him I’ll be waiting in his chambers,” you say calmly. They bow and scatter, the message carried swiftly.
You step out onto the balcony, resting your hands on the stone railing as the city stretches below you. Rome feels different now—no less vast, but somehow quieter in its hunger.
Footsteps approach behind you.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” Geta says, entering the chamber. “But I’m not complaining.”
You chuckle, turning to face him. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
He joins you at the balcony.
“My father told me some wonderful news,” you say, watching his expression carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He knows exactly what you mean. “The halting of the conquest,” he says. “It wasn’t important.”
You arch a brow. “It was.”
He exhales, gaze drifting outward. “I didn’t do it for you,” he says firmly. “I didn’t want it to seem that way.” A pause. “You only offered an argument. A good one.” His jaw tightens slightly. “One that finally made me think—for once.”
You nod, understanding settling easily. “I never ordered you to do anything,” you say. “I know that.” You step closer, voice softening. “But I’m really glad you made that choice.” Your eyes meet his. “And I’m certain Rome—your people—are glad too.”
He studies you for a moment, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “You look pleased,” he says.
“I am,” you reply simply.
He looks quietly proud—not of conquest, not of power, but of restraint. He lets out a quiet laugh, leaning beside you against the balcony. “I’ve realized something,” Geta says. “Hearing my woman happy because of me might be a greater feeling than hearing of a successful conquest.”
You laugh, genuinely this time. “And knowing my man actually listened to me,” you add, “is a great feeling as well.”
He turns his head toward you, expression warm, almost boyish in its satisfaction.
“I’m free for the rest of the day,” he says. “We could spend it together.”
You tilt your head. “Haven’t we already spent quite a lot of time together?”
“Not enough,” he replies immediately.
You roll your eyes, fond despite yourself. “Of course.”
He watches you for a moment, then says, far too casually, “I should just make you my wife soon. Then you could be by my side all the time.”
You blink. Then scoff. “That sounds awful.”
He straightens slightly. “Careful,” he warns playfully.
You smile. “You’d have to face my father first.”
He waves a hand dismissively, clearly joking. “I’m the emperor. He couldn’t say no to me.”
You laugh again, shaking your head. “Try that approach and you’ll find yourself in a debate you won’t win.”
He grins at that—wide, unguarded. “You enjoy threatening me with your family far too much.”
“Someone has to keep you humble,” you reply lightly.
The city stretches endlessly below you, Rome breathing in stone and fire and people. For once, ambition does not weigh heavily between you—only time, shared and wanted. And neither of you seems eager to let it end.
Description: Eddie loves watching you getting ready. His full undivided attention is on you…until he finds a little Rubik’s cube on one of your shelves. Naturally, he just has to prove he can get it done under a minute.
Tags/warnings: just eddie being the fluffiest and coolest boyfriend ever, gets kinda suggestive.
Note: The moment I heard he could do this I knew I had to write a little something about it <3 and I’m never letting this go!! he really is the coolest person ever and I'd kiss him stupid too if he did this in front of me 🤍 enjoy!!
archive | masterlist
Eddie has priorities when he’s allowed in the sacred walls of your bedroom.
He’s leaning against the window he’d climbed through an hour ago. He came earlier just to ‘hang out’, but the truth is he just likes watching you with heart eyes as you stroll around the room getting ready, looking all happy and absolutely gorgeous in your date night outfit.
So, naturally, his eyes are fixed on you. Checking you out every time you turn around from your vanity to tell him something.
“Eds, does this sweater look good for where we’re going? I don’t wanna get cold,” you ask, brushing off some pieces of lint from the sleeves.
To be fair, Eddie thinks even a sack of potatoes would look hot as hell on you, but he settles for just nodding and smiling at you with all his adoration.
“It’s lovely, sweetheart,” he says, delighting in the way you beam at the compliment. “Not like I wouldn’t keep you warm if you need it, you know, boyfriend privileges and all…” he adds, shrugging nonchalantly but already wearing that smug grin that drives you mad.
“Imagine my relief,” you laugh, shaking your head, turning your back to him again to spritz some perfume.
He’s about to say something else, when something on your bookshelf catches his attention. A Rubik’s cube. Unsolved. Just sitting pretty on the shelf and practically calling for his name.
Eddie brushes past you to grab it. “Didn’t know you had one of these, babe,” he says, lifting it up in the air like he finally found something more interesting than the way your hair looks tonight.
You glance at him sideways. “Oh, yeah, I’ve been trying to practice with it, but…my brother won’t share his secrets. Guess I’ve given up on it,” you chuckle, more focused on choosing your accessories than the cheeky grin growing on his face.
Ah, a challenge.
“Just give me a few seconds, angel,” he drawls giddily, walking away and plopping onto your bed dramatically, fingers already working the color blocks.
The confidence in his voice makes you stop only for a moment from adjusting your necklace, but you don’t turn around as you shrug with a chuckle, “Sure. Knock yourself out, rockstar.”
The teasing tone and the way you don’t even look at him as you keep focused on your reflection only makes it better. God, it makes it so much better.
Oh, sweetheart. Do you not know who you’re talking to? He thinks. A Rubik's cube? Please.
Eddie’s been doing this for long enough–before he even picked up a guitar–that he’s already halfway through and his fingers practically vibrate from anticipation. He can’t wait to see your face.
Twist. Solved another color. Twist.
And when he clicks the final move that finishes the cube–30 seconds in mind you, but who’s counting?–he rises from the bed, quietly but triumphant, and places it on top of your vanity when you turn around to grab a bracelet.
You almost crash onto him, as he leans all smug against the wood. But this time is not his smile that knocks the air out of your chest, but the solved stupid little cube between you.
“Eddie…How–what??” You stammer in disbelief, as your eyes dart from the cube to his face multiple times, and he has to keep himself from laughing.
“The secret, sweetheart, is when people underestimate you,” he says, leaning closer to you. “Now would you close that pretty mouth so we can go?”
He expects a giggle. Maybe a playful shove to the shoulder. A “God, you’re annoying” or even a “Teach me, baby.” Which, he would’ve delighted to do of course.
But what he doesn’t expect is the way your eyes darken, and the flirty little smile that takes over your dumbfounded expression.
You drop the bracelet you were holding next to the cube, and Eddie barely has time to register anything before you’re dragging him by the collar of his leather jacket toward your bed. He lets out a surprised, cocky little laugh as you guide him to sit on the mattress.
“That’s all it takes, sweetheart?” He teases, already clocking your intentions as you climb onto his lap with enthusiasm. “A little plastic toy and you’re all worked up?”
You hum, unashamed. “Let’s say I have a thing for skilled hands,” you whisper, dragging your palms up his chest, batting your eyelashes at him. “We might be a little late...”
His grin widens when you roll your hips teasingly, feeling he’s just as worked up as you under his jeans. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he chuckles, hands landing tightly on your hips, anchoring you to his lap.
You shrug playfully, already melting under his touch. “I just want to know what else you are secretly amazing at…”
“Oh, angel…”
Thump. One second you are straddling him. The next, your back hits the bed as he flips you over before you can blink. Eddie hovers over you, his curly hair tickling your chin as he drags his fingers up your thigh teasingly.
“We won’t be late at all,” Eddie grins, oh he grins like the little devil he is. “I can get you there under a minute too.”
Wink.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 feedback is always appreciated ✨
sit next to me (please) [eddie munson x fem!reader]
you've always hated touch, avoided it ardently - until he came along.
warnings: use of she/her pronouns for reader, touch-avoidant reader, lots of yearning, talk of personal boundaries, readers becomes touch-starved for one (1) man, consumption of alcohol and weed, very slow burn.
word count: 11.2k+
a/n: this was originally titled "would that i" and i believe that i wrote it while listening to the hozier song, craving some super soft eddie all those moons ago. sorry that i tried to bury this one in the graveyard, y'all. i self-projected like all hell onto this reader as well lmao
dividers by @saradika-graphics
How one person can be such a walking contradiction, no one knows.
There is a softness to you. It bleeds out of you, endless and endearing to all those around you. The way you’ll converse with friends with shining eyes, the way you close doors with care, the way you treat your favorite novel like a newborn babe. With both all the inanimate and animate objects around you, your touch is ever warm, ever tender. Like the sweep of a thin curtain sheet in a summer's breeze, or plush grass beneath calves in a verdant spring. Your touch is something to experience, and that was where the dichotomy came into play.
Your touch was deeply sought after, and was a rarity all on its own.
You were amongst the softest people in your friend group, and yet, rarely did you find yourself to be particularly physical. Your petal affections were usually restricted to affirmative words and acts of kindness. Your friends knew that if they needed words of encouragement, you should be the first person they ran to. If they needed a hug, however, you were not.
It’s not because you were cruel or against the displays of physicality. You were just awkward with them. You would turn frigid over the brush of another’s skin against your own. You’d tried to change over the years, offering more goodbye hugs, more spontaneous playing with Nancy’s hair or high fives exchanged with Steve when you kicked one of the younger boys’ asses at the arcade. You tried. But it was hard — something had rooted itself in you long ago that continued to choke you and limit just how much you could handle when it came to another’s touch.
When Robin joined the group, she tried to warm you up more to it. Despite warnings from the group, whispers of she doesn’t like that, she’d continued to offer you her friendly physical affections as long as you reassured her it was fine. It worked, to an extent. You would now at least return the hugs received (even if it took you a few moments to do so), and you wouldn’t hold your breath at a friend’s head on your shoulder or lap. It was all baby steps — timid movements in the right direction, an accomplishment of letting your softness flow through your fingertips as you tried to adjust.
Argyle also tried to wear you down. A casual arm around your shoulder in greeting, frequently sitting close enough to you on movie nights that your side would press into his as you both enjoyed the pizza he’d brought. You still froze, still struggled to thaw, but you never shooed him away. You’d only exchange a secret smile with him, a private acknowledgement between you two that you knew what he was trying to do, and it was okay. Maybe it would work. Robin had, after all, made some baby steps. Maybe Argyle could help you take fuller strides. Maybe, just maybe, this could propel you.
The night you drunkenly braided Argyle’s hair had been a memorable success, but it never progressed past that. The roots remained, the timid natured reigned, and so your friend group simply celebrated what little victories they’d earned and moved on.
They’d accepted you may never be a touchy person. And that was fine — all that you lacked in physical touch, you more than made up for in every other avenue in expression of your fondness.
Until Eddie.
The moment he’d joined your circle, Argyle and Robin were already exchanging knowing looks. Eddie was touchy; the boy was practically starved for it. Overexcited hugs as greetings and the way his hand would reach for the nearest shoulder when he was overcome with joy for the small things. He couldn’t sit alone during movie nights, he’d often lounge with his legs stretched out over the nearest laps, he’d jokingly cuddle into people without a second thought.
And even more than that, his touch was wild and burning. Embers never to be contained. He was overwhelming, they all knew this and so did he, and they feared that if he attempted to embark on the same journey that they had that he may scare you away. That all the baby steps in the right direction would become leaps backward, sending you right back to where you started.
They couldn’t have been more wrong.
You’d first noticed that Eddie treated you differently, more restrained, during a movie night. Argyle on one side, a small empty space on the other. You’d witness everyone endure Eddie’s cinematic cuddles on multiple occasions, and amongst your roots had bloomed buds of wistfulness. A strange yearning every time he’d tuck his face into the neck of whichever friend was nearest, jokingly squealing how he needed them to protect him. They saw him as a pest (a lovable one, but still) — and you’d never wanted to be pestered more in your life.
That small space beside you was the last open seat. You thought surely, he’ll sit here. You were optimistic at the likelihood of Eddie sharing your space, of feeling his curls tickle your cheek and neck, at his breath on your shoulder. For the first time in your life, you were painfully giddy at the prospect of someone touching you. When he entered the room with Jonathan, carrying bowls of popcorn and loudly telling everyone to turn on the horror movie chosen for the night, your entire body had buzzed. You would have leapt off that couch and crawled inside his chest right then and there if it wouldn’t have been so startling to not only him, but your entire circle.
He took one look at the empty seat, a pitiful excuse for space, and had paled.
Please sit next to me. Please, please, ple-
“Spread your legs, Harrington,” Eddie had suddenly bursted out, throwing himself on the floor in front of Steve at the opposite end of the couch, “I’m using your knees as collateral from Krueger.”
He chose the floor over sitting at your side. And it ached.
You were unaware of the spiel that Robin and Argyle gave him, the staunch warnings from Nancy, the (sort of) joking threats from Steve and Jonathan. Eddie Munson had been warned off from touching you, was obeying those warnings, and it just left you miserable.
You didn’t get it. You didn’t understand — his choices nor your feelings.
But that night, the burn of Argyle’s arm brushing your shoulder from where it laid along the back of the couch became overwhelming. Until you’d scooted yourself into that space you’d carved out for Eddie, and pouted, like a goddamn child.
Argyle assumed it was just a bad day for touch.
No one realized the yearning blooming within you. You’d never wanted to take a baseball bat to Steve Harrington’s shins more than when you watched Eddie Munson wrap his fingers around them and bury his cheek against them.
The second time, it stung even more.
Months passed and the yearning never faded. You told yourself, over and over, this will pass. This is temporary, and it will pass.
But it didn’t. The more time you spent with Eddie amongst your friend group, the more you craved the same casual touch from him that he extended to everyone else. He wouldn’t even brush past you in enclosed spaces — he treated you like a traumatized dog, bound to snap and bite him if he made the wrong move.
You fucking hated it. You hated that you hated it.
You’d gone years without needing touch, so you cursed that unexpected sting in your chest that night at the bowling alley. When Eddie rolled his first strike (and reported it was his first ever), he’d hugged everyone.
Everyone but you.
When it came to what should have been your turn for a bear hug, your mind was buzzing with adrenaline. This was it. You pictured him wrapping his tattooed arms around your chest, lifting you at least a little bit, swinging you a little due to the force of his affection. You were convinced his high off of the strike was going to make him forget his mission to never touch you. Maybe he’d be embarrassed after. Maybe you could finally offer a small smile that said it’s okay, I’m okay with it.
He only stopped dead in his tracks, arms freezing for a second before they dropped, his lips pressing tightly together before he let them spread back into a smile, and only lifted his brows at you excitedly.
That’s it. That’s all.
Fuck.
“That was pretty metal, Eddie,” you tried to egg him on, bouncing on the soles of your shoes a little, practically begging him with your eyes to just hug you.
He’d been bashful, grinning and hiding his face behind a random curl, nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it was.”
If you’d known of the talks behind your back then that had ruined that moment, you would have wrecked absolute havoc on your friends. The need, the yearning, the want became impossible to handle. You used his strike as an excuse for him to cover your turn, saying he was on a roll right after exclaiming that if you didn’t go to the bathroom right that second, you’d piss yourself.
When you were alone in the stall, you’d silently screamed and tugged at the roots of your hair.
You wanted him to touch you. You wanted him to catch you off guard in larger than life hugs. You wanted to feel every emotion that thrummed beneath his skin and you wanted to breathe in his cologne, to finally know how sturdy his chest felt beneath his shirt and if his rings really were as cold as Nancy always complained.
You’d finally returned to the group, not able to have a full breakdown in the bathroom without worrying your friends with your absence. Subtly, you’d tried to tuck yourself into Robin’s side when you returned, sitting down a bit closer than you normally would have, just to fill the void. It was almost as if you were encouraging her to reach an arm around you, to let you curl up and press a cheek to her collarbone. Try to alleviate the need for human touch clawing its way through you.
“You okay, babe?” she questioned suspiciously when she felt you squished entirely up against her. There was plenty of space on the bench, there was no reason for your proximity.
No, you wanted to scream, I’m not okay. There is an itch beneath my skin right now that can only be scratched by the affectionate touches of the metalhead sitting across from us who’s joking with our friends, completely unaffected and unaware. He won’t even look me in the eye. And so now I’m trying to get you to just touch me, to just put a goddamn arm around me, to do anything to fill the gaping hole inside of me. But you can’t.
It was an unfair situation to every single party and bystander involved.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied.
You can’t, because the only person who can fill this gaping void inside of me is Eddie.
You were the farthest from fine. You were in flames. And no one would understand it, least of all you, because this wasn’t like you.
You didn’t crave touch. You didn’t need it to survive. So, what the hell was this that you were feeling?
The craving for Eddie’s touch evolved into something more, and that’s when you knew that you were surely in trouble.
Audible denial only worked for so long. Festering, longing, and yearning could only be withheld for so long until suddenly, with your mind on fire and your bones aching to the core, you realized that it was more than wanting Eddie to reach out for you. The want became a two way street. More often than not, you find your hands to be fists at your side, shaking with the effort to not bridge the gap.
After a year of friendship, he had had no choice but to occasionally brush past you. Touches that must have been fleeting to him, but lingered for you. They’d settle into your skin, tender like a fresh bruise, ghosting over you at night when you couldn’t sleep. It was more than just touch, at this point. You wanted everything from Eddie. The denial of his touch had led to you missing out on more than just hugs and movie night cuddles — Eddie didn’t joke with you as much as he did the others, didn’t always turn to you in crowded rooms for comfort, wouldn’t call you up if he was up late and bored like he would Nancy, Steve, Robin, Argyle, fucking everyone in Hawkins except you. The distance was unbearable.
Because you did. You did look for him at every quaint hang out. You did seek him out in every room you entered and you did resist the urge to call him when sleep evaded you. You could imagine his voice over the line, a lullaby over the receiver as he’d ramble about his day. It was like a poison, infecting those roots you’d long since made friends with rather than try to dig up.
You were fucked. Plain and simple. You had a big, fat crush on Eddie, and for once in your life, you’d learned of the panging hunger to be touched.
“Does Eddie have a girlfriend?” you asked as you sat with Robin at a diner, having completely zoned out with the conversation between her and Steve, lost in your daydreams, “Or boyfriend? Just- Is he single?”
Both of your friends went dead silent, staring at you in awe.
Robin cleared her throat, but remained choked up until Steve spoke, “Uh, yeah. He’s single. Why?”
The way your eyes darted down to the table of the booth you three occupy gave it away.
Robin suddenly squealed, “Oh my gosh! You have a crush on him!”
“Do not!”
“Oh, you so do!” she grinned wildly, leaning in close, “Tell us everything — now.”
“Eddie?” Steve’s nose scrunched up, “Really?”
“I don’t have a crush on him!” you uselessly defended yourself, “I just- Look, no, I know that look. You can’t tell him or meddle, Robin.”
“How would I tell him or meddle if you don’t have a crush on him?”
Steve was still confused, and Robin’s eyes glittered with mischief. You would have been better off keeping your mouth shut.
You noticed the way Steve had gone silent, pointedly sipping on his coke rather than looking you in the eyes. As if he had something to say.
“What is it?” you asked him, furrowing your brows, already defensive. A stark contrast to the light-heartedness you usually treat your friends with, “You’ve got something to say. Say it.”
“I just…” Steve sighed, looking off into the distance, “I don’t know. It’s a weird pairing, y’know?”
Your stomach threatened to sink. “What does that mean?”
“You two are just… different,” he continued on, and your stomach really did sink. Right along with your heart, “I mean, he’s really big on physical touch — it’s definitely his love language. And you…”
You don’t like being touched. You actually hate it. Avoid it ardently.
The unspoken ending to that sentence could have shattered your bones that day. You knew. You knew.
You stayed silent, unsure of what else to say. You couldn’t find the words to explain the yearning that invaded your chest all those moons ago, you couldn’t physically bring their hands to your chest and force them to feel the hunger that had begun to eat you alive. You couldn’t scream at your friends, I can change! I can change! I can change!
“I think they’d make a cute couple,” Robin finally broke the tense silence. Steve looked a bit regretful, but you both knew he was right, “Besides, touching is overrated.”
To emphasize her point, she scooted away from Steve until she sat on the very edge of the vinyl seat they shared, a narrow air of separation between them.
You smiled and laughed, and so did Steve, but the fact of the matter still remained.
Your roots have been there since the beginning of time. And maybe, they ran so deeply that you were a fool for thinking you could ever excavate them.
“I need your help.”
Robin looks up at you shocked. You’d never looked quite so determined, so one-track minded as you did in this moment, right in Steve Harrington’s kitchen.
“You need my help?” she nearly yells, fumbling with the empty bowl she was about to fill with chips, “Are you sure you need my-“
“Positive,” you cut her off, “I need your help because you didn’t laugh in my face when I said I liked Eddie.”
Her shock fades, an awful trace of pity in her eyes as she looks at you, “Oh, hon — Steve wasn’t laughing at you. He’s just a dingus, y’know? Doesn’t always think before he speaks, but he has the best of intentions-“
You wave a hand, physically dispersing her words into the air. That conversation at the diner last week didn’t phase you anymore. In fact, it fuels you the more you think about it.
“I know, I know,” you reassure her, walking closer so you can lower your voice, “But he was right. And I’ve been thinking a lot about it.”
“That sounds dangerous. Whatcha’ been thinkin’ about?”
This is it. Now or never. Once you say it outloud, even to just Robin, it was cemented in fact.
“It’s not that I don’t like being touched,” you blurt out, heart racing at the admission, “I just… I don’t know. I’m not used to it. It wasn’t something normal growing up. And… okay, no, this is not meant to be a depressing deep dive into my childhood,” you pause and scowl at the way her face contorts with even more pity, “I’m fine. There’s nothing to be done to change what’s already passed. My point is, I don’t want to stay this way. I don’t want people treating me delicately. I’m tired of you guys not feeling like you can just- fuck, I don’t know, hug me. Like you can throw an arm around me while we joke around like you do Jonathan. Like you can’t take the seat beside me at the booth instead of Steve. Like you can’t be clingy and beg me to play with your hair like you do Argyle when everyone’s smoking.”
Throughout your speech, the pity transforms. With each word, you only grow more passionate, because it dawns on you just how much you miss out on. Your friends love you, you love them — that’s not up for debate. But sometimes, you see those small touches between them, and you feel like an outsider looking in.
“I know I freeze up and I know I get awkward,” your voice finally chokes up, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to silently curse yourself for finally letting all these larger than life emotions wrap around you, “I know you guys think I’m better off if you leave it be. But I’m not. I’ll never get over it if you guys don’t push me. I’ll never get used to it if no one ever touches me.”
“We know!” Robin starts enthusiastically, reassuredly, “We know that! And me and Gyle really do try, but we just don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“
“Do it,” you stop her in her tracks, eyes not wavering from hers, “Make me uncomfortable. Put your head on my shoulder, even if it makes my breathing stop for a couple seconds. Grab my hand when we cross a street, even if my palm’s clammy. I can’t grow without a little discomfort, Robs.”
There’s a standstill in the air. A realization settles deep in your bones — growth. That’s what you were craving. Eddie had opened up something entirely new for you, cracked open an age old wound in your chest you’d been unaware of. It left behind a hole, and you’d been so preoccupied with yearning to fill it, you hadn’t seen that the solution was the most obvious one: you had to outgrow the hole. Not fill it with others, but with yourself. You couldn’t live forever as nothing more than roots, buried deep beneath soil and always hiding in their solitude. Eventually, you had to bloom.
“Okay,” Robin nods slowly, taking in your words and the deep breaths that are following. It’s obvious how much this means to you, how much it’s been bothering you, “You’re right. But… you’ve just gotta promise us, if we get overbearing, that you tell us-“
“Not just you and Argyle,” your mouth goes dry. Because this is where the road was leading the entire time, this was the end destination in mind for the entire drive of this conversation, “I want… everyone to do it. I know Nance, Jon, and Steve aren’t as big on the whole touchy thing as you and him but…” your voice finally breaks, and you can’t look her in the eyes now as you whisper, “Eddie is.”
There’s a light behind Robin’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, but you can’t even bear witness to it, eyes zeroed in on the shiny packaging of the chips on the counter, “So this really is about Eddie?”
You could keep denying it. Pretend like the boy hadn’t watered the first sprout that caused this entire revelation, like he hadn’t been the first to shine a light on all the things you’d ignored for years. But he was. He had built a fire inside of you without even realizing it, just by tending his own embers.
You take a deep breath, “It’s like it burns him to touch me. Even just shuffling past me. I don’t think he’s ever sat beside me when we all hang out. I don’t… I don’t even know what he really smells like, Rob. Besides the weed and cigarettes when he smokes with you guys. How fucked is that? I’ve known him for a year and I couldn’t even tell you what kind of cologne he wears. Isn’t that… that’s weird, right?”
“You know the things that matter, though, don’t you?”
It hadn’t occurred to you, that perspective on the matter. “I… guess?”
“Tell me about him. Tell me about Eddie.”
The others will be worrying about how long you two are taking in here soon. Eddie will probably be arriving with Argyle soon. But Robin waits patiently until your eyes finally find hers again, and she lifts her brows, encouraging you to tell her about your mutual friend as if she’s never met him.
And so you do.
Once you start rattling off the minute things you noticed, they pour out of you, watering away at that once withered crush. You tell her about his favorite music, an easy thing to know about Eddie when he’s so loud and passionate about it. You tell her the first song he ever learned on guitar, Little Things by Willie Nelson. It had been encouraged by how much his Uncle Wayne enjoyed the singer. And he’d learned it on a worn acoustic guitar from his uncle. He’d never even performed it in front of the man, always either too choked up or too embarrassed for an audience. You tell her how his favorite subject in school was history, because it always gave him ideas for his DnD campaigns. His favorite color is red, deep and pulsing and eye-catching. The same shade of his electric guitar, lovingly nicknamed Sweetheart, but actually named Elvira. He’s a picky eater, probably the pickiest of your group, and yet also will eat just about anything the moment you propose it as a dare. He knows what he should do to take care of his curls, he just doesn’t, probably due to preferring to take his showers at night. He’s complained of falling asleep with wet hair more times than you can count. He had a lisp as a little kid. He buys a new mug for Wayne every Christmas, and the man acts surprised every year, as if he never saw it coming. He likes sour candy best. He hates movies where the dog dies. He loves musicals, and he would sooner die than admit that to the rest of the group.
All devilish details that Eddie had revealed to you at some point or another, over drinks and over quick cigarettes. Over random bursts of trust and rare moments alone.
By the time you’re done with your rant, Robin is just smiling.
“God, you really like him,” she murmurs, looking across your forlorn face, as if each piece of him that you’d handed over willingly had actually been forcibly torn from you. As if it hurt to share him.
You take another deep breath, and you can breathe a little bit easier, but you still feel the wisps of your roots still dug stubbornly into surrounding ground, “Yeah. I really like him.”
A plan is devised. It turns out Robin was the perfect person to approach about this, because she has no shame — she’s willing to seem like a ‘bad friend’ for the sake of helping you reach your goal.
The first step is to guarantee that no matter what, Eddie sits next to you during the movie.
The best way to accomplish this is to not make it a seat only beside you as you had that first time he’d rejected you, but between you and another person. Because then, if Eddie was still adamant on not indulging you, he’d have someone else to cling to. For now.
The second step would be for you to leave for the bathroom right before you all started the movie. Leave the room, leave all your friends to be gathered without you so that Robin could make an executive call with them all. She would bring up the fact that they all should try to push you a bit more with the entire notion of physical touch, that it’d be good for you, that you’d brought it up casually rather than as dramatically as you really had.
During her explaining of this part of the plan, you discovered the conversations already had behind closed doors about this topic and you.
You couldn’t even blame your friends. You were irritated, but it would pass. They couldn’t change it now, but Robin could help undo what those seemingly beneficial conversations had done. The distance it had created between you and Eddie.
“Who should be on the other side of Eddie?” you ask once you two have your plan and full bowls of snacks.
“Me,” Robin declares, “I have a plan there, too. We’ll sit side by side at first, take up enough space on the couch so that Eddie thinks he doesn’t have a seat. Just trust me and play along when the time comes, yeah?”
You nod.
There’s a knock at the door, perfect timing as you and Robin sat down the bowls of snacks on the table, ignoring Steve’s expected complaint of how long you two took. He runs off, going to let Eddie and Argyle in, as Robin takes her seat on the couch.
Nancy and Jonathan are curled up on the loveseat. Steve had been sitting at the end of the couch that normally could easily seat four. Argyle’s favorite recliner was wide open, and you both knew he’d be jumping into it once he came to the basement. Everything was set perfectly.
Robin manspreads, an entertaining sight but one that forces you to try and do the same, lounging across the remaining space of the couch as casually as possible to make it seem as though another person could absolutely not fit.
You pray to God her plan works.
“Hello, brochachos!” Argyle yells as a greeting when he bounds down the stairs, immediately tossing a box of snow caps in Nancy and Jonathan’s directions before doing exactly as you and Robin had predicted, “Oh, fuck yeah! You guys saved my favorite chair for me!”
He specifically winks your way, as if you had been the one to do so. And you had, technically, but you appreciated that small effort to greet you specifically.
You smile at him, shaking your head lightly as he throws himself down roughly. You can only imagine how on board he’ll be with Robin’s suggestion.
Argyle’s energy had you wondering if the boys had even smoked as they usually did before arriving, his eyes hardly pink rimmed and his smile not quite as dopey as usual. It became clear that they had smoked, but one of them had likely babysat their shared joints, when Eddie descends into the doorway behind Steve.
He’s all half-lidded eyes, lazy grin, comfort wrapped up in a worn band shirt and sweats.
Yes, you wanted to break this stubborn boundary of yours with all your friends, but as you earned your first glance from Eddie, you knew that he would be the greatest reward. You don’t even care if the crush aspect of the entire ordeal never comes to fruition; you’d just like to imagine burying your face into his warm chest like you are now, and not feel weird about it. Not worry if he’ll push you away or be uncomfortable, or taken off guard, by it.
“Hey, losers,” he greets in a rough voice, no doubt gravelly from how much he might have smoked.
You share a quick look with Robin, worried. High Eddie was always extra affectionate, but wouldn’t it be wrong to use that against him? Maybe you two should try another night, postpone the plan for another movie nigh-
You hadn’t even noticed that Steve had taken his original seat back and Eddie was glancing around the seating arrangement, seemingly lost, until Robin was suddenly shoving at you, “Babe, I love you, but scooch. C’mere, Eds. I’m in a cuddly mood.”
And oh, that hurt. Which is why you suppose she didn’t tell you what exactly this part of the plan was. That hurt needed to break through your face, even if only for a moment, so that when you left the room, it made sense to discuss.
Argyle catches that micro-expression the moment it graces your features. Even furrows his brows in response. Eddie even opens his mouth to argue, but you move too quickly for anyone else to comment.
You fumble with pulling up your body, scooting over as she requested until there was an Eddie-sized space left between the two of you. When Robin opens her arms wide, Eddie has no room to argue.
“Well, if you insist, Buckley,” he teases, stepping carefully, hesitating for a second as he glances back down at you. Even through pink tinged eyes, you catch a flash of concern. “I’m always down for some cuddles with my favorite girl.”
And that also stings, reverberates like a slap to the face that had landed just a little too harshly.
Robin scoffs, muttering a stern correction of, “Platonic cuddles, dipshit,” just as Nancy also laughs from where she’s tangled with Jonathan.
“Didn’t you say I was your favorite when I bought you a coke last week?”
He probably did. He constantly made those jokes with Robin and Nancy. He never made those jokes with you.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about respecting boundaries for Eddie. Maybe he just didn’t like you-
“You both wound me,” he sighs out as his body lands directly in that space you and Robin had organized, clearly favoring being close to Robin so that his thigh wouldn’t rub against yours, “I’ve officially changed my mind.”
It almost happens in slow motion. Slowly, carefully, he lazily turns his head towards you, lips half lilted as his eyes sparkle in your direction, tongue darting out between his teeth before he drawls, “You’re my favorite, now.”
For the first time in a year, you’re very clearly smelling his cologne, and the look in his eyes is setting you ablaze. The softness you are so used to bargaining out is being returned, an expression so delicate being aimed at you that you don’t know what to do with it. Senses overwhelmed with something woodsy, something musky, and something yearning.
“How charming,” Nancy muses, leveling you with a soft and amused look. Not nearly as gooey as the look Eddie had given you, but still adoring, “Don’t listen to him. Clearly, he says that to everyone.”
“Yeah, but I mean it this time,” he argues.
“Sure, you do,” Steve laughs from his end of the couch, “She’s not gonna go grab you a soda just because you’re kissing ass.”
“Hey, you know what?” Argyle sits up in his chair, leaning towards you and pointing his finger in your direction, “You really are my favorite, and I’m a man of my word.”
“I’m not getting you a soda, either, Gyle,” you flatly joke, narrowing your eyes.
He pours briefly, but shrugs, “Fair enough. I meant it, but fair enough.”
On a limb, you stretch out a hand, and deliver a gentle smack at his hand still hanging limply in the air between you two. Robin is watching on proudly as Argyle looks taken back.
“Shut up,” you giggle, shimmying in your seat to get more comfortable.
Eddie looks wildly around the room, completely stunned, wearing a look of betrayal, “What, you guys don’t believe me? She really is my favorite!”
Lord only knows you were melting into the cushion of that couch. You weren’t used to this amount of attention, certainly not from Eddie, and certainly not so clearly in front of your friends.
If you could hardly handle his words of affection, how would you handle his touches of affection?
“I believe you,” you finally say. Something in your mind screams at you, tells you now is your chance. All you’d have to do is shift your knee, and you could bump it to his in a joking manner. The perfect excuse. The perfect guise. You stare at your two knees for an eternity, though, and before you know it, the moment has passed.
The ache echoes out across the hollow of every bone inside your body as he smiles, satisfied with your response before everyone moves forward with conversation.
You hate yourself. You should have bumped your knee to his.
You don’t hear a single word exchanged amongst your friends. All you can hear is the roar in your ears that scorns you for another missed opportunity.
Now is as good as ever to enact the second phase of the plan.
“I’m gonna head to the bathroom before we start the movie,” you announce, standing a bit suddenly but trying to keep your voice even so it doesn’t seem to Eddie that his words had made you uncomfortable. They didn’t. They’d only fed that hunger, making you suddenly need more. It was your own stupid indecisiveness, what you didn’t do, that was upsetting you.
Robin looks up knowingly, “Sounds good. Don’t miss me too much, babe.”
Babe. Another thing your friends sometimes didn’t include you in — all the pet names, all the terms of endearment. It makes you smile.
If anyone thought you might be rushing out due to the entire conversation that had just taken place, that smile would erase all their fears.
“I always miss you, baby,” you cockily reply, making a joking kissy face in her direction to seal the flirtatious manner of the interaction.
Steve looks pleasantly surprised, Argyle is clearly mentally cheering you on, and Nancy looks plainly proud.
But Eddie is looking up at you, doe eyes almost… sad.
You try not to think of it too hard.
You try to take your time once you reach the top of the stairs, rushing up but slowing as you walk to the bathroom.
You didn’t really need it, obviously, and you highly doubt anyone will be listening in on your footsteps above once Robin proposes the entire debate of it treating you so fragile anymore. In the middle of the hallway, your mind is made up. Instead of continuing on to that bathroom, instead of hiding away and feeding into the panic attack currently brewing despite your full faith in Robin, you retract to the kitchen.
This is what you wanted. You want more than to just offer soft words and soft motivation, you want more than to be seen as the friend with a heart of gold, as the pedestal Argyle constantly puts you up on so eloquently. You want to be felt as it, too.
To give Nancy well-deserved hugs when another one of her publications receive recognition, to give Steve’s hand a firm squeeze when he’s confiding in you about his home situation and the loneliness that follows. You want Robin to hide her face in your shoulder for safety during jumpscares and you want to occupy that recliner with Argyle when you both decide to succumb to snacking while your friends endlessly debate where you should all have dinner, making whispers of commentary jokes before Jonathan would decide to sit on the arm and join you two in the audience as he gave up the battle for Nancy’s sake.
You want Eddie to touch you. You don’t even care how at this point. You want brushing shoulders and knocking knees, you want knuckles bumping into each other on the street and you want him to cling to you when it gets late and he’s tired, but not too tired to keep himself surrounded with his favorite people. You want to truly be his favorite. Favorite person, favorite hug, favorite conversation.
God, you want it so bad that your seams nearly burst. Your composure nearly breaks.
What if he doesn’t want that?
The moment your footsteps on the stairs have vanished, Robin springs into action.
“Okay, group meeting,” she says, clapping to garner everyone’s attention. Eddie jumps slightly at her side, Steve offers her a side-eye, and Nancy shifts her entire body in Jonathan’s arms to look at her fully, “We need to talk about her.”
She doesn’t even have to say your name.
Unfortunately, Argyle takes it the wrong way, nearly leaping out of his chair, “Her? Nah, dude, we need to talk about you. Why would you shove her around like that? I bet if you had just asked politely, she would have cuddled yo-“
“Oh, I know she would have.”
Everyone’s attention is now sharper on Robin.
“Yeah? Then why did you just toss her to the side for Ed-“ Argyle starts up again, and once more, Robin is quick to interject.
“Because she needs the push,” a slight lie, but small enough in the grand scheme of things, “We’ve gotta stop treating her like she’ll shatter if we touch her.”
Nancy finally moves to full sit up, face full of concern, “Robin, I get what you’re saying, but she’s never been the touchy type. And that’s okay. We’ve never minded.”
“What if she minds?” Robin persists. She hasn’t failed to notice Eddie’s silence, and turns to him, focusing her attack and determination, “Have you ever even sat beside her before tonight?”
Eddie’s eyes widen, “You guys told me to take it easy at first! And I did, but I- it would just be weird now to change, wouldn’t it?”
It’s in the way he says it. Not just as if he’s keeping your best interests in mind, but as if it pains him to say it. As if the worst possible thing would be to admit that things should stay the same.
It’s Robin’s in. A falter in his cool guy exterior he only seems to care about maintaining for you.
“She wants it to change,” Robin quietly confesses. Another half-truth, “Me and Argyle never fully got through to it, but we also… we just gave up on it. Like he was saying, if I pushed tonight, she would have said yes. But Eddie has never pushed her.”
“Where are you going with this, Robs?” the one person who could blow this speaks up. Steve, the man who had been there at the diner and heard your practical confession to liking Eddie.
Don’t blow this, Dingus.
“I think we take the leash off of wolf boy, here,” she jabs a thumb in Eddie’s direction, “Lay him on her.”
“I don’t want to make her uncomf-“
“You won’t. And if you do,” Robin remembers your speech from earlier. Those wet eyes and the way your voice cracked at the prospect of growth, “It’ll be good for her.”
He’s not convinced.
So Robin pushes, because she made a promise to you to aid in this self-gardening journey, and damn it she was going to keep her promise, “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. You being the dog in this metaphor might be the wrong choice, considering how she looks like a kicked puppy every time you don’t sit next to her.”
A bit harsh, but the truth. You were always brimming with such hope when Eddie entered the room, only to wilt when he kept up the same exhausting routine of avoiding you.
“She does?” he’s clueless, a goddamn blinded fool, “I- Gyle, does she really?”
Eddie looks to his friend for backup, but Argyle only shrugs from his seat, “If you don’t give the poor dudette a hug tonight, I am. If Birdie here is being honest, and she wants it, then I’m first in line. She’s way gentler on my scalp than all of you.”
“You just want your hair braided by her again,” Jonathan pipes up finally.
“So?” Argyle defends, “That shit stayed. My little skittish friend does not come to play when it has to do with hair.”
They all fall silent, holding their breaths and listening for a moment if you’re heading back down to them.
The house is a ghost town from above.
“I’m just saying,” Robin finally whispers, keeping her tone low and gentle, almost defeated, “We can’t put her in a box. She told me she’d like the change, so I’m changing. She’s a big girl. She can handle it. Besides, she smells really good.”
Robin gives Eddie a pointed look at that, and sees the pink that rushes over the bridge of his nose and up his neck.
You had no idea. No fucking idea. But she did. She’d watched Eddie withhold himself, she’d caught the longing glances, and she’d listened to his endless rambles about you.
“Okay,” is his quiet reply just before your footsteps sound on the stairs.
When you appear in the doorway, you’re holding three cans of coke.
“I bring gifts for taking so long,” you offer, holding up one of the cans as you cradle the other two in the ditch of your arm, extending it to Argyle as you pass by him.
He takes it greedily, appreciation loud and unfiltered, “Thank you dudette! At least someone here loves me.”
You turn your eyes wide as moons, almost comical, fighting back a smile, “Oh? Were they being jerks while I was gone?”
“You have no clue.”
A warning glare comes from Robin.
Even if you were in on the plan, it was dangerous territory.
When you approach the couch, Robin sees the first sign of the plan working when Eddie doesn’t shift out of the comfortable position he’d sunk into. He isn’t jumping to leave an entire cavern for you. He’s leaving just enough space for you, enough that when you sit, you’re closer to him than you were before the bathroom.
Baby steps. Silently, she is screaming at him to keep it up, all while your brain bursts into flames.
He didn’t flinch away. He didn’t shift to be further from me.
Whatever Robin had said was working.
“Movie time?” you ask as you settle into that comfortable space, the unfamiliar yet indulgent warmth of Eddie’s body heat now wrapping around you.
Your roots stretch, apprehensive, but desperate for that sunlight.
It’s one of your group’s usual scary movies. You enjoyed horror, and could handle your own pretty well. If you ever got too scared, you’d usually cling to pillows or blankets that you were left with rather than another person as the rest of the group would. But there were no pillows, no blankets, no security cushions aside from the boy sitting between you and Robin.
When you hand him his coke, his fingers brush yours, and you don’t pull back immediately. Baby steps.
When the first tense moment appears on screen, Eddie mutters a soft “shit” and jumps a little, leaning more into your space rather than Robin’s, lifting some of his curls to curtain his eyes.
You glance at him rather than the screen, narrowing your eyes in the dark, “Does that really work?”
Eddie looks at you quickly at your whisper. Normally, everyone scolded him to be quiet during movies, never entertaining his small comments.
You weren’t the only one taking baby steps tonight.
Tentatively, he drops the curl blocking his vision, before grabbing a thicker one, boyish grin as he offers it to you shyly, “Wanna find out?”
“She’s here!” Argyle shouts as he opens the front door to you, hardly giving you warning before he’s leaping forward and gathering you into his arms, nearly crushing you into a hug.
Warmth. Tender. Softness.
Argyle’s hugs are always bone-crushing, and always welcome. And they always linger as he leaves his arm around your shoulder to guide you into the foyer and shut the door behind you two.
“She is?” another voice shouts as she comes barreling out into the entryway, greeting you with an excited squeal as she rushes forward to pull you out of Argyle’s arm.
Robin.
She’s dressed up for the night — an impressively well put together Robin outfit, complete with yellow spanx and a black mask across her eyes.
“Jesus, Robs,” you laugh as she tightens her arms around you, almost as if she was trying to crush any bones that survived Argyle, “I can’t breathe.”
“Don’t care,” she mumbles into your shoulder before pulling back, “Nice costume.”
A bat onesie. Cheesy, but comfortable, and warm enough to battle against Hawkin’s autumn chill. It’s even complete with a headband that has two small, perky ears attached to it, peeking out between tufts of your hair atop the crown of your head.
“Thanks. Wait till you see the killer fake teeth I packed.”
“Eds will be pissed if your fangs are better than his,” Argyle notes as he starts to walk into the living room. You follow, Robin close behind, to find the rest of your friends all waiting.
A scary movie is already on the TV, a classic slasher revealed by the high pitched scream that rings out into the room from it. There’s a few indoor decorations about — plastic jack-o-laterns and fake webs that will no doubt give Steve hell when he tries to take them back down — and you can see a punch bowl on the counter by where Nancy and Jonathan reside.
And the man of the hour is lounging on the couch, a high mountain of pile already in front of him on the table as he munches on a family pack of candy corn.
“Eddie, isn’t the candy supposed to be for trick or treaters?” you question teasingly as you make a beeline for him. His previous focus on the movie vanishes, full attention now on you.
He’s dressed like a vampire. If the cape didn’t give it away, that small blood line marked from his lower lip in a shade of lipstick you would guess he borrowed from Nancy does.
“I am a trick or treater, sweetheart,” he retorts, popping more candy into his mouth for emphasis, “Besides, Harrington has full-sized candy bars.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He snaps his jaw closed jokingly, the clicking of his teeth making you huff out a laugh as you collapse next to him.
That woodsy cologne is there, one you’re so happily familiar with these days.
Unlike Argyle and Robin, he doesn’t greet you with an overwhelming hug, or palpable excitement. His way of greeting is more subtle. His arm slowly lifts, going to rest on the back of the couch behind you, but quickly falling to your shoulders when you waste no time scooting closer into the space he’s opened up in his side.
You fit kind of perfectly. Like a void always meant to be filled.
“So, Dracula,” you hum, warning your beating heart to slow from its racing when his palm cradles your shoulder farthest from him, “What are we watching?”
Baby steps were a thing of the past for most of the group. They had become great leaps of faith after that fateful movie night. The way Argyle and Robin had crushed you was normal now. Passing touches and flirtatious jokes were regular between you and your friends. They had seen your boundary for what it really was, a roadblock, and bit by bit, they had broken it down.
Eddie’s hesitation isn’t because he can no longer touch you. His hesitation whispered of something more, something different, something still delicate. Just as delicate as the fragile wings of the butterflies in his stomach that fluttered to life every time you entered a room.
They weren’t new. And you still didn’t know they existed — that they had always existed. From the first moment he’d met you.
“One of the Halloween movies,” he tells you, leaning down to keep the conversation more private.
You felt his breath on your ear. A new touch that happened more frequently now. One you sought after almost as vehemently as you had those first few points of contact.
“Oh?” you play along, staying hushed, “How fitting.”
“Very.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t make them put on a vampire movie. You know,” you cut off, and motion to his costume. You bump your knee to his as you do it, “Given your attire.”
“Zee night iz ztill young,” he puts on an obnoxious accent meant to mimic Dracula himself, pronouncing all his ‘s’s as ‘z’s.
You only smile, wide and generous and soft and tender, before you lift a hand to punch at the flared collar of his cape. You don’t even hesitate, not even when your knuckles brush the side of his neck.
“Pretty killer, right?” he jokes, trying to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.
“Very,” you hum in approval, hand dropping as you lean back into the heavy warmth of his arm around you. You almost reach the hand up to his bottom lip to trace that makeup there, slightly smeared and edges rugged already from his snacking, but you do withhold yourself at that line, “I like the makeup.”
“Yeah?” he lights up with pride, “You know, I did the eyeliner all by myself.”
You squint pointedly, leaning in just an inch closer to inspect the feathered charcoal on his waterline, “Really? Very impressive, Eds.”
“Stop flirting,” Steve demands as he leaves the kitchen, “You’re going to give him a bigger head than he needs.”
You both break apart slowly, letting space settle between you two and slowly fading back into the real world and out of that little bubble between you two. Eddie’s arm remains — his palm never leaves you, going so far as to give you a playful squeeze as his finger trails down your bicep.
A pathway of spring roses feels as though they bloom along that trail. Vibrant, full of life, open to possibility. When it came to you, Eddie had one Hell of a green thumb.
“Stop ruining the fun, big boy,” Eddie looks up at your friend, poking his tongue out as his nose scrunches. Adorable. Painfully so.
Steve is dressed as Batman. His mask is discarded somewhere on the counter beside the punch bowl.
“We have plenty of time for fun,” Steve waves off the comment, coming to stand in front of the TV with his hands on his hips, “Am I forgetting anything? I have candy for any kids that come knocking, we’ve got punch thanks to Nance, I ordered our pizza-“
“You better have ordered one with pineapple,” Eddie interrupts, tilting his head sideways in your direction, temple brushing against one of your fake ears, signaling how it was your favorite. You burrow yourself deeper into his touch.
Steve subtly ignores him, “-I have the big speakers set up if we wanna listen to any music in the backyard. Am I missing anything?”
Predictably, he wasn’t. Steve always thought of everything.
The last few months had been nice. Finally getting to enjoy Eddie’s touch had been more than you ever planned for, reveling in the way the boy was so gentle with you even as he finally gave in. Once he started, it was as if you both could finally breathe. A weight had lifted from Eddie’s shoulders just from the simple adjustment of now getting to sit beside you at every function, his bouncing knee always pressing into yours. It had become a silly tradition for him to offer to share that wild head of hair during scary movies, demanding if someone else tried to sit beside you during horror movies in particular that you needed him and his curls to protect you.
You had gone from yearning for touches, yearning for that contact, to your friends arguing over who would be indulged that night.
They had taken it slower than you thought you wanted (save for Robin), but in the end, it had all worked out. You didn’t freeze anymore. Your aversion to touch had slowly, slowly, withered away with each hug, with each clasp of their hands on you, with each casual cuddle session they pulled from you. You no longer felt like an anomaly. And it wasn’t that your friends had ever meant to make you feel like an outsider, but it felt like finally being let into a club you’d mourned being left out of for years.
The day that Eddie had grabbed your hand during a casual conversation amongst everyone while out for lunch, letting his thumb trail back and forth over your knuckles in a soothing motion, you’d nearly cried.
Something so delicate yet so telling. A quiet action of affection you’d spent so long telling yourself you couldn’t have. Back rubs during hugs, letting Argyle braid your hair in return, resting your head onto Robin’s shoulder instead of only vice versa. They were all things you’d denied yourself of for so long. You regret it, but you couldn’t change anything in the past, only the now.
And now, you had the boy who had first sprouted such affectionate want within you wrapped up against you, leaning into you for comfort as he started to ignore Steve again.
“Wanna go out back and smoke while he mother hens?”
He doesn’t have to ask you twice.
You both slip away out the back door unnoticed, a new banter sparking up between Robin and Steve being enough distraction to allow it. Eddie wastes no time digging into his jean pockets once he’s outside, throwing the cape out widely before he pulls out his pack of cigarettes.
“Want one?” he offers, flipping it open in your direction.
You just smile, shaking your head, “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”
You’d never really said that before to anyone in your group, only politely declining up until now. A small detail, but Eddie looks pleased to learn it all the same.
“Huh,” he curiously hums, pulling his own cigarette from the carton before tucking it back away, “I never knew that.”
“I’ve never really told anyone,” you shrug.
“It is some big secret?”
“Nope.”
“Hmph.”
This hum is muffled by the tip of the filter in his mouth, his hands now busy patting down his body for his lighter.
“What?”
His lips struggle to stretch around the tip of the cigarette without dropping it, solely from how wide his smile is, “I like learning new things about you.”
For every thing you had once spewed at Robin that night, Eddie had learned of you tenfold.
It was far past learning how your fingers fit between his or the smell of your perfume. He’d wanted it all; to know the inside workings of your mind, to be privy to all of your beautiful thoughts. The softness set in stone inside of you bled far past what could be felt in your fingertips or the care that shook your hand when you’d brush back stray curls out of his eyes. It fed deeper into you, into parts of you that Eddie could spend hours exploring without once growing bored.
“You say that like I’m interesting,” you murmur half-heartedly, suddenly reaching out beneath his cape and tucking into his back pocket he could have sworn he already checked. His breath is the one that catches at your arm brushing against his waist from the reach, his body is the one that freezes up entirely just from proximity. A change of roles that you had never seen coming, but he’d always figured existed. You never understood the effect you had on him, and that was in part his fault.
You produce his lighter like magic.
“You are interesting,” he insists as he plucks the lighter from you, flicking it three times to get a steady flame to burn the tip of his cigarette to life, “Don’t sell yourself so short, batty.”
“Batty?” you snort, not moving away from him, even as he blows a thin and ghostly stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
He can only shrug, wrinkling his nose, “Yeah, I didn’t like it either. Had to give it a chance, though.”
In the quiet solitude of Eddie nursing his cigarette and you watching the trees rustle with the last remnants of daylight, something sharper invades the soft space you two seem to brew whenever together. Between your innards that are gentle by nature, and Eddie’s silken attitude not only in actions but attitude towards you, the spaces occasionally left between you two were always something dulcet. Calm. Welcoming. You’d come to discover that maybe, that’s why you’d always yearned to burrow yourself so deeply into those spaces. It was a feeling of comfort and a feeling of home that you had always seemed out, but never found that fit quite as right as these moments.
“Hey Eddie?” you ask aloud as he finishes off the cigarette, stomping it out on the ground with his boot.
“What’s up?” he answers, making no move to go back inside.
You always liked these moments alone best. From the very beginning. Even before he felt comfortable enough to step closer to you, shoulder to shoulder with you now. He’s trying to squint and see what you’re finding so interesting in the array of colorful leaves in the distance, slowly being covered in blue shadows rather than golden light, without asking.
You liked that. You liked it a lot; the way he always seemed to seek out your perspective on things. “Can I ask you something?”
“You just did-“
“Fuck off,” your hand flies up, and smacks his shoulder. You never would have done that before. But you do now, relishing that contact even in the briefest of moments. The freedom to reach out and touch.
Once he stops laughing, clearly amused with himself, he turns to face you. Whatever he had been searching for in the trees is long gone, and your focus has moved onto him now, so it’s futile.
“Ask away, sweetheart.”
A deep breath for bravery, and you’re blurting out, “Did you really only avoid touching me when we met because... the others… they told you not to?”
He wasn’t expecting that question. The crease between his brows makes that clear. You almost take your thumb to it, try to smooth out the worry. But you’re not quite there yet. Maybe one day you would be.
It’s not as loaded of a question as he thinks it is. It’s cute to watch him assume it is, though.
“I mean,” he starts his words slowly, carefully, “I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I guess,” he repeats.
Your smile is sending him into a tornado of emotion. He almost curls his hands into fist, just as you used to do.
When you broke down your boundary, it had split a crack through his dam. He knows he can reach out and touch you. He knows you’ll accept his physicality without complaint now. It doesn’t make it any less scary.
For the same reason you don’t press your thumb into his eyebrow crease — having a crush just makes you hesitate like that.
“I’m obviously a touchy guy,” he throws his arms out, aimlessly, and when they return his side, they almost nick yours. You wish they would brush yours, “But… between you and me, I always get nervous around pretty girls.”
The world slows. It doesn’t stop, it can’t stop for two youths who are trying to explore new and giddy feelings — but my God, can it slow to an absolute crawl, if only for the two of you.
“You think I’m pretty?” you tease, swallowing down just how much those words mean. You always have to remind yourself it’s worth it; being just friends is worth it now that you’ve learned the exact brand of cologne he wears and recognize the weight of his arm around you.
“The absolute prettiest,” he breathes out, “I always have. Even if they hadn’t told me to hold back, I would have- Hell, I still do,” the Autumn air makes him honest, makes him brave, “I am- I would be- I just- It’s terrifying, the thought of fucking it up because you turn my brain to… mush.”
Your eyes lift up to his forehead blanketed in his bangs, squinty and entertained, “You’re telling me it’s all just soup in there right now?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Your friends are inside. There is candy to eat until your stomachs ache, and hugs to partake in until your bones have been crushed and pieced back together by threads of platonic affection.
Right now is anything but platonic. And it is time for something else to break, not your bones and not your boundaries. Something more.
“I’m pretty sure your hand on my shoulder when we first met would have ended my entire world,” he confesses, starting the first crack.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. If you had hugged me every time you saw me, I don’t know if I would have ever found the nerve to leave my house.”
Another crack.
“And if I sat next to you every time we went out for dinner?”
“Wouldn’t have been able to eat a bite, I’m afraid.”
A spiderweb of cracks, all widening.
“And if I had laid my head on your shoulder during movie nights?”
“What the Hell is a movie?” he jokes, chuckling a bit nervously now, “Who knows? Certainly not me, certainly not when my favorite girl is curled up next to me.”
One more crack, and the entire thing will finally shatter. You’re begging it to shatter.
You bite your tongue on any remark about still being his favorite, because since that goddamn night, he’d never said Robin or Nancy were his favorites again. Never. He’d meant it. You were his favorite.
“And if I just…” you pause as you step forward, leaning in slowly, and it takes everything in Eddie not to turn and run as your lips brush over his cheek as you whisper, “Kissed your cheek? Right here, right now?”
He doesn’t respond, your lips press together and then press down.
It shatters with a resounding snap that must be heard across Hawkins. Across Indiana.
One moment, your lips are on his cheek, and the next, they’re on his lips. He turns his head quickly before any doubt or nerves or roots can interrupt the moment.
Endless. Endearing. Warmth. Tenderness. Soft.
His lips are soft. So goddamn soft.
His hands are foreign things for a second, as if he’s in shock that he’d actually done it and kissed you. But they come back to life when your own lift to his neck, wrapping behind his neck and beneath the collar of that cape, pulling him in even closer to you.
He kisses you. And kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. Till you’re both dizzy and it doesn’t matter that the earth won’t stop spinning long enough for you two to live in this moment.
It should be unfamiliar, especially to you, but it isn’t. It’s as if the two of you have done this dance before. In another life, in another world, on another Earth far away from here. Your lips know his in this lifetime, and they will know his in the next — this first meeting only allows for a sigh of relief in the Universe, and in you.
He paused the kisses briefly, palms cradling your face with care and intention, “Do you know,” he places his lips onto yours one more time, as if fearful that spending too much time apart will let you vanish, “how often,” another kiss, deeper this time, “I’ve wanted to do this?”
A final peck. A period to the end of a sentence that the two of you had taken your time writing.
“No,” you laugh earnestly, fingers digging into the soft skin at his nape, reveling in the slip of his curls between your knuckles, “Maybe you should tell me about it.”
“Tell you about all the times?” he’s leaning back in, lips brushing against yours. Just a touch, but it shakes you to your core, “All the times I wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss you?”
You capture his lips in yours, unable to resist anymore. You’ve spent months resisting — his lips and kisses, his touches and brushes, his warmth and sunshine. You’re done resisting.
“Every,” you pull back and catch the glint in his eyes. He’s done, too, the rubble of the shatter, “Single,” you peck one cheek, “Last,” you peck the other, now rosey, “One.”
You finally kiss his lips again. Your fingers tug harshly on his curls, and his mouth falls open at the unexpected sensation. Instead of taking this any further and starting something you’d never want to end, you do the adult thing — you nip at his bottom lip, a bite of adoration that leaves him with a sting to remember.
“Fuck,” he sighs out, chasing after you, but your hands press into his chest to keep him into place, “I- Sorry, was that too much?”
“Too much?” you laugh breathlessly, shaking your head immediately. Once upon a time, it might have been too much. But now, it wasn’t enough. “No such thing, not with you.”
“Careful,” his hands came up to cover your fists balled into the front of his shirt, moving so that his cape brushes against your sides now, “I’m known to be quite a handful, sweetheart.”
You snort and grip his shirt even harder. “God, I sure hope so. You’ve been holding out on me, dracula.”
“Oh, have I?”
His smirk and your smirk are perfect mirror images of each other.
Pairing: Virgin! Eddie Munson x Experienced! Reader
Word Count: 4.6k (geez!)
Summary: You were done with stupid hookups with the boys in Hawkins. Luckily for you, Eddie Munson keeps his word.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Smut, FWB pact, Loss of Virginity (Eddie), Tit worship, Improper use of Eddie’s rings, Oral (M receiving), Fingering, Unprotected sex, Creampie, The whole she-bang… you get it
A/N: Not grammar checked lol kofi
Eddie never forgot the pact you made. Even if you both were high.
“You know, Munson.” You say, inhaling a small drag from the tightly wrapped joint he handed to you, “I still don’t think you’re a loser.”
The two of you are sunk deep into that dingy old couch. Wayne was gone for the night, the trailer’s dim lights and low hum setting an ambient mood. Smoke filled the air as you two put whatever film you could rent from Family Video into the VCR.
This was a ritual by now. Week by week you’d annoy Steve to get you a discount on the new releases. You’re lucky he would never say no.
Eddie chuckled, shocked by what had just come out of your mouth. He was used to being mocked. “Me? Loser? Pfft, sure.” He said sarcastically. “Do people really think that of me? They don’t like my hair, or my music, or my clothes? I’m shocked; this is shocking news.”
His laughter faded as he grabbed the joint back from between your fingers, his hand slightly brushing your fingers longer than necessary. “Well, I’m glad you don’t think I’m a freak.”
“I could never.” You smiled, nudging his shoulder with your own. “You’re just… Eddie.”
“I can live with that.” He slightly smiled, letting the smoke settle in his chest before exhaling towards the ceiling.
The room felt warmer as the night went on. He slightly pressed his knee towards your own before swallowing his pride.
“Hey,” he sputtered out, “can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me absolutely anything, Eds.”
“It’s a little embarrassing.”
“Nothing is embarrassing between us!” You smiled, grazing your hand on his shoulder. “Hit me with it.”
He inhales, then blurts it out so fast that his tongue almost twists into a knot. “Do you think I’m undateable?”
“Eddie. Why would you even think that?”
He throws up his hands, fingers decorated in the rings he has collected over the years. “Because look at me!” He gestures vaguely at himself. “I mean, there’s a reason I’m—you know. Still…” He lowers his voice dramatically. “A virgin.”
“Oh, big whoop,” you replied, trying to stifle back your laughter. “Trust me, sex isn't that big of a deal. I’m sure you’ll meet the right girl—or person—who will do that for you, Eds.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his giant, brown eyes flickering toward yours for a moment too long.
Something in your chest thumps. Maybe it’s the weed.
Maybe it’s Eddie.
“Okay, so…” Eddie breaks the silence by clearing his throat. “If I'm still a tragic virgin by the time we graduate, why don’t you… uh… help me out?”
You stare at him. The air between you two suddenly feels heavy. He’s pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, trying to look casual and failing miserably.
You couldn't deny that after a few years of your friendship, there was some real tension between you and Eddie. It wasn't sudden. There just happened to be a gradual build-up of unspoken feelings. Sometimes he’d look at you a heartbeat too long, his gaze dropping to your thighs or the curve of your breasts, and you’d have to pretend you didn’t feel your whole body react to it. The type that curled low in your stomach whenever his voice dropped or whenever he sprawled beside you like he had any right to take up that much space. Half the time you swore he was teasing you on purpose. The other half, you were terrified he wasn’t.
“God, ignore me. Classic freak Munson.”
And something warm and reckless curls in your stomach.
“Alright,” you say, trying to bite back a grin. “If you’re still a virgin by then… I’ll help you. No takebacks.”
You stick your pinky out towards him in an act of neutralization between you two.
“Holy shit—” he swallowed hard, eagerly attaching his pinky to yours. “Yeah, done deal. Sealed.” His hand is warm. Maybe yours lingers. Maybe his hand lingers too. You both sit there, pinkies linked, the room buzzing with something brand new.
And even though you were high, and laughing, and being stupid—
Eddie Munson never forgot.
It was supposed to be just another normal weekend. The usual routine of dropping by the trailer, tossing your purse down, and collapsing onto the same old couch that had overheard more secrets than either of you would ever admit. The springs creaked beneath you as you plopped down, letting out a frustrated sigh that seemed to echo in the air.
Eddie glanced over at you from the armchair. His eyebrows lifted, curious, maybe even a little worried. “Are you okay?”
You flopped your head back dramatically. “I think I’m done with hookups,” you groaned. “They just don’t work out in my favor.”
Eddie froze, grabbing a guitar pick off the side table to fidget with in his hands. “Bad one?”
“No—I mean, yes. It’s just…” You sighed out, powerless.
“Pointless?” He tried to sound casual, but his voice dipped, just slightly.
“I seem to attract the worst men alive. There was Jason, who just wanted blowjobs; Tommy, who came in maybe less than 2 minutes; and that one time with Steve or something.” you muttered, throwing your hands up. “They really don't give good sex ed in Hawkins.”
“A wise woman once told me sex isn't that big of a deal, and perhaps it all depends on finding the right person. I mean, I still wouldn’t know.” He replied, his words triggering a memory in your brain.
The pact. He remembered.
“I’m done altogether. Maybe I should retire while I’m young and hot and maybe die a bitter old spinster.”
He swallowed, tongue poking briefly into his cheek like he was debating something. Something bold.
“You can’t be done before you live up to our pact.” He blurts out, regret seeping into his eyes.
Your heart stopped.
“I remember,” he said simply. “You might think it was nothing, but—” His eyes met yours, darker and full of yearning. “I didn’t forget. Not for a second.”
The tension between you snaps back into place like a rubber band pulled too tight for too many years.
Eddie sits back, exhaling a shaky breath. “So if you’re really done with the guys who don’t know what they’re doing…” He hesitates, then adds softly, “Maybe it’s time we talk about that promise.”
You shifted uncomfortably on the couch before stomaching a small response.
“That promise was to benefit you, Eds. It wasn't made in a selfish manner to try to get me off for once. It was made in your favor. I’d feel bad.” Your eyes drop for a moment. “Like I’d be taking advantage.”
“I know,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck—his tell when he’s flustered. “I know what it was for. I’m not saying it wasn’t.” His jaw flexes as he exhales. “But if you teach me well enough…” He gives a crooked, shaky smile, “maybe you’ll stop looking around for quick lays.”
“Listen, we can try it. If it doesn't work, it doesn’t work. No drama. No weirdness. We just move on; the deal is erased.” He adds.
You blink at him, stunned.
“This is kind of a big deal, Eddie,” you whisper. “There’s a lot on the line here.”
Eddie lets out a low, frustrated grunt and rolls his eyes, trying to shake off the fear sitting heavy in his chest. “Yeah, I know,” he murmurs. “Believe me, I know.”
You hated the sound of Eddie’s low groan. It had sent a slow, warm ache curling in your stomach.There were nights you thought about the way his fingers felt when they accidentally brushed your waist. They were calloused, strong, and lingering longer than they should have. You’d caught yourself imagining how his mouth would feel against your neck, how soft his lips looked when he was too stoned to speak. Times you would think about Eddie losing control of his face as he slid himself inside of you for the first time.
He gets off the armchair and walks toward you, leaning over the back of the couch. His voice drops, unsteady but determined. “Last chance, do you want me or what?” He reaches his pinky out to yours, hoping you’ll accept the offer.
If there was a perfect time to honor the pact, it was now. Your pinky shakily met his as you gripped each other’s fingers. Keeping eye contact, you gently kissed the top of Eddie’s pinky, making him let out a shaky moan. Your stomach flipped at the sound.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, clearing his throat.
“Don’t—don’t apologize. I liked that. Hearing you.”
Eddie hopped over the couch in one smooth, reckless motion, like he couldn’t stand another second of distance between you. He landed beside you, knees brushing yours, and before you could even catch your breath, he was leaning in.
His hand came up slowly as fingers brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. The touch was gentle and careful, but the look in his eyes was anything but. His thumb lingered near your jaw, tracing the shape of your skin like he’d imagined doing it a hundred times.
“C’mere,” he whispered.
And then he leaned in, closing the gap that had burned between you for years.
The kiss was hungry, feverish. His lips pressed into yours with a force that he had been fighting for too long. It was hot, unpracticed, and refreshing. His nose brushed yours as he deepened the kiss, fingers running at the hem of your shirt. Sure, it was a little sloppy, but it was working on you. You tensed your thighs together as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.
His forehead drops to yours, lips still brushing, soft and urgent all at once. He pulls back in an effort to catch his breath.
“Was that okay?” He whines out, keeping direct eye contact with your lips.
“You have no idea,” you murmur against his skin, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
His lips find yours again, softer this time. It’s as if he’s savoring the moment before it consumes you both. The bulge in his pants tightens as you run your hands along his chest, guiding him to take off his shirt. You giggle when you pull back, seeing his lips all puffed and glossy.
“All this for me?” You looked down at his erection, crying to be touched.
“It’s always been for you,” he cries out as your hands help unfasten his belt buckle. “You just didn't realize how you made me feel.”
His breath stutters as you tug the belt free, the leather whispering through the loops. His hands hover at your waist like he’s afraid to touch too much, even though his body is practically trembling for you. When you pop open the button of his jeans, his hips lift instinctively toward your touch. His eyes squeeze shut for a second, like he’s trying to steady himself.
He pulls his jeans off, leaving him in just his underwear. He giggled with a hint of shame. “Can I take one of your things off?”
“Oh, man. Yeah. Go for it.” you stuttered, forgetting you were fully clothed while the boy was half naked on his couch, aching from the release his cock was wanting. Eddie’s fingers find the hem of your shirt before pausing for permission. His eyes flick up to yours in silent question.
When you give the smallest nod, his whole body seems to hum.
He grips the cotton gently and lifts it inch by inch. His cold knuckles graze your sides, leaving you to stifle a moan. You raise your arms, and he pulls the shirt over your head, tossing it blindly to the floor without ever taking his eyes off you.
“Jesus…” he breathes, voice barely holding together. His hands hover again, unsure where to touch first even though he’s desperate to touch something. “Can I?”
Instead of answering, you grab Eddie’s ring-clad hand and put it on your right breast over your bra. You moaned at the cool metal touching your skin and Eddie’s fingers searching the curve of your chest.
“It’s probably better if I take this off too.” You motion to your bra. You laughed as you undid your bra in one motion, nipples hardening as they felt the cool air.
“They’re perfect, you’re perfect. It's better than I imagined.” Eddie smiled, grazing his thumb over one of your nipples. “Can I? I want to put my mouth on them.”
You nod as his thumb continues to rub circles over your nipple. Eddie pushed his head towards your chest and latched on to one of your buds, flicking his tongue ever so gently on the peak. You threw your head back as a high-pitched moan escaped from your throat. Eddie used his other hand to knead the other soft breast in his fingers, the feeling of his rings sending chills down your spine.
“Fuck… Eddie.” You cried out, “The rings…”
He pulled back with slight concern in his eyes. “Do you want me to take them off?”
“Oh God no. Keep them on. Feels so good.” You giggle while trying to catch your breath.
A slow, wicked smile curls across Eddie’s lips at your answer. “Oh,” he murmurs, voice going low and warm, “Yeah? You like that?”
His rings drag deliberately this time as his hand glides back over your breast, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the heat of his skin and his callous fingertips. He squeezes again, firmer, more confident, watching the way your body arches into his touch like you were made for his hands.
“Shit,” he breathes, awe-struck, “didn’t know you’d be so sensitive.”
His thumb circles your nipple, slow and intentional. When your breath hitches, he freezes, memorizing the exact sound you make. Then he does it again, dragging a ringed knuckle across the peak and slightly pinching, just to watch your lips part helplessly.
“Jesus, I could come just from hearing you moan. You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he rasps, leaning in to brush his lips along your jaw. His rings graze your skin again as he cups your breast, thumb flicking in a way that sends another wave of heat rolling down your spine.
You bite your lip, trying and failing to hold back a moan.
Eddie’s eyes light up with a primal heat.
“Holy shit…” you murmur under your breath.
His hand squeezes with just enough pressure, just enough metal against skin, and another sound breaks from you, softer but impossibly needier. Eddie groans into your throat, the vibrations making you tremble.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice shaking with restraint, “you’re even better than I imagined.”
Your eyes brighten as he nuzzles into your neck, continuing with the thumb motion on your nipple. “You’ve imagined this?”
“Oh, God… more than anything.” He grunts into your neck. “At night, when Wayne’s not home. I think about how you taste, how you’d feel grinding down on my hips. God, I want you milking every last drop of me.”
Fuck, Eddie was starting to desperately grind into your thigh. You don’t even think he realized the motion of his hips on you but only realized the relief he began to feel. It was instinct. Need.
A soft, broken sound slips from him as the friction hits just right, his forehead dropping to your shoulder like he can’t hold himself up anymore.
“Shit…” he exhales, voice thready, hips moving again on their own. His fingers tighten on your waist, not to guide you, but to ground himself.
You feel the urgency in him, the aching relief that trembles through his body every time he rubs against you. He finally realizes what he’s doing, and he freezes, cheeks flushed, chest heaving against yours.
“Fuck,” he whispers, breath hot on your skin, “sorry, I just—you feel so good, I can’t think straight.”
“We might benefit from fewer pants here.” You giggle, pulling the jeans off your hips.
And just like that, you’re both stripped to your underwear. Bare skin touching bare skin, nothing left between you except heat and the years-old tension you could finally release.
“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, eyes drinking you in, “we’re really doing this.”
“Not quite yet,” you breathe out as he removes his hands from your breasts. “Want to help you a bit first.”
You motion towards his throbbing cock aching in his underwear, a small wet spot covering where his tip would lie. Your fingers trail down his stomach, slow enough that he shivers, following the faint line of muscle disappearing beneath his waistband. You pause there, just long enough for him to suck in a quiet, shaky breath.
His hips twitch helplessly, and you feel the heat of him through the thin fabric. The way he’s straining against it. The way his whole body reacts to your touch, like he’s starving.
Your fingers hook into the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down in one fast motion. His cock bounced freely, slightly slapping his stomach as it sprang upwards. It was thick, the shaft veiny and straining. His tip was red and swollen, pre-cum glistening from the slit. It twitches involuntarily, reacting to the chill of the trailer’s weak AC against his heated skin.
Your smile is slow, wicked, and knowing. “Thought you wanted me to teach you,” you tease, leaning your head towards his lap. “You’re doing a pretty good job of begging already.”
He groans, hands sliding up your back, hips thrusting forward until you feel all of his tension pressing against your cheek. “God,” he whispers, his eyes dark with hunger, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you.”
“Show me,” you breathe, grabbing the base of his cock and placing your lips ever so slightly onto his leaking tip. The salty taste of his pre-cum grazes your lips as you flick your tongue out, grazing his slit.
“Fuck…” he hisses, “Please don’t tease me. Need you.”
Slowly, your lips part wider, lowering your mouth down onto Eddie’s tip. You suck lightly as your tongue swirls around his swollen head. His groan is almost immediate, taking his ring-clad hand and grabbing a small section of your hair towards the back of your head. You softly whimper onto his cock, the vibration making it twitch.
You pull back slightly, lips popping off his erection. His dick is now throbbing and angry against his stomach as you spit on your hand and lead it to his shaft. Your hand stayed firm along his base as you began to slowly stroke upwards. Your other hand dipping lower, grabbing the heavy weight of his balls.
The reaction made Eddie throw his head back and thrust into your hand.
You smirked at his reaction, starting to knead his balls. You lean in once again, licking a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. The veins were pulsing from the sensation. Without warning, you finally sunk your head all the way towards the base, his coarse hair brushing your lips.
“Oh, fuck!” Eddie cried out, “I can’t last long if you keep doing this. Taking all of me in your mouth.” His voice cracks on the last word, raw and desperate.
You start to bob your head, sliding your mouth up and down his thick length, following the path with your tongue as it swirls around him. The wet heat of your mouth makes Eddie whimper and grip your hair harder, leaving his knuckles turning white. Your hand keeps working and squeezing his balls just enough to keep him on edge.
“Your mouth—” he cries out, “it’s so… so good. So wet.” He places his other hand on your head, slightly beginning to thrust.
You hum around him, the vibration twitching his cock as you pick up the pace. Spit spills down his length as you work him, the sloppy sounds filling the trailer.
“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m—shit. I’m gonna—” His body starts to tense as he starts to see white.
You pop your lips off before he can reach a release. His length bobbing in front of you as he whined. “Fuck, why’d you stop? I was so close.”
You smiled at him, lifting your head up. “I want to make our first time last.”
Our First. Would there be another time? Eddie thought to himself, his breath catching as he looked down at you. His hands lingered near your hips, hesitant yet eager to touch. He swallowed hard, the weight of the moment sinking in.
“Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything,” he rasped.
“I don’t want to make you wait anymore.” You threw your back onto the couch, making the trailer creak beneath you. “Eddie, I want you.”
His breath catches hard, the comment you whispered knocking the air out of his lungs.
He sinks down between your knees without thinking, hands braced on either side of your hips. His messy curls falling around his face as he hovers above you.
You hook your legs around his waist, pulling him down until his hips slot against yours, until he has no doubt what you mean. His whole body shudders, like he’s fighting every instinct not to just completely wreck you right there.
You were the muse of his fantasies, the star of his wet dreams. Every thought flashed before Eddie’s eyes as you pulled your panties off towards your feet.
Eddie is taken aback by your core glistening in the dim lighting, pressing his forehead to yours. “Jesus… you’re going to ruin me.”
Your legs tighten around his hips, drawing him flush against you. He sucks in a sharp breath, grip tightening on your waist like he’s anchoring himself.
“Tell me how to touch you, please,” he whimpers in your ear, bodies pressed flush against each other. His hands hover at your waist, fingers digging into your skin just enough to show how much he’s holding back. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s practically vibrating with the effort to restrain himself as he waits for your guidance.
“Start slow, Eds. Just… feel me first.” Your voice is low and teasing as you guide one of his hands down, letting his fingers trail along your inner thigh. “Tease me a little first.”
He nods, swallowing hard, his forehead still pressed to yours as his fingers follow your instruction. His fingers trace feather-light patterns onto your thighs, inching closer to the aching mess you were making at your core. His touch is hesitant at first, but the small gasp that escaped your lips spurs him on.
“You like this?” He rasps out, fingers trailing up your smooth lips, seeking your approval.
You grab his hand leading his thumb to your clit. “Try what you did with your thumb on my nipple, here.”
Your legs tighten around his lips once again at the sensation of his calloused hand over your sensitive nub. A small whimper escapes your lips, his eyes darkening at the sound. The pressure is just firm enough to make your hips buck into his hand, craving more.
He leads his other hand down, collecting your wetness on his fingers. When he presses a single finger at the edge, his voice comes out low and pleading.
“Can I?”
You nod, legs trembling with need. Guys never focused this much time on you. You felt every bit of this experience.
He lets out a shaky breath, slowly sliding his finger inside of you,hand, ushering to a halt as his skull ring kissed the base of your entrance. The stretch is small but delicious as he begins to pump his finger in and out of you.
“Like this?” He watched your face, studying it for a reaction as his thumb still worked at your clit.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck. Try adding another one and curling them. Gotta stretch myself out before I can take all of you.” You moan, hips rocking to match the slow thrust of his forefinger.
He bites his lip as he eases a second finger inside of you. His movements are steady. They curl and press inside of you as he speeds up the circles on your clit. Eddie pressed his fingers in deeper, and when they hooked just right, a sharp cry tore from your throat.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, keep going. Please.” You moaned, rolling your hips faster against his hand. Your legs tremble around him as his thumb and fingers drive you closer to the edge. The cool metal of his rings brushing against your warm core with every thrust. “Need you inside.”
“Fuck, are you sure? I don’t want to rush you, but I’m dying over here.” He motions down as if you couldn't feel his thick cock twitch against you.
“I’m sure. Been wanting this for a long time. On the pill.” You cried out, “Just fuck me, please.”
That alone could’ve made Eddie lose it. He doesn't waste another second, grabbing the length of his cock before rubbing it against your entrance. The sensation makes him hiss through his clenched teeth.
“You’re so warm,” he mutters quietly, lining the head of his cock up at your entrance. His other hand gripping on your hips, anchoring himself to you. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You won’t,” you pant, urging him closer. “You’ve got me so ready for you.”
He nods, swallowing hard before pressing forward. The stretch is immediate and a tad painful. His thick length made your breath catch as he filled you up. Your face flickers with a mix of pain and pleasure that begins to wash over you.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No, Eddie. You’re just big. Keep going.” You moan, hands sliding up to grip his shoulders.
His lips meet yours as he pushes you further. Your walls clenched around him as he went deeper and deeper. “I don’t know how I’m going to last. You’re so fucking tight,” he breathes, voice trembling.
“You don’t have to; just move with me.” You tilt your hips, taking him deeper as the base of his cock is fully pressed against you. He began a rhythm, sliding in and out slowly, a bit deeper each time. His hips stutter at first, but you find your hands stabilizing his movement with his hips.
“God, I wanted this so bad.” His voice breaks as he picks up the pace, thrusts uneven but still with purpose. “Never thought you’d let me fuck you.”
“It’s happening,” you whimper, pulling his face down to kiss him. Your tongues clash messily as the wet sounds fill up the room. “And it’ll happen again.”
“Fuck, don’t say that,” he groans into your mouth. “I’m gonna—I want to—.”
You grabbed a fistful of your hair as he began to thrust more sloppily, dick twitching inside of you. He’s a mess of nerves and raw desire as he latches his lips to yours. You whimper as he growls into your mouth, walls tightening around him erratically.
His hips jerk as he begins to lose control, spilling inside of you with desperate thrusts. His body shakes as he gasps for air, overwhelmed from the feeling. The only sound is your heavy breathing until Eddie manages to get a few words out.
“Is that okay?”
You giggle tiredly. “More than okay, but how are you feeling?”
“I think I saw God,” he admits with a breathless laugh, still inside of you. “I’m sorry it was so fast; it’s just—”
“It’s okay, Eds.” You cut him off, pulling him into a soft kiss. “That was just our first. I’m not done with you now, but we do have to clean up.”
His eyes widen, a spark of eagerness flashing in them. “Mine?”
“Yours,” you tease, running your fingers along his jaw. “I have plans for you, Munson.”
I am currently not finished yet. However, I am working on it as I post this. I feel like I might have to do two parts or perhaps more. We will have to see because the drafts are looking very long, and it's not even midpoint of the story yet. I might have to label it as slow burn, too, LMAO.
I'm kind of nervous since this will be my first fic to post about, Marvel wise, and I hope it gives great characterization of Johnny since he's always has been one of my first favorite heroes. Hope I give him justice once this is posted, lol.
And I tried very hard to keep the fem reader descriptions vague since I also want everyone to have the freedom to imagine themselves in this. Though I have given her a Tamaranean name and Earth name, I'd also won't mind if anyone wants to change it while ready. I'll try my best not to mention specifications on anything.
If anyone wants to be tagged, please let me know. Don't hesitate to comment or directly message me ♡.
P.S. my country currently is facing an incoming typhoon. My province is currently in Orange Rainfall Warning. Stay safe and dry, everyone! Be alert and be prepared.
Description: Johnny finally meets his son, a secret you kept from him for too long. He missed the beginning of his life, but he refuses to miss the rest, so he does everything in his power to win his son’s and your heart, one quiet act of love at a time.
Tags/warnings: fem!reader, angst, idiots in love, heavy conversations, everyone cries, so much fluff to make up for the angst, jealousy, dad!johnny shenanigans, soft domesticity, this part contains smut.
This fic was inspired on Taylor’s Swift’s entire album Evermore, so you will find lyrics from it before every divider 🍂
Note: Oh. My. God. First of all I can’t believe the amount of love part one received!! I’ve gotten so many lovely comments and asks over the week, and I’m over the moon. Seriously babes, this kind of support means the world, so thank you for showing it 🤍 Now, this was supposed to come out just a few days after part 1, but I got so many interesting suggestions that I decided to expand the story more than I’d originally planned. Needless to say, I’m very excited to share this. So get cozy, get your tissues, your fav drink, and prepare to laugh, cry, and get surprised over and over🫶🏼 As always, the most special thanks to the lovely @breadcheese444 for beta reading the whole thing😭🫶🏼 enjoy!
The resemblance knocked the air straight from Johnny’s chest. It was a mini him, except better, softer…pure.
Johnny’s heart hammered so loud he thought the whole shop could hear it. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. And Leo, with wide curious eyes, looked up at you, then followed your gaze toward the man waiting by the window.
“Leo,” you said softly, brushing a hand over his sleeve to get his attention, “I want you to meet a friend.”
“A friend?” he said, and Johnny almost fainted from how cute his little voice was. “From where?”
“From a long time ago,” you replied.
Leo squinted at Johnny, the way only a child could, unfiltered, curious to the bone. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he let go of your hand and marched right toward the table. You followed anxiously. And Johnny? Johnny was toast. He forgot how to move. His heart jackhammered as the kid–his kid–stopped in front of him and just stared, unblinking, like he was scanning him for answers.
“You look like me, mommy’s friend.” Leo said matter of factly. “We have the same hair.”
Johnny panicked, and for a terrifying second he thought his legs were going to give out when he stood up from the table. He managed a shaky disbelieving laugh, crouching to meet him at eye level.
“Yeah, buddy,” he exhaled. “I guess we do.”
Leo grinned, quick and bright, satisfied with his own observation. “Cool.” Then, as if that settled everything, he spun around and tugged at your sleeve. “Can we get ice cream now, Mom?”
“Yes, baby. Let’s do that.” You nodded quickly, letting yourself be guided by his little hand to the counter.
But Johnny was frozen in his crouching position for a few seconds, blinking fast, the word Mom echoing in his head as he stared at Leo who was already more like him than he’d ever dared to imagine. He took a deep breath.
There was no way back from this. Only forward, into the storm.
Once he managed to convince his legs to move and walk to the counter, where that same girl looked at the three of you curiously, Johnny cleared his throat, pulling out his leather wallet.
“I got the ice creams,” he said, firm enough that you almost argued out of instinct, but before you could, he leaned slightly toward Leo. “So, what’s it gonna be, champ? What flavor?”
“Chocolate!” Leo exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. And my God, Johnny was looking at a mirror that reflected a younger version of him.
“Chocolate,” Johnny repeated, sighing with relief. “Perfect. You picked the best one, buddy.” A laugh escaped him, as he lifted his hand to high five Leo.
Leo lifted himself on his tiptoes to high five with all his strength, and grinned wider, satisfied with the validation.
“And for you? Strawberry?” Johnny glanced up at you, offering the same flavor you'd always pick all those years back.
“Strawberry,” you nodded, biting back a smile.
Something flickered in Johnny’s face at that…soft recognition, just like in the coffee shop, the memories he still kept present on his head. He only nodded, turning back to the counter. “Got you.”
Leo chattered beside you, eyes glued to the toppings bar as he talked about the things he learned at school that day. Johnny listened, his hands busy ordering, but his heart caught on the sound of it…the normalcy, the ease, the way you stood with your son like this was the most natural scene in the world. When he brought the bowls back a few minutes later, balancing them carefully, the thought of setting something down at a table that belonged to the three of you made him feel warm inside. Leo climbed into his chair, elbows on the table, grabbing the pink spoon. But before he even took a bite, he extended his free hand over the table, his eyes darting straight to Johnny.
“I’m Leo Spencer,” he introduced himself, realizing this man had just bought him ice cream and he didn’t even know what he was called. “What’s your name?”
Johnny froze with his own spoon halfway to his mouth, dipping it back in the ice cream to stretch the tiny hand in front of him. “Uh…I’m Johnny.” He said, deciding to leave his last name out for now. After the most serious handshake of his life, Leo let go of Johnny’s hand and propped his chin on it to continue his questioning.
“Where do you live? Why haven’t I seen you before? Are you from Mom’s work? You don’t look like a professor–”
“Leo…” You drawled, nudging the ice cream closer to him, but he just kept staring at Johnny.
“Wow, slow down, kiddo. You don’t mess around, huh?” Johnny said, wide eyed, grinning nervously.
Leo shrugged. “I’m five and a half. People always think I don’t notice stuff, but I do.” He took a giant bite of chocolate with sprinkles, cheeks puffed out as he chewed. “Where are you from?”
You’d told him Leo was a little wonder, that he asked a lot of questions. Turns out you weren’t exaggerating. Johnny glanced at you, panic flickering his eyes, but you just shook your head slowly ‘not yet’.
So Johnny cleared his throat and smiled. “I’m from…far away.”
Leo narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like he didn’t buy it, like he was sure he’d heard that same answer somewhere else. He just decided to save it to the back of his mind, as he dug back into his ice cream, completely unaware of how close his little questions would crack a new entire world open. Johnny shifted in his chair, trying to keep his grin steady, but his collar felt like it was choking him. Heat crawled up his neck, his palms still damp, and not the fire kind, just pure, human nerves. He hadn't felt like that in years,
Great, he thought, the Human Torch is actually sweating because a five year old has him under a white spotlight.
Finally, he decided to ditch his jacket and placed it on the empty chair beside him, leaving him only in a white shirt that fit him too tightly, rolling his shoulders like it might cool him down. Your eyes darted all over his torso, catching the way the fabric was practically fighting for its life from all the defined muscle under that shirt.
Christ, he still dresses so unfairly good, you thought. But before your mind could go somewhere more inappropriate, Leo’s sharp eyes immediately focused on the strange device around Johnny’s wrist.
“Whoa,” he breathed, pointing with his spoon. “What’s that?”
Johnny stilled, and slowly lifted his arm, pointing at the device that you once had to leave behind.
“Your watch,” Leo pressed, leaning across the table to look at it closer. “It’s not round like normal ones. It looks like a time machine on your wrist! Did you buy it because it looks futuristic? Or, wait–” His face lit up as his brain went faster than his mouth. “Does it have a secret special function?”
“Uh–no, no secret functions.” He said, too quickly. “Definitely not a time machine, either. It’s, uh…” He cleared his throat, fingers tugging nervously at the strap. “It’s kind of for work. Special…equipment. Helps me stay connected, keep track of things.”
“So like a gadget?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said, nodding quickly. “Exactly, a gadget. Just work stuff.”
“Does it at least light up?” Leo asked, narrowing his eyes.
“It does!” Johnny exhaled, relieved that he could at least indulge him on one thing, lifting his wrist and tapping the screen until it glowed faintly.
“That’s so cool!” Leo gasped, delighted. “Your job must be really fun.”
“Yeah buddy…it is.”
Johnny couldn’t stop smiling, watching his son bounce in his seat, utterly fascinated with something that had become so ordinary to him. Something that was his everyday. And that made him realize how dangerous his “Fantastic” world would look through those bright eyes, and how much he already wanted to shield him from it. So Johnny just sat there, watching him. He saw what Leo saw, the shine of the watch, the promise of technology, the thrill of secrets. A kid too bright, too curious, too hungry for answers to ever fit inside this little town forever.
But Johnny also saw beyond that.The flashing cameras, the crowds screaming their names, the endless scrutiny. The missions that went wrong, the villains that crawled out of the shadows. Through Leo’s wide eyes, it looked like magic. Through Johnny’s, it looked like the very thing that could swallow a boy whole. His hand curled over the watch instinctively, as though shielding it from view.
God, he’s already too big for this city, Johnny thought. But my world? Is he ready for that?
He looked at you then, and for once, he understood. He understood the fear that made you hide him away, the way you’d fought to keep him small, safe, unburned by the fire Johnny carried. And it hit him, how much you’d already given up just to give your son a chance at peace.
Leo was already on to his next fascination, spoon abandoned as he scrambled to kneel on the seat, finger pressed to the glass. “Look! A monarch!” he squealed, his voice bouncing with excitement. “Mom, do you see it? The wings are orange with black edges, but the male has two black spots, so that means it’s a female…”
You leaned to look, smiling. And Johnny just watched him, behind eyes that showed wonder and grief. His son was pure brightness, delighting in a butterfly like it was the greatest treasure in the world. For now, his world was small, golden, safe. When Leo finally peeled his eyes from the butterfly and spun back toward the table, his focus went again to Johnny.
“So, what should I call you? Mom says it’s not polite to use a first name basis with older people,” Leo said looking at you. You nodded in agreement.
“Older people? Doesn’t sound like me,” Johnny scoffed playfully, shaking his head like he was offended. “I’m just…Johnny.”
“Okay…Johnny.” Leo tested, and Johnny almost melted right there. Maybe one day he could call him something different. “If your watch was a time machine, would you use it?”
The question caught him off guard, but he knew the answer. God, if only…if only he could go back in time, he’d undo every mistake, catch you before you slipped through his fingers.
“Yeah,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to you. “I would.”
“To what time?”
The answer came out before Johnny could stop it. “About six or five years ago. Without a doubt.”
You stared at him, and Johnny didn’t look away, he held your gaze, his blue eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in front of your son. The silence was heavy, tense, until Leo broke it with a shrug.
“Six or five…I would’ve picked something cooler, like dinosaurs...not many relevant things happened five years ago." He said, in all of his innocence.
A small laugh slipped from your throat, the ache of it all suddenly turning bittersweet. Johnny’s lips twitched, but his eyes never left yours. “Well, something pretty important happened.”
Leo blinked, tilting his head. “What?”
“You were born.”
Leo’s grin grew instantly, wide and toothy, and still devastatingly innocent. “Oh! That is important.”
Johnny’s words hung in the air, but distracted yourself by wiping a spot of chocolate on Leo’s cheek with a napkin. And the little action allowed Johnny, for one fragile second, to let himself drift. And he could picture it, the three of you sitting there every other day after school. Leo demolishing his ice cream, you wiping chocolate from his cheeks, Johnny learning butterfly facts. A life that wasn’t stolen, that wasn’t scorched. A life where he was there for every silly question, every science fair, every smudge of chocolate. Just for that infinite, delusional minute, he let himself believe that maybe, he still could.
Leo twirled his spoon in the empty bowl, then looked up at Johnny with that bright, assessing stare he always had when something caught his interest.
“Johnny,” he said casually, “I have a collection of books at home. About space, animals, and inventions. I could…show you one day–if mom says yes.” He blurted the words out quickly, hesitant.
Your brows lifted slightly. You knew that move. Leo had done it before, using his “book collection” as an excuse to draw certain people in, to test if they were worth his time. His teachers, a neighbor he liked, the old librarian he adored. It was his quiet way of saying, you intrigue me. I want to know more. And he didn’t even know that now he was offering it to his father. Just that he was intrigued by him. Johnny's eyes were wide, stunned by the offer. He looked at you, like he too was asking for permission.
“Of course, Leo. If you’d like, we can do that.” You finally nodded, smiling at him.
Leo lit up, like you just told him he could go play with the neighbor, and turned back to Johnny. “Cool! I’ll show you the one about Mars first, it has fold out pages with diagrams…you’ll like it.”
Johnny let out a shaky laugh, his eyes going soft when he looked at you. He didn’t say it aloud, but the gratitude was written all over his face. Thank you for letting me in.
“I have to catch up with some grading today, though,” you announced, gesturing Leo to get up. “So the books will have to wait for another day.”
Johnny’s heart gave a little jolt. Another day. It shouldn’t sting as much as it did, but it did. He managed a crooked smile. “That’s fair, I can wait.”
The truth was…no, he couldn't.
Leo stood up, brushing the topping’s crumbs off his pullover like a little gentleman. “It was nice to meet you, Johnny,” he said seriously, extending his small hand like he’d done earlier.
Johnny blinked, caught off guard, but was more than happy to reach out. His big hand swallowed Leo's, and he gave it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you too, Leo.”
Leo. Maybe one day he’d get to call him son.
You pressed your lips together to hide a smile, taking Leo’s hand while Johnny stood awkwardly by the table, unsure how to end this. When you turned toward him, you found him already looking at you, but neither of you knew how to say goodbye. So Johnny leaned in, hesitating for a heartbeat. You did too, freezing when his warm lips brushed your cheek. It was careful, light, painfully ephemeral, then he stepped back. Leo definitely noticed something, his sharp little eyes flicking between the two of you. But he decided to keep that saved on the back of his mind too, so he didn’t say a word.
Outside, the sun was almost completely set, and Johnny walked you both to the car. He stood by as you buckled Leo into his car seat, his small head already lolling against the cushion, tired from the day. Only when you slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door did Johnny finally step back, walking to his car. You buckled in, and turned the key. The engine choked a noise once, then again. and then…nothing. You closed your eyes, exhaling.
“Come on, not now,” you whined, giving the steering wheel a little smack.
From the backseat, the noise startled Leo from his half sleep state. He leaned forward in his booster, sighing like a little stressed out man. “It’s the battery, mom,” he declared, almost scolding. “You forgot to ask Mr. Barnes to change it last week.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Yes, thank you, Leo. Very helpful.”
“You’re welcome.”
You tried the ignition one more time and…nothing. A quiet curse slipped past your lips, when headlights flashed across the street, and Johnny’s truck pulled up beside you, his window sliding down smoothly.
“Everything okay?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.
You closed your eyes for a second, gripping the wheel tighter, as if that would make the ground swallow you whole. You actually hadn’t forgotten to change the battery, you were just waiting for that month’s check to do it. And of course this happened in front of him.
“Car’s being stubborn.” You shrugged, forcing a half smile.
“Let me take a look.” Johnny slid out of his truck, rounding your car. “Pop the hood, please,” he said, already rolling up the sleeves of his jacket. You did as he said, and lost sight of him as he inspected the mess of wires and metal. “Yep,” he said finally, closing the hood with a grimace and walking to your window. “Battery’s dead.”
You sighed. Behind you, Leo had slumped sideways in his booster, out cold with the sugar crash.
“Great,” you muttered under your breath, running a hand down your face. “Just great. It’s getting dark, and I can’t even–”
“Hey,” Johnny cut in softly, catching the panic in your voice.
“I can’t leave my car here overnight, it’ll–”
“Hey, hey.” He leaned closer to your window, his voice steady and coaxing, the way you used to hear him talk to Franklin when the kid was overwhelmed. His eyes searched yours, trying to give you some of his warmth without even touching you. “It’s okay. I got it, alright? Let me help.”
You shook your head, words tumbling out too fast. “No, I can’t ask you–”
“You’re not asking,” he interrupted gently, already reaching for the watch on his wrist. “I’m offering. Let me handle it. Just…trust me with this one.” His thumb hovered over the screen, but his eyes kept locked on yours. Reluctantly, you finally nodded. Johnny exhaled, shoulders loosening just slightly, and gave you the faintest smile. “Good. I’ll make a call.”
He stepped back to speak to his watch like some secret spy. You snorted, you were so used to it back in New York, yet here it looked ridiculous. After a few minutes he hung up the call, walking back to you with a confident nod. “Tow’s on the way. They’ll handle the car tonight.”
You exhaled, rubbing your forehead thinking how on earth you were going to pay for a tow service and also a new battery. Still, you gave him a grateful nod. “Okay. Thank you, Johnny.”
He glanced toward Leo, passed out in the backseat, then back to you. “I’ll drive you home.”
“Johnny–you don’t even have a car seat in that ridiculous truck.”
“So? we’ll move yours, problem solved.” He shrugged, like it was obvious.
Your laugh cracked out, nervous and tired. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious,” Johnny said, already circling to the back door. “It’s fine, I got him.”
You got out of your car, chewing the inside of your cheek, before whispering, “I’m sorry. I usually deal with this stuff on my own.”
Johnny froze for a second, his hand resting on the doorframe. The words hit him harder than they should have, a quiet knife sliding between his ribs. He looked back at you, and made another promise.
“You won’t have to anymore,” he said softly. His gaze flicked to Leo through the car window, then back to you. “Not anymore, you have me now.”
All you could do was nod, if you didn’t want to start crying in the middle of the street. You rounded the car, unlatching the car seat straps while Johnny got the booster out, with Leo sleeping soundly on it, and brought it to his truck.
“Alright,” he said cheerfully, placing it on the backseat and tugging at one of the buckles with that characteristic Storm confidence. “How hard can this be?”
“Famous last words.” You shook your head amused. You climbed the backseat from the other side, hovering over Leo in the booster, while Johnny leaned in from the other side, with the car door open.
And…you were right. It didn’t help that it was already dark outside, and the small dome light from the truck didn’t help much either. Johnny had never felt more useless, yet he refused to use his flames as a light source, he was not taking the risk of the truck catching fire and sending his son to the hospital. It didn’t take long before he grunted, twisting the latch the wrong way for the fourth time.
“Oh come on,” he whined. “It just…doesn’t fit right.”
“Because you’re doing it wrong!” You shot back, reaching across to fix it. Your fingers brushed his, both of you fumbling in the cramped space, bumping shoulders while trying to avoid bothering Leo as he snored softly through the chaos. “Move over,” you hissed.
“I am over!” he hissed back, his head knocking yours as he leaned closer. Your hands grazed again on the buckle, cold against warm, before you yanked yours back, face heating between frustration and nerves from being so close to him.
“It’s this stupid truck, I had no problem putting this on my car–also, Franklin literally had one of these, Johnny. You should know how these work.”
“Yeah sure, it’s the truck.” He huffed at your annoyance on his extravagant vehicle choice. “And by the way, Franklin’s seat had a green light, alright? Reed made sure you knew when it clicked right. This thing’s–” He tugged at the strap again, scowling. “...old school. No lights.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter Building, not all of us get high tech seats that practically latch themselves!”
Johnny looked up, mock offended, grinning like the little shit he was just to piss you off more. “Hey! It didn’t latch on its own–we still struggled to put it on the car.”
“See? It had a stupid green light and you still struggled.” You teased, but your amusement was cut short when you bumped heads again, hard, and Leo stirred under you.
The two of you stared at each other across the half installed seat, exasperated, Leo already on cloud nine while you acted like bickering newlyweds. Before this kept getting ridiculous, Johnny huffed, stepping back.
“Okay, listen–clearly this isn’t working.” He announced, like it wasn't obvious already. “How about this, you set it up, and I’ll…” His gaze flicked to Leo slumped in the straps, and his voice went soft. “…I’ll hold him, so you can place it properly.”
“...Alright.” You unbuckled Leo from the seat. Johnny stepped close, arms out as he welcomed him into his arms. He cradled his small body against his chest, and for a moment, the world stilled. Leo heavy and warm in his arms, his little breaths puffing against Johnny’s shirt.
He was holding his son for the second time, and he’d count every single one that came after this one too. Johnny could only give you a nervous smile as he whispered, “Okay, your turn.”
And with Leo safe in his hold, you crouched down to wrestle the stubborn seat into place. Your heart racing, hands fumbling, because every time you looked up, there he was…Johnny Storm, holding your son like he’d been waiting more than six years for the chance. You tugged the last strap into place, and wiped your palms on your jeans.
“There, we got it.” You sighed, but Johnny didn’t move. He stood there, dissociating from reality, Leo tucked safe against his chest. He had one big hand spread across Leo’s back, the other carefully cupping his head of blonde hair.
“Johnny?” you tried gently.
“Mm?” He barely looked at you, rocking Leo without realizing, his thumb brushing soothing circles over the fabric of his little pullover.
“The car seat’s been ready for a few minutes.”
His head snapped up. “Right–yeah, yeah…of course.” He chuckled, blushing, but still didn’t move to set Leo down.
“Are you planning on taking him home like that?” you teased softly, biting back a smile.
For a second he looked like he might argue. Because he’s Johnny Storm and he could fly him home if he wanted to, but then again, he wasn’t going to risk a burn. So then he sighed, lowering Leo reluctantly into the seat, as if every inch of distance physically hurt. He buckled him in with careful hands, lingering just a second too long to brush back his hair before stepping away.
“Sorry, I just…didn’t want to let go yet.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from thinking too much about it. Johnny walked away as you climbed out the backseat, already holding the passenger seat’s door open for you.
“Thank you, Johnny.” You smiled. He nodded, smiling back as he closed the door once you were inside.
From the corner of your eye you could see the tow finally arriving, and let out a relieved sigh as they took care of your car. Once Johnny saw it was being handled properly, he finally moved his. Closing shops and trees in shades of orange blurred past as the truck rolled through the calm streets of your town. Johnny drove with the window down, the evening wind making a mess of his hair. His left elbow was propped casually on the door, right hand steady on the wheel, only letting it go to turn on the radio. A rock country song came on. It was just supposed to be background noise really, something chill that filled the silence. Yet you couldn’t help but pick on the lyrics.
Someone told me long ago, there's a calm before the storm
I know, it's been comin' for some time
You had your calm before the storm. Before the Storm. But you always knew he would eventually find you, it was only a matter of time. As his profile was lit faintly by the street lamps, you couldn't help your eyes from wandering. At least he seemed lost enough in his own head to not notice you were staring. Time had treated him well. He was still Johnny, of course, his outfit looking far ahead of his time like always. Pants too tight, cropped brown leather jacket, trendy Adidas. But you saw the weight of the years you’d missed as smile lines were starting to carve deeper into his skin, and his blonde hair surely hid baby grey hairs. But God help you, no matter how much time went by, he looked as handsome as ever.
You turned to Leo to distract yourself from Johnny, and saw Leo slumped sideways in the car seat, mouth open, absolutely gone. A faint trace of drool smeared the collar of his little pullover.
“Kid’s out cold.” Johnny chuckled, his gaze flicking to the rearview mirror.
“Sugar crash…always gets him.” You laughed under your breath, crossing your arms around yourself.
Johnny bit his bottom lip, shaking his head a little. “He drools exactly like me.”
“That, I can’t argue with you.” You laughed once more, catching Johnny’s smile going sad as he looked in the mirror again. “Are you…okay?” You dared to ask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how all of this was affecting him.
Johnny hesitated for a moment, his hand tapping the wheel absentmindedly before letting out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I was just…thinking about something.” He said, his eyes locked on the road ahead. “You know, when Franklin was born, I thought he was the coolest kid on the planet. Smart as hell, funny, just…this little marvel.” He smiled, and you nodded because you remembered how wonderful he was. “I was so damn proud to be his uncle. I didn’t think there could ever be a kid like that again. But…then I met him.” His eyes flicked to the mirror once more, where Leo drooled away on his collar. Johnny’s smile grew wider, eyes softening.
“My son. The one you raised. And he’s…he’s more than everything. Brilliant, curious, polite. With his own little quirks. You made him into this amazing person, and I can’t even explain how proud I am. And I only met him properly, like what, two hours ago?” He chuckled. “You did a hell of a job, you know that? All on your own, and he’s…perfect. So, thank you. For keeping him safe. For protecting him from all the mess that comes with me.” Johnny glanced at you, still with crossed arms, then quickly back to the road before finally saying what had been haunting his mind since the yogurt shop. “I get it now, you know…why you kept him away. My world, it’s not meant for a kid with a normal life…” Johnny hesitated, before adding, “However, you know he deserves better than this town. He’s too big for it already.”
Your fingers twisted in your lap, eyes fixed out the window as the trees rolled past. Finally, you exhaled, words spilling like you’d been holding them too long.
“You’re right,” you admitted quietly, eyes fixed out the window. “I know this town won’t hold him forever. He’s…too much. Too smart, too curious. I’ve had a plan in the back of my head for years. Move to a bigger city when I can. Somewhere with better schools, better programs, kids like him. People who challenge him everyday.”
Johnny nodded slowly, biting his cheek before daring. “Well, that’s what the First Steps program is for. And it doesn’t just apply to New York. You know that, right? You could’ve applied for him to be part of it without ever stepping foot in our world. Without ever having to deal with me, with us, with the name. Just…the opportunities.”
“Johnny, that’s literally how you found me. And I was very careful with her application, yet it still backfired on me.” Your disbelieving scoff came out sharper than you intended, as you finally turned toward him. “ I was never putting Leo’s photo on your desk.That’s the exact opposite of what I wanted.”
“Yes, but you still could have–”
“No, Johnny. I couldn’t put him in a world that once promised me all those things. Opportunities, belonging, a family, a home.” Your lip quivered, but you pushed the words out anyway. “Because I know how it ends. We all know how it ended.”
“Yeah…I know,” he exhaled. “I was the worst. And my family was the worst. We failed you. God, we failed you so bad. If I knew then what I know now…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But I still think you could’ve at least told me. All these years, you could’ve called. Said, hey Johnny, you have a son. You really think I would’ve turned that down? You think I wouldn’t have–” he cut himself short, taking a deep breath. “God, I would’ve never ignored him. Never.”
“And what would’ve become of that, huh? Back then?” You snapped. “You thought I was a traitor. You looked at me like I’d stabbed you in the back. You and your family would’ve taken Leo from me in a heartbeat. And you would’ve shut me out all over again.”
“We wouldn’t have.” Was all he could say, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed that.
“You don’t know that.” You shook your head. “Look–it shouldn't have been the way it was, we both know that. And I’m sorry my decisions cost Leo his father. I’m truly sorry that you missed everything. The first words. The first steps. The first everything. But I couldn’t let you just have him…and you said you understood why.”
“...Yeah,” he whispered. “I did.”
He felt like there was more to be said, like you still had stuff to get out of your systems, but he was tired of fighting with you over things he couldn't change. So for now, he “understood why.”
The rest of the drive was quiet. You came to a stop in your driveway, your own car already parked there. A tow truck was nearby, the driver waiting with clipboard in hand. You slipped out of the car to meet him, still shaken from your conversation with Johnny. “Wow, that was fast,” you breathed, taking the clipboard.
“We’ll swap the battery out in the morning, first thing.” He smiled politely.
Great. The morning. When everything was already chaotic with Leo.
You bit your lip, scanning the page to see how much of your month’s income was going to this whole mess. “Okay, how much do I–”
“Already covered,” he cut in with a shrug, handing you the receipt.
“Covered?”
Johnny’s voice came from behind. “Just sign it.” He said softly, biting back a smile.
You glanced over your shoulder. He was climbing out of the truck, Leo drooling against his shoulder, fast asleep in his arms. Johnny shifted him higher, one big hand bracing his back.
At this point you were too tired to bicker over a receipt, so you turned back to the driver, signing it. “Alright. Tomorrow morning, then, thank you.”
He tipped his hat and stepped back. By the time you reached the porch, Johnny was already waiting. He tilted his head toward the door, a nervous smile on his face said a silent plea. Let me.
“You can put him to bed,” you whispered, almost laughing at the absurdity of saying it twice in two nights.
Johnny celebrated, but kept it small, just a subtle little fist pump at his side, like he couldn’t risk being loud with Leo now drooling on his shoulder. And then he stepped inside, carrying his son down the hall like it was the most natural thing in the world. You followed quietly, lingering in the doorway as Johnny bent to tuck Leo under the same soft blanket, brushing his hair back with tenderness. He pressed a kiss to his forehead again, then straightened, giving the room one last look before slipping past you back to the living room.
He paused at the door, once again unsure on how to say goodbye to you. You sighed, leaning forward just enough to hug him briefly. His arms hesitated, then wrapped around you, strong and warm. And God, you hadn’t felt that warmth in so long.
“Thank you,” you whispered into his shirt. “For…everything.”
“Anytime.” He whispered into your hair.
You pulled back, managing a small tired smile. “You can come tomorrow after homework. He’ll want to show you his books.”
“After homework? Yeah, yeah, I can be here after homework.” He nodded quickly, making you laugh. “Oh–give me your car keys, I’ll move Leo’s seat from my car to yours.” He added, looking far too enthusiastic about it for someone who didn’t even know how to do it. “I’ll figure it out, just…let me help. Pretty please.” He smiled sheepishly, making a grabby gesture with his hand held up.
Something told you he was plotting something, but then again, you were too tired for this stuff. So you narrowed your eyes and nodded, taking the keys out of your pocket and placed them on his palm. “Okay. Just put them under the rug when you are done.”
And that’s how Johnny Storm walked out of your house with a grin bigger than the cheshire cat, and your car keys dangling from his hand. He barely caught the tow driver before he drove away, jogging to catch up with him through the window of the tall truck.
“Hey! tomorrow morning?”
The man nodded. “I’ll be back around nine.”
“Make it earlier,” Johnny said, pulling a folded bill from his wallet and sliding it into the man’s hand. “I’ll be here around 7 to deal with it.”
The driver raised a brow, but only tipped his hat and agreed, before finally driving away. Johnny glanced back at the house, at the faint light still glowing through the curtains. Tomorrow, when you woke up, your car would already be good to go before you even had to think about it. One less burden on your shoulders. To him, being a hero always meant fire. It meant cameras, news headlines, cheering crowds. A suit that Reed designed and a symbol the whole world talked about. Well, except for this town you had meticulously picked.
But this, for once, wasn’t about his flames or saving cities.
This was about making sure you didn’t wake up stressed about a dead battery. About making sure you got Leo ready for school without worrying about how you’d pay for it. About showing up when no one was watching, when no one would clap or write about it. He left with your car keys in his pocket; he would need them the next day to deal with the battery and move the booster back in actual daylight.
And that’s when Johnny realized this was the kind of superhero he wanted to be. Not the Human Torch. But a man who showed up. A father.
As soon as Johnny pulled into his hotel room, he checked his phone. He’d silenced the thing since the night before, only using his watch to make that emergency tow call. Now, he couldn't ignore the notifications stacked in rows that flooded the screen.
Sue: Johnny, have you found her?
Sue: Why aren’t you answering? Please don’t shut us out.
Sue: Seriously Johnny? Radio silence isn’t like you.
Ben: Come on, J. Say something. Sue is planning to come find you if you don’t talk to us.
Reed: Your sister is worried. Please report back.
Normally he would toss back some joke to ease the tension, or…Sue’s worry would crack his resolve. His thumb hovered over the screen, and for a second, he thought about typing out the truth.
I found her. I found her, and I found him. I have a son. He’s perfect. You have to meet him.
God, he wanted it. Wanted Sue to squeal with joy, wanted Ben to laugh and clap his back, wanted Reed to be floored by how brilliant Leo was. Wanted Franklin to finally meet the cousin who could rival him. They’d all love him. They’d adore him.
But Leo wasn’t theirs. He was Johnny’s.
And he wasn’t ready to let anyone else near him. Not until he’d earned it. Not until he’d had more than two nights of carrying his son to bed, more than a single ice cream run, more than a handful of hours with him. And you had just started to trust him. If he opened his mouth too soon, if he let this secret slip to the family before you were ready, it would be betrayal. And he had already done that to you once. As much as he hated to admit it, Johnny finally understood why you had hidden Leo away. Because if he could, if it meant keeping Leo safe and his for just a little longer…he’d hide him too. So he settled for that.
Johnny: I found her, I’m trying to fix it. Everything’s okay, I promise I’ll explain everything when I get home.
The morning was chaos from the second you opened your eyes. You rushed through the kitchen in unbuttoned sleeves, barefoot, hair barely tamed, Leo bouncing at your heels in his uniform and his backpack half zipped. He always followed you around full of questions before you’d even had your first sip of coffee. Then came the knock on the door.
“Battery guy,” you groaned, breathless. “Hang on, honey.”
You yanked the door open, ready to rush through instructions while keeping an eye on the five year old battling with fitting as many books as possible on his backpack. But the man outside simply gave you a smile, holding his clipboard and something else behind his back.
“All set,” he said. “Battery’s in, the car’s good to go.”
“What? How did you–I thought I had to–”
“Nope.” He cut you off softly. “The guy who hired me showed up early, made sure everything was in order…Oh–and he said to give you this, and this.”
He handed you the car keys, and a box of cereal. Lucky Charms, Leo’s favorite. A neon post-it with handwriting you recognized immediately was attached to it.
Thought you might be running low. Good morning :) Tell Leo good morning too.
“Oh,” you blurted, clutching the box. “T-thanks…”
The man gave you a final nod and left. You stood in the doorway, cereal in your hands, your son’s voice echoing behind you. Johnny hadn’t crowded your morning. He’d respected your request to come after homework. But he’d been there, quiet but still present. You glanced down at the post-it again, warmth prickling your eyes. It was such a simple thing. Except it wasn't.
You closed the door, walking to Leo who was already at the breakfast table and set the box down in front of him. “Johnny sent these for you, baby.”
“Lucky charms!” He exclaimed excitedly, but he paused mid reach, blinking up at you. His little smile spread wide, but there was a flicker of something else behind it when he noticed the sheen in your eyes.
“Mommy, where did you say Johnny was from again? Like…how do you know him?”
You met his sharp little eyes, and felt a knot in your stomach. He’d asked this before, so you gave him the same answer you always did. “He’s from somewhere far away, sweetheart. That’s all. Don’t think too much about it.”
Leo nodded, but his gaze lingered on you longer than usual. He tucked the information into his personal database once again, his little brain already putting pieces together.
Oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland
My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you
Johnny timed it all out in his head in the morning. If you picked Leo up from school at three, gave him a snack, and he did his homework for about an hour or two…then four thirty felt safe. Not too early, not too late. Right after homework. Right enough to show he respected your rhythm and your space.
He had spent the earlier part of the afternoon wandering the small town shops, trying to figure out what to bring. A toy store had caught his eye, but nothing felt right. Leo wasn’t that type of kid. Sure, he liked cars like any kid his age would, but the bookshelf in his room, the way he blurted facts like a mini Reed spoke louder to him. So Johnny had walked out with a puzzle instead. Something they could build together. Normally he’d rather set himself on fire than sit still for something like that, but the thought of sitting on the floor with Leo, fitting pieces until they made sense, suddenly seemed like the most fun he could have.
Then came the grocery store. He remembered seeing a book of recipes somewhere on your counter. So he filled a cart like it was his own kitchen, even if he’d never done it before. Different types of milk because he didn’t know which one you preferred, vegetables, more cereal, pasta, pantry staples. He snuck in some oreos and ice cream because why not. He walked out with enough bags to nearly overflow the truck. He almost grabbed flowers too, but stopped himself. Too much, Johnny. Get it together.
Which is how he found himself outside your door, arms stacked with too many paper bags that were dangerously balanced. He couldn’t even knock properly, so he leaned his weight on one foot and tapped the door gently with his sneaker. The door swung open and there was Leo, looking up at him, or more accurately, multiple paper bags and Johnny’s hidden face behind.
“Hello?”
Johnny peeked over the side. “Hey, champ.”
“Mommy! Johnny’s here!” Leo yelled back into the house, before stepping aside with wide eyes to let him in.
You appeared from the kitchen, stopping dead at the sight. “What on earth is all of that?”
Johnny shuffled inside carefully, balancing the groceries stacked to his chin. “Uh…food?”
“For an entire football team?”
Johnny tilted the bags a little higher since they were starting to slip from his hands. “I just…thought maybe your pantry could use some stuff.”
“Johnny. That’s–what, half a grocery store?” You chuckled, walking over to him to help with some bags and took them to the kitchen.
He laughed nervously, following you and finally setting the bags down on the counter with a loud exhale. “Yeah, well…figured milk and vegetables and, you know…stuff. There’s more in the car, I…might’ve gone overboard.”
Your first thought, naturally, was how you didn’t need him to sweep in and buy out half the town’s grocery store. But then you caught his face. There was no wink, no “look what I did.” He was actually sheepish…and incredibly happy to help. As if unloading those paper bags onto your counters was the highlight of his week. It tore down another one of your walls.
You leaned against the counter, and just watched. Watched him line up two more cereal boxes next to the three already crammed on your counter. Watched him set down a bag of broccoli he hated but your son probably didn’t. God, he hoped he didn't. Watched him hold up a mesh bag of potatoes, glancing at you asking for instructions.
“Where do these go?” he asked, brow furrowed, so earnestly lost in your tiny kitchen.
“Uh…the basket next to the stove,” you said.
He nodded, putting them away, humming under his breath as he dug through the rest. “And…popcorn? Where in the pantry?”
“Bottom shelf,” you answered automatically, biting back a smile and the damn tears at the same time.
Because it hit you then. Hard.
This was the life you once wanted. The one you pretended you didn’t care about. Someone who took care of your car problems. Someone in your kitchen, sleeves rolled, groceries spread across the counter. Not just anyone…Leo’s father.
Johnny.
Present. Thoughtful. Doing the most significant insignificant things. Just him, you and your son. Every day. It was delusional, you knew that. But sometimes that was the solution. As you stood there, the picture was too vivid for you to ignore. You had to put away some stuff in the fridge so he wouldn’t see the hurt in your face.
Two days, and he was doing his best to undo part of the damage he’d caused so long ago. And it terrified you that it might've been working. Still, as you stole one more glance at him clumsily stacking pasta bags, knocking over some spices and barely catching them, you couldn’t help but think, I can almost pretend this is us.
Leo had managed to lure Johnny away from the boring paper bags and guided him to the bookshelf in his room when you got distracted, practically vibrating with excitement. Johnny folded himself down onto the puff in the corner, as Leo started grabbing his favorite books from the shelf and plopping them onto Johnny’s lap. He laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair as the stack grew quickly, one by one.
“This one,” Leo started, tapping the first. “This one’s about animals from the rainforest. The illustrations are interesting. And this one, it’s about space, and the author is my favorite. Oh, and this one has the best drawings of dinosaurs, you’ll love it–look, look, you can see the scales on this one…”
Johnny’s eyes softened, glassy in the dim lamp light. He wasn’t looking at the books. He was looking at Leo. He’d never felt like he belonged anywhere more than he did now. Sinking into a beanbag, knees bent awkwardly, his son piling book after book onto him, talking so fast his words tripped over each other. You lingered in the doorway of Leo’s room, leaning against the frame, as Johnny’s lap became a bookshelf of its own, when he suddenly remembered.
“Hey–uh, could you do me a favor?” he asked you, glancing toward the hallway. “There’s a blue bag by the others I brought in. Can you grab it? I’d stand up but…” He gestured helplessly at the leaning tower of books weighing him down that Leo kept piling stuff on.
Suspicion flickered across your face, but you went anyway, returning with the bag dangling from your fingers. You handed it over with curiosity. He mouthed a thanks, then grinned at Leo.
“It’s for you, buddy,” he said, holding it out to him.
Leo’s eyes went wide, the books forgotten as he peeked inside, then gasped. “A puzzle?” He pulled out the box, turning it around to study the picture. A swirling nebula, galaxies spilling across the cardboard in oranges and blues.
“It’s the Carina Nebula! Mom, the Carina Nebula! And a thousand pieces too, thank you Johnny!”
“Johnny…” You gasped at him in surprise, and he was just delighted to see so much emotion in Leo’s face from something Johnny considered less than ordinary a few days ago.
But not anymore. From now on a thousand pieces puzzles were his favorite thing too. “Of course, bab–Leo.”
Johnny almost slipped out a more personal nickname, but Leo was too busy tearing the box open and dropping the contents onto the carpet to notice. He scrambled his little fingers to start flipping the pieces over. He got up only to run and stand in front of Johnny, a huge grin on his face.
“You read this one, please.” Leo said breathlessly, shoving a book from the pile at Johnny “Read, read! I’ll sort the edges.”
Johnny chuckled, picking up the slim hardcover. “Yes, sir.” His voice softened as he opened the first page.
He looked up once, mid sentence, and caught your gaze. The way he smiled back made your chest ache in the best way possible.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
“No, thank you,” he mouthed back.
You smiled, and walked out to put away the last of the stuff he brought while you finished up dinner. Johnny tilted the book closer to his face, squinting. The lamplight was weak, and his first instinct was the same one it had always been, just flare his hand and solve the problem without thinking. But then he froze.
Because he couldn’t. Not in front of Leo, the kid didn’t even know yet. That’s when it hit him like a punch…he hadn’t used his powers since he got here. Not to save anyone, not to show off, not even to heat up a cup of coffee, and he hadn’t even realized it until now. So he just angled the book toward the light, cleared his throat, and kept reading, when Leo’s small voice cut through his storytelling.
“So…what exactly do you do for work?”
Johnny’s eyes went wide, lowering the book to see Leo looking at him with the same intensity Sue sometimes did.
“Work?” He cleared his throat. “Well, I uh, do research on space stuff. You know…boring science things.”
“What kind of space stuff?” he pressed, the puzzle forgotten for a moment.
Johnny forced a smile, leaning back against the beanbag. “Oh, you know trajectories, black holes…space.” He tried to brush it off, even when it was his favorite thing to talk about, just so the kid wouldn't pry further.
Leo hummed, not convinced with the brief explanation. So he tilted his head, trying with a different question. “How long have you known mom?”
“Longer than you’ve been alive.” He said quietly. “Way longer.”
Leo gave another thoughtful little hum, pretending to be focused again on lining up puzzle edges. But Johnny caught it, that tiny, dramatic pause before he placed a piece down, the way his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched on the smallest smirk like he was silently declaring Gotcha. A Storm quirk if Johnny had ever seen one.
Johnny gulped. Because he had a feeling Leo wasn’t just curious…he was clocking him.
“Dinner’s ready!” Your yell from the kitchen cut right through the tension.
Johnny snapped the book shut like it had burned him. “Dinner’s ready!” he echoed, way too cheerfully, setting the books back on the low shelf as if nothing unusual had just happened. He ruffled Leo’s hair lightly. “We’ll get back to these over the next few days, buddy. No rush.”
Leo studied him, still with narrowed eyes that looked too much like Johnny’s own. Then, with a little nod, he got up and walked to the living room’s bathroom. Johnny exhaled, until Leo popped his head back around the doorframe and ordered. “Wash your hands.”
“…Right, of course.” He walked after him, chuckling under his breath. “Bossy, like his mom.”
Johnny had sat through hundreds of family dinners. You’d been part of them once, too. Ben in an apron, Herbert always helping while Johnny just tasted stuff and looked pretty. Everything was always polished, silver cutlery against fine white porcelain, shiny glass cups, not a single plate out of place.
And now here he was, at your small wood dining table. The plates didn’t match; yours had a painted baby blue rim, Leo’s was patterned with tiny colorful stars. And Johnny’s was something goofy, with cartoon astronauts smiling up at him. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. He knew you picked it specifically for him.
He loved it.
Cups mismatched as well. Your mug was delicate with pretty spring flowers, Leo had a green plastic dinosaur cup, and Johnny had the orange plastic one with the built-in wavy straw.
Yeah, that was targeted too. He loved it more.
Leo dug in with his small plastic fork and occasionally his hands like a kid who knew he was loved enough not to be scolded for enjoying his meal. Johnny couldn’t stop staring at the little details. The cups, the plates, the way you smiled when Leo asked for seconds of broccoli. So he does like it, the thought, that’s my son. Here, there was no Herbert hovering nearby to meet their every need. Here, dinner wasn’t polished like back home, but it was perfect, because this was his new one.
That’s how the rest of Johnny’s week went. Going after homework, bringing a new puzzle if Leo had finished the last one in record time, and dinner with you. Occasionally he would bring dinner too, some greasy takeout he definitely bribed you into by bringing fruit for Leo.
He was having the time of his life playing family with you. He felt like everyday he managed to tear down another row of bricks from the walls you’d built around yourself. But at the same time, the weight of the other family that waited for him back home kept breathing down his neck. Sue wasn’t happy at all, considering how uncharacteristically nonverbal Johnny was being to them, but he’d managed to keep her at bay with little white lies that weren’t actually white or little at all.
Johnny just wasn’t ready to leave the only sense of normalcy he’d managed to build with you.
I'd live and die for moments that we stole, on begged and borrowed time
Leo’s room was a mess of puzzle pieces, once again. Johnny sat cross legged, sleeves rolled up, sorting corners from edges. Leo took the sorted ones and tried to set up a start, but something seemed to rattle his little head, because he was having trouble matching the pieces together.
“Johnny,” Leo started casually, eyes fixed on the puzzle as he finally fitted two edge pieces correctly. “Have you ever wondered why we look so much alike?”
“Oh–uh…not really.” Lie. “Sometimes people just look similar. DNA can be weird, kid.” He shrugged, trying to sound casual. But he came off as too casual. “Random coincidences.” He laughed nervously.
“But you can only call it a coincidence if the DNA isn’t the same.” Leo said immediately, like he was waiting for a slip up like that to happen.
Johnny almost choked with his own spit. Shit. Why did he have to bring up DNA to his literal mini genius of a son?
“...The same?” Johnny panicked.
Leo looked up confidently. “Yeah. If the DNA is tied, you don’t call it a coincidence, you call it inheritance. That’s what makes people look alike. I learned about that today at school.” He stated, and Johnny’s stomach dropped. Leo leaned back on his little hands, squinting at him. “So is it a coincidence…or inheritance?”
“Leo…” He shook his head, trying to laugh it off. “Look, kiddo, I–”
“If it’s just coincidence, then just tell me we don’t have the same DNA.”
Johnny looked at his son, and every lie he could say to protect him from the truth died on his tongue. He wanted to bluff, to wave it away, to keep this little universe intact until you were ready. But as he stared into Leo’s bright, searching eyes, he couldn’t.
For God’s sake, he had to learn about that in school today.
Leo just hummed at Johnny’s silence, like the puzzle pieces he’d been trying to put together in his own head had finally clicked. “Mommy lets you do things no one else does.” He added, still scrutinizing Johnny with his gaze.
Johnny straightened in his cross legged position. “Like what, buddy?”
“She lets you be in my room and play with me. She lets you buy food for us. She lets you take us in your car. She thinks I don’t see it, but she never lets anyone do anything.” He shrugged. “It’s always just been mom and me...until you showed up.”
“Huh.” Johnny had to bite back a smile. “I guess…that just makes me pretty lucky, right?”
Leo shook his head. “Or important.”
Right now Johnny wished he had Sue’s powers to turn invisible. The gaze of the five year old on him was making him sweat. Again. And Leo wasn’t even done with his questioning.
“Where are you really from? You never tell me.”
Johnny cleared his throat. “I told you buddy, somewhere far away.”
“You always say that. Mom always says that.”
And that’s when it happened. Those bright, impossibly hopeful eyes narrowed, not suspicious anymore, more like he’d just solved the final clue in a mystery. Then, without hesitation, he dared to ask.
“Are you…are you my dad?”
The world stopped.
Johnny wanted to say yes a million times. He wanted to throw his arms around him and sob into his tiny shoulder and never let go. But he was terrified. This was not how he’d pictured the big reveal.
“Pizza’s here, you two!” From the living room, your oblivious voice broke the silence.
Neither of them moved. Leo tilted his head, curious at the silence he’d caused, but Johnny looked like he’d seen a ghost, his face pale, heart slamming like it was trying to escape out of his chest.
“Please don’t lie to me.” Leo’s voice came softer this time, too innocent, too vulnerable for Johnny to bear. “Are you?”
You appeared in the doorway, ready to scold them for not coming out when you called, but you caught the question Leo made.
“Is he what?” You asked playfully.
But that’s when you saw Johnny's face, paper white as Leo stood in his spot, tiny hands planted firmly on his hips. Those sharp eyes darted from Johnny to you, then back to Johnny, and there was something about the way he was looking at him that made your stomach drop.
“Leo? What are you asking, baby?”
“I’m asking Johnny if he’s my dad.”
Your wide eyes went to Johnny, but his gaze was fixed on the floor. “Why…why do you think that?”
“Because you always say my dad lives somewhere far away. And when I ask Johnny where he’s from, he says the same thing. And because we look alike.” He gestured between himself and Johnny, small hands waving in the air like Johnny did when he explained something. “Not just the hair, but the way I move, the way I talk. He looks like me, and I look like him, and that’s a fact. You can’t tell me that’s only a coincidence.”
You knew Johnny couldn't get a word out, he looked like he was about to pass out, and Leo wasn't letting it go either. So you sighed, walked to his little figure and dropped to your knees beside him, brushing a strand of hair back behind his ear, while your heart was trying to crawl out of your chest.
“Yes, baby.” You smiled through glassy eyes. “Johnny is your dad.”
Leo looked at you in silence, like he just found the final piece of the puzzle he’d been solving all this time inside his head. Then he turned to Johnny, eyes searching for a confirmation from the man itself.
“Yeah, buddy.” Johnny’s voice came out shaky, holding back tears. “I’m dad.”
Leo studied him for what felt like eternity. He wasn’t angry, but he didn’t seem that surprised either. Then, he nodded once. “Okay.”
It was such a simple reaction, that Johnny almost sobbed in relief. Almost. Because then Leo tilted his head, and asked the real question Johnny wasn't ready for.
“Then where have you been all this time? Why were you so far away?” It wasn't exactly sad, or angry. It was just a child trying to understand why his father didn’t go see him once in the five years of his little life.
“Leo, things…were complicated,” Johnny managed to say, coaxing. “Complicated in ways I don’t think you’d understand yet.”
“Try me, I am very intelligent. I understand many things.”
The innocent argument earned a breathless laugh from Johnny, because God, he knew it was true. This kid could probably teach him a thousand things already. But he shook his head. “You do, buddy, you do. Just…not this.” He said softly. “I know I’ve missed a lot, but I’m here now, Leo. That’s what matters, I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”
Leo watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” For once, he didn't feel like questioning everything. “But don’t miss anything else.”
And for Johnny, that little “okay” and that plea felt like the universe just gave him a second chance. So he nodded, maybe too quickly, but he was already feeling that familiar burning sensation behind his eyes.
“Can I…hug you?” Leo asked quietly.
“What?” Johnny whispered, like maybe he didn’t hear right.
Leo shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve never hugged my dad before.”
Johnny’s heart stopped again. At this point he was gonna need a crash cart next to him. He nodded quickly, his whole body tilting forward, arms welcoming Leo as he launched right into them. Johnny clutched him so tight, one hand cradling the whole back of his head, the other wrapped around his tiny back, and he buried his face in his son’s shoulder.
“You have no idea,” Johnny choked, voice muffled, “How long I’ve been waiting for this.”
You stood in the doorway, tears burning your eyes, because the image was seared into you. Your son, safe in his father’s arms, and Johnny, finally holding the piece of his life he thought he was never getting back. It took forever before Johnny even loosened his arms. Finally, slowly, he leaned back just enough to see his son’s face. His hands cupped Leo’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over the soft skin like he was memorizing every detail. Johnny was crying, shameless tears, but smiled through it, shaking his head like he couldn't believe this was real.
“Look at you,” Johnny sobbed,“You’re perfect.”
Leo hit him with that toothy five year old grin, and Johnny melted. He kissed his forehead, his hair, the crown of his head, over and over, until Leo squirmed and started giggling. It was the kind of laugh that bubbled right out of his chest, because he’d never been loved like this by anyone but you, and now suddenly he had his dad too, the one he’d wished for every time he blew his birthday candles.
Leo leaned back a little, pushing Johnny’s chest with his tiny hands, still giggling as he looked from Johnny to you. “Mommy…what should I call Johnny now?”
It was a question you never thought you’d hear…at least not so soon. You stared at your son, then at Johnny, who looked like he was seconds from fainting again, waiting for your answer.
“Whatever you want to call him, baby.”
Leo hummed, thinking hard for a moment, his little brow furrowed. Johnny’s breath got stuck in his throat. This is it, this is the moment, he was about to hear that word “Dad”, and it would kill him in the best way possible–
“Johnny.” Leo announced firmly. “Still Johnny. For now, mommy.”
Yeah. That killed him in the worst way possible. Still, he forced a nod, and somehow found the strength to smile. “Johnny’s perfect, buddy. I’ll take that.” Leo would be “buddy” for now too. He’ll save the word “son” for when he is ready to call him Dad.
“Baby, Johnny and I need to talk, okay? Just for a little bit.” You cut in softly, gesturing Johnny to the hall with your head.
“Is it because I figured it out? Am I in trouble mommy?”
“No, no, of course not, baby.” You reassured, giving his cheek a little squeeze as Johnny finally got up from the beanbag.
“I’ll be back in a minute, champ. Promise.” Johnny said, ruffling Leo’s hair playfully.
Leo nodded, focusing back on the puzzle he’d abandoned on the floor. You closed the door softly behind you, walking down the hallway, stopping when you reached the living room.
“He figured it out.” Johnny was the first to speak, still stunned. “He actually figured it out on his own.”
“What do you mean?” You asked, still in disbelief.
“First, he asked me why we looked so alike,” Johnny said, pacing half a step, hands flailing like he always did. “And I panicked, right? I said some crap about coincidences and DNA, you know, like how it works sometimes.” He chuckled. “And you know what he said? He said it’s only a coincidence if the DNA isn’t the same. If it’s tied, it’s an inheritance. Said he learned that today at school.”
“Inheritance. Five years old, and he’s out here lecturing me like Reed.” This time you both chuckled. Johnny kept pacing, still buzzing with disbelief and pride. “You know what? This is my karma. All those years giving Reed hell about his oversized brain, and my kid’s out here calling my bullshit and casually dropping terms like inheritance.” He made a funny “serious” voice in that last word, making you double in laughter. “And you know what? I’m proud as hell. Because he’s cooler than Reed, obviously, cooler than all of us…and he’s gonna have a blast with Franklin–God, can you imagine them together? Two geniuses, tearing up crosswords, building–”
“Johnny–wait. Just…wait.” You put a hand in the air to stop his pacing. “We haven’t talked about any of that yet. About the tower, about…your family.” You said. “He just found out you’re his father. Just now. Can we please backtrack before you start planning his whole future?”
You didn’t mean to sound angry, but the defensiveness came out like a reflex. The grin faltered right off Johnny’s face, and looked at you with wide eyes like he was afraid he’d just ruined everything.
“Right–yeah. You’re right,” he blurted. “I just got a little carried away. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s okay. We just...” You sighed deeply, and softened your tone. “We just…need to breathe, and have a conversation about it together. Step by step.”
Together. That’s all he wanted since he set foot in this town. Johnny nodded quickly, muttering, “Yeah, together.”
That was when he moved closer, not too much, just a cautious step that made the air around you grow warmer. He just let his hand lift until his knuckles skimmed yours in the faintest brush. Testing. It was so easy getting lost on Johnny’s blue eyes, and you almost forgot how to breathe when you felt his skin graze yours. But the bolter in you told you to keep protecting yourself, so you folded your arms back across your chest, forcing yourself to break that spark between your hands, then tucked your hair behind your ear. Anything to give yourself a sense of composure. You pretended not to see the defeat in Johnny’s eyes, clearing your throat. Maybe you couldn’t give him your touch yet, but your closeness was something you were willing to offer.
“Listen uh–it’s getting late,” you said softly. “And today’s been…a lot. Let’s have some pizza, and if you want, you can crash on the couch. That way you’ll be here to put him to bed tonight and he can also see you in the morning.”
Johnny blinked, like he didn’t hear you right. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna intrude. I know your mornings are–”
“Crazy,” you finished for him with a tired smile. “Yeah. But he’ll be happy to have you here. And honestly…I don’t think you should drive back after a day like this.”
And I'll be happy to have you here too, you thought. The truth was, you didn't want him to leave after dinner. But a little white lie never hurt anyone.
“Okay,” he smiled softly, boyish. “I’ll crash on the couch.”
Time, mystical time, cutting me open, then healing me fine
The morning sun seeped through the curtains, and the first thing Johnny saw when he opened his eyes was his five year old staring him down in his cute rocketship pajamas.
“Good morning,” Leo said, and a soft smile spread on Johnny’s face. It didn’t last long before the kid pointed out, “You snore louder than a dinosaur,” and then disappeared back into the hallway.
Johnny blinked a few times and huffed. His back ached like hell, but if he ignored the accusation that he snores and just focused on the tender ‘good morning’ his son gave him, he couldn't care less about the pain. The next thing he saw was you walking out with your shirt untucked, hair barely tamed, and Leo trailing behind you, narrating every dinosaur fact he could remember. You stopped right before entering the kitchen, remembering you let Johnny sleep on your couch last night.
“Morning, Johnny,” You smiled sheepishly.
“Morning.” He propped himself up on his elbow to flash you a grin.
Damn deep morning voice. Damn bed hair. Damn tight shirt. Honestly, just damn Johnny Sto–
“Mommy, are you even listening?” Leo tugged the fabric of your dress pants, and only resumed his description of the Brachiosaurus when you turned to him with an apologetic smile.
Johnny chuckled when he realized your mornings were indeed chaotic with a walking encyclopedia following you around, so he sprung up from the couch to swiftly scoop Leo into his arms. “Alright, buddy, Operation ‘Let’s get dressed’ starts now.”
Leo giggled like it was a game, as Johnny hauled him toward his room making jet noises. Next thing you knew, Johnny was actually helping; getting Leo into his little uniform, somehow managing to fix the collar better than you expected, and even finding his missing shoe under the bed. You finally let yourself breathe. Johnny had Leo occupied so you could focus on breakfast. You told yourself you were just doing something nice because your son needed to eat something decent before school. That was it. Nothing to do with the fact that Johnny was there, suddenly making your morning a hundred times easier since he smiled at you. Nope. Totally not about him. So you pulled out the flour, eggs, and milk like it was the most casual thing in the world. But instead of Leo’s usual quick chopped fruits and cereal, you were whisking up pancake batter. Adding strawberries sliced on top, a drizzle of honey and even some whipped cream because why not.
“Pancakes? What’s the occasion?” Johnny appeared in the kitchen, leaning on the counter with crossed arms and a teasing smile.
“No occasion. Just figured Leo deserved something nice.” You muttered, setting the plates on the table, just as Leo strolled in all dressed up.
“She only makes pancakes on Sundays! Or birthdays…"
Your head whipped around. “Leo!” But he was already running to the bathroom to wash his hands, knowing exactly what he’d done.
Johnny’s grin widened, he padded over, standing way too close as he looked at the plates you’d clearly put an effort on. “So what you’re saying is…”He teased behind you, “…I should feel really special, then.” He was so close you could feel his warmth all over your back. Your hand stilled over the table, as Johnny’s hovered over your waist, almost touching you, testing just like last night when–
The doorbell rang, making you both jolt. You took that as your chance to bolt the scene, muttering something about getting the door. You cleared your throat, and tucked a loose strand behind your ear before opening it.
“Oh hi! How are you?” You beamed at your neighbor, and your sudden joy made Johnny snap his head to the handsome man greeting you with matching excitement. “I was going to call you, my car’s battery died the other day…” You said, voice fading away as you stepped outside to greet him and closed the door behind you, leaving Johnny without a sight of the interaction.
Oh hell no. Johnny immediately rushed to the window, leaning his knee on the couch to peek through the curtain. He saw you standing next to your car, already giggling at whatever joke this guy said. His eyes went up and down the mysterious man, he had shoulder length wavy brown hair, and a stupid kind smile. He was wearing a deep blue coverall uniform, his name embroidered on it but too far away to read. As if on cue, Leo walked out the bathroom, wondering where his mom was. Perfect.
“Hey, Leo, pst.” Johnny whispered, and the boy perked his head up in curiosity. “Come here buddy.”
Leo obeyed, climbing over the couch to get a peek outside too, and saw you. “Why are we eavesdropping on mom?” He asked, a bit too loud, his little brow already judging Johnny.
“Shhh. Buddy, we’re not eavesdropping, we’re…observing.” Johnny gaslighted, and Leo wasn’t fully convinced, but this seemed fun enough to entertain him. “Now Leo, who’s that man? He’s your neighbor?”
“Yes, that’s Mr. Barnes. His name is Bucky.”
“Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky.” Johnny frowned, and Leo gasped.
“Language!” The five year old scolded, and Johnny reluctantly muttered an apology. “He’s a mechanic, he was supposed to change our battery last week.”
Yeah, but why is she giggling so much? He can’t be that funny. And why are those guy’s eyes so blue? Johnny leaned closer to hear the conversation.
“Hey, next time something like that happens, call me alright?” Bucky said, and you nodded.
“Thank you, Bucky. I will.” You smiled at him one last time, and finally turned to the porch to make your way back.
“Shit–” Johnny scattered away from the window, ignoring Leo’s little scold for the curse, and snatched him off the couch just in time as you opened the door.
You walked in with a sigh and a smile, only to find Johnny and Leo standing suspiciously close to the window, both trying–and failing–to act normal. “What?” You asked, crossing your arms.
Johnny shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Nothing. Just…didn’t realize the pancakes included an early morning comedy hour with the neighbor.”
You snorted. “Oh my god, Johnny. He just wanted to ask about the tow he saw last week.”
“Right! The tow, yeah that’s hilarious, isn't it…All that giggling and tossing your hair back, talking about a tow...”
You narrowed your eyes, and bit back a smile at his very evident jealousy. “Johnny, Bucky is like a hundred years old.” You said and his brows furrowed in more confusion. “Okay–not a hundred. But he’s way older, you don’t need to worry about him…”
“Me? Worried about that guy? Pft.” He shrugged. “No, I was just curious why Mister Mechanic thinks he can knock on your door before breakfast.”
You rolled your eyes. “Because some people actually wake up early to do their jobs, Johnny.”
“Oh, so now you’re defending him? Wow. First pancakes, and now this. The morning just keeps getting better!” He said sarcastically, and Leo watched him amused.
You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you walked to the breakfast table. “You’re ridiculous.”
Leo trailed behind you. “Yeah, and foul-mouthed.” He giggled climbing into his chair.
Johnny groaned, dragging his feet to the table. Yeah, well…ridiculous or not, I just got my family back. Not really in the mood to share laughs with some guy named Bucky.”
Pancakes were a success, so much that Johnny was eager to offer himself to drive Leo to school and drop you at college after. The car ride was nice, at least to Leo, who chatted away with Johnny while you kept replaying in your head the way he looked when he just woke up, how warm his body felt behind you, right before the door ring, and his little jealousy fit after. It didn’t help that you still had a very important conversation pending haunting you as well. You couldn't do it in front of Leo, of course, but even after he jumped out of the truck, you still didn’t…talk. About what was important, at least. About what on earth was going to happen once you decided to step out of the little bubble you’d created, the one with pizza nights, pancake mornings, and light family banter in between. You told yourself you were just buying more time, but swearing by that six years ago might’ve been the start of this whole mess in the first place. The problem is, old habits die screaming, and you still had air in your lungs.
And unfortunately, as beautiful as “playing house” sounded, all those afternoons Johnny spent at your place for a whole week, had led you to be incredibly behind with your faculty responsibilities. You hadn’t even noticed it was way past lunch time already. You sat on your office desk, red ink staining the side of your hand as you went through the mountain of papers you needed to grade. Your growling stomach told you to stop an hour ago, but you couldn’t, not when you were this behind. It wasn’t something you were used to, but the new flame in town was the one to blame. You let out a sigh, setting the pen down only for a second to rub your temple, when a knock on your door made you jump.
“Come in,” you shouted without even looking up, expecting a student, or the nice janitor wanting to say hi.
“Are you planning on eating the papers for lunch?”
You snapped your head up, only to find Johnny leaning against the doorframe, holding a brown bag in his hand. His blue eyes flicked over the chaos on your desk, and behind that cocky smile was that quiet concern you’d learned to recognize in him. You sat up straighter, pretending you weren’t just about to scream in frustration before he knocked on your door.
“Johnny…” You warned, as he strutted toward you waving the bag excitedly. “I’m busy, I told you I needed to get these done by today.”
“Relax, I know. I’m not here to distract you, Professor Spencer,” He said, setting the bag down next to your stack of ungraded exams. “I just grabbed some sandwiches from that corner deli I saw the other day, and I figured you might’ve forgotten.”
You looked at him, ready to put up a fight, but your stomach said just take the damn sandwich, girl. So you exhaled, relaxing your posture in defeat. “I…yeah. I did forget.”
Johnny pulled the chair from that side of the desk and placed it backward, then sat down with his chin resting on his folded arm on the top rail as he watched you with amusement. “Knew it,” he said, pushing the bag closer to you with his finger. “Come on, eat first, fail your students later.”
You rolled your eyes and reached for it, biting back a smile at the gesture. It caught you off guard how easily he kept working his way into different pieces of your day. Parts that had always been just yours.
“My students don’t fail,” you argued playfully, pulling the sandwich out, realizing he’d gotten your order right once again. “There’s only one here, want to go halfsies?” You offered, the same way you did to Leo sometimes.
“Oh, yeah–I mean, no…I already ate mine on the way I was starving.” He snorted, blushing. “And I’m sure they don’t,” he chuckled, but there was no malice in it.
You hummed pridefully. Johnny watched you nibble the edge of the sandwich, your free hand already picking up the pen and eyes darting back to the papers. He groaned dramatically and reached over, snatching a pile from the stack to slide it toward him.
“Alright, hand me the red pen, I’ll help you while you eat.”
You shook your head, trying to grab the pile back but he put his arm over it to keep it in place. “Johnny, you don’t even know the subject.”
“Nonsense,” he kept his arm there, flicking his fingers for the pen. “I’m an astronaut. I’ve been to space and learned alien languages, I can grade a few papers,” he said confidently, too smug for his own good, but it was enough for you to shrug and hand him the pen. Maybe this could be fun.
“Let me give you a graded one so you can see–”
“I don’t need it,” he shook his head, already squinting at the page in deep concentration.
You held back a chuckle, and leaned back in your chair to enjoy your sandwich, curious on how long it’d be until he gave up. His brow furrowed at the first page covered in equations, mouthing the items under his breath. It took about four more seconds.
“Okay, so…you give credit if they write their name at the top, right?”
You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. “Come on, Mr. I talk to naked sexy aliens, you got this.” You took another bite of your sandwich, smiling against it. It tasted better while humbling Johnny Storm.
He just smiled at you sarcastically, eyes squinting in fake enthusiasm. He turned to the second page, expecting to at least know one answer, but as he went through the items his jaw dropped dramatically. “Jeez, these are hard questions. What are you preparing them for, NASA?”
“Basically,” you deadpanned, “I’m trying to get them into programs, like your family’s.”
You said it so genuinely that it was enough to shut him up. For a moment he got caught between a sense of pride and guilt, tapping the pen on the page trying to mask it. “Guess I should, uh…leave this to you, then. I’m a little rusty anyways,” he tried to play it cool, setting the pile back onto the stack and resting his arms on the back of the chair again. You nodded, setting the half of the sandwich down to reach for the pen again. “You know,” he said softly, “all this work you’re doing–what you did with Kate and try to do with others…you’re changing the course of their lives. That’s one hell of a mark you’re leaving here.”
You shook your head, eyes locked on the numbers. “I just thought everyone deserved a chance at a better life, that’s all. Someone gave me that chance once. It didn’t work out for me but maybe it will for them.”
Johnny tilted his head and felt that familiar pang in his chest, the one that told him he didn’t protect that chance when it mattered, didn't protect you. He didn’t speak for a while after that. You tried to ignore it, the weight of what was unsaid still hanging in the air, of what you were still running away from, but the insistent bounce in his leg made you glance over at him. He was absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his forearm, and he wasn’t even looking at you anymore. His eyes were stuck on the bulletin board behind you, but he wasn't really reading anything on it. You knew that tapping. You knew that look. Leo had the same little quirks when something bothered him. You could’ve just ignored him. It was easier to keep escaping and you still had it in you to keep running, but your legs were starting to hurt. So you sighed, setting the pen down again and moving the papers away.
“Johnny,” you started softly, and he just hummed. “You didn’t just come here to have lunch with me and get humbled with my tests, did you?”
He stopped tapping his fingers, gaze finally meeting yours with a forced laugh. “Hey, I said I was a little rusty,” he joked, but it faltered quickly. “But, you’re right…I didn’t.”
You nodded with a sad smile. “We’ve been avoiding this since last night, haven’t we?”
“We have,” he exhaled, finally dropping some of the weight off. “I think I was hoping it would just…work itself out. That I’d keep waking up in your house and we’d all just be there together, sharing breakfast, answering Leo’s morning trivia,” he chuckled at that, and it made you smile too. “That one day he’d call me dad without hesitating, and you’d…you’d stop looking at me like you’re still halfway out the door.”
He didn't say it like an accusation, and maybe that made it worse. You looked away. It was hard to face the fact that those were just mere fantasies, ones you couldn't deny you had yourself.
“But I know I can’t stay here forever. I have responsibilities back home, and they don’t just go away because I want them to. I’ve been pulling excuses for weeks, because I know I need to have a plan with you before I bring this to my family, but Sue is not happy at all…I’ll have to face them before they come snooping around.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I don’t want to turn into a visitor in my son’s life, I want to be in it, so there’s gotta be a middle ground for us.”
“Johnny, you talk about it like it’s easy to decide what that middle ground is.”
“Because it should be,” he shot back instantly, refusing to let you keep brushing it off. “I’m not asking for everything at once, I just want us to start, to get somewhere.”
“You say somewhere but we both know what you mean by that. That’s not a middle ground.” You snapped, burying your face in your hands.
Johnny kept himself from groaning, sighing instead. “That’s not what I meant.” He was coming off wrong, yet the fire inside him told him to keep pushing. “I’m just saying, you told me you believe everyone deserves a shot. So why not you? Why not Leo?” The way your shoulders tensed didn’t go unnoticed by him. “You’re busting yourself in this office, running on no sleep, all to give strangers a shot at a better life. But your son–our son, and you? You deserve it too, maybe more than anyone.”
You finally looked at him. “I know he deserves the best in the world, and once I believed that for myself too,” you said, fighting the burn in the back of your throat. “But I don’t know if I can ever go back there, Johnny. I know you were scared but I lost everything that day. I’ve been living in the shadow of what you did to me for so long, that it’s easier to believe it's safer to stay small.”
The guilt was so heavy in Johnny’s chest that it stung. Saying sorry was never going to be enough to repair the damage he’d done. You sat in silence for a moment, and even if the words that came out hurt, they needed to be said. It was the only way to get somewhere.
“I know you have your life in New York, your family, the team. But Leo and I…we’ve built something here, something safe. He knows you’re his father now, but that still doesn’t change that our life is here,” you said firmly.
“I understand that.” Johnny nodded softly. “I’m not asking you to give that up–”
“But you’re not going to give up yours either.” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. And you hated how accusatory it sounded, because he had every right as much as you did.
“I’m not,” he admitted, smiling sadly. “The city, my team…it’s not just duty, it’s a part of me. But I’m not saying you need the Baxter Tower either, you don’t ever have to forgive them…or me, if you don’t wish to.”
“I didn’t say I’ll never forgive them,” you shook your head, finally easing down. “But I don’t trust them, not yet. And I can’t just pretend like those years didn’t happen.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend,” he said softly, “I know I should’ve stood by you. I should’ve trusted you. And me being scared doesn't change the fact that I was a coward that day.”
You’re not wrong.
“I’m not asking you to trust them right now, I can only ask you to trust me. To trust that I’ll never let you be alone, and that I’ll stand between you and anyone who tries to treat you like that ever again…even if it’s them.”
You let the words sink in. Promises you’d prayed for so many times in the dark. “You know when you talk like that, I want to believe again. I hate it, but I do,” you admitted.
“Then don’t fight it.”
Your breath hitched when Johnny suddenly got up from his chair, rounding the desk to walk to your side. He crouched down, swiveling your chair slowly to face him. He put one hand on the armrest as the other reached hesitantly, hovering over yours for a few seconds. He waited for that rejection, for that almost touch, but you didn’t pull back this time. You just sat there, eyes wide, staring at his hand finally wrapped around yours. All you could focus on was the little mole on the back of his hand you always wanted to press a kiss on.
“Let’s try this again,” he smiled softly, his thumb brushing your skin. “I don’t want you to think I’m saying pack it up and leave your life overnight. I just want to find a way to make this work, I want us to find a way.”
“But…what if we don’t figure it out?” you whispered.
“Then we keep trying until we do,” he shrugged. “I’ll fly here every week if I have to. We’ll do weekends, we’ll FaceTime. We’ll write letters if that’s what it takes. But I’m not giving up on you.”
You nodded, but didn't say anything else. Johnny didn’t mind it, the fact that you let him take your hand was enough for him. He watched you for a moment longer, then slowly, gently, he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss, right over your knuckles. He lingered there, eyes never leaving yours, and it was the gentleness that undid you, more than the promises. That, and the impossible longing behind his gaze.
“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he whispered against your skin, making your heart race and heat creep up your neck.
“Johnny…”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been dying to say it since I arrived here,” he flashed you one of his dashing smiles, finally lowering your hand to your lap but never letting go.
The way he managed to turn everything around so easily with just a couple words and that maddening grin drove you insane. Still, your fingers tightened around his, and you couldn't help the smile on your face. There goes another one of your walls.
“You know, I don’t think our middle ground is Manhattan, but maybe we could consider something…closer.” You drawled, and he nodded enthusiastically. “I just don’t know where–“
“We’ll figure it out,” he cut in, desperate. “Any city, as close as you wish. We’ll find the best school for Leo and I’ll buy you a house there, as big as you want it, I’ll paint it your favorite color…we can even have a cute garden and a mailbox and a driveway with a basketball hoop–”
“Johnny…” You chuckled at his little suburban fantasy, shoving his shoulder playfully with your free hand.
“I mean it! We can do anything, I swear.” He laughed too, clutching your hand tighter. “All I know right now is that I want you, and I want him closer. I want him to know who I am. Just–just don’t worry about anything, and leave it to me. I’ll protect the family. Our family.”
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your heart ringing in your ears and his hopeful eyes locked on yours. He looked like he was in the middle of a battlefield instead of an office, because yes, this was the goddamn fight of his life and he’d started it all those years back. But now he was ready to burn himself down if it meant proving to you that this time, he would fight. And you chose to believe it.
“Okay…” you whispered, “I trust you, Johnny…don’t make me regret it.”
“You won’t.” He shook his head, pressing another kiss to your hand, smiling against your skin.
He lowered your hand, eyes inevitably going to your lips, looking too inviting for his own good. He leaned without even thinking, breath almost mingling with yours, his thumb tracing circles that sent shivers up your arms. His lips were so close you could feel his heat wrapping all over your body, so you closed your eyes instinctively when–
Two knocks on the door startled you both. He almost bumped your chin when he leaned back, but before any of you had time to think about it, the door swung open.
“Professor, I–uh…”
You looked over to find none other than Captain Walker standing there. Six-foot-two of pure southern muscle wrapped in his neat navy blue uniform. He held a red paper plate in one hand, with a very generous piece of cake on it. His smile faltered just a second when he clocked Johnny crouching, hand still on yours, both of you snapping back like guilty teenagers caught making out behind the bleachers.
“…I see I’m interrupting something,” he drawled, his amused voice sweet as honey.
You cleared your throat, heat creeping up your face as you tugged your hand back, pretending to shuffle the papers on your desk. “Not at all, John, come in.”
Johnny immediately stood up, without leaving your side, hands on his hips, and if looks could kill…Great. First, Mr. Mechanic in the morning, and now Mr. Cowboy boots. Stealing his moments with you.
“You always just burst into places like that?” Johnny snapped, but it only made John grin wider.
I’ll be damned, looks like Ken is mad at me. “My bad, she usually has no problem with me walking in like this.” John shrugged, unbothered, strolling toward your desk. Johnny’s eye twitched.
You scrambled to diffuse the awkwardness, gesturing between them. “Uh–Johnny, this is Captain John Walker, we’re campus neighbors. John, this is Johnny…Lowell, a friend.”
Lowell? A Friend? Seriously?
He remembered this guy all too well. The same one you brushed off that time with that laugh you do when you’re trying to be polite. And now he’s back again. With “cake”.
Still, he extended his arm over the desk when you tilted your head at him. John’s handshake was firm, maybe a little too firm, and Johnny didn’t even bother hiding how reluctant he was to take it. While their eyes locked in a silent testosterone showdown, you were sitting there wishing the floor would swallow you whole.
“It’s always nice to see you around, John. What do you have for me?” You smiled, more out of habit than anything, but it was enough to make Johnny’s head whip to you like Excuse me!?
John ignored him, and placed the cake on your desk, right next to the crumpled brown bag, dusting some crumbs off the edge. “The chief wanted me to bring you this, thought we’d share the wealth.” He smiled, wide and bright, knowing exactly what he was doing.
Johnny scoffed. “Right, the chief sent you all the way here from the station.” Johnny said, crossing his arms. “Oh and I bet he’s also like what, 6’4? Probably built like Superman too, huh?”
You glanced over at him, amused. Oh, he was digging his own grave. But he was too busy with the gears already smoking in his head. What the hell is in the water in this town? Why is every man hot and trying to flirt with you?
“No, actually, she’s about this tall.” John corrected, lifting his hand flat in the air, showing where someone about a foot shorter than him would reach. “Maybe 5’4 at best. She could kill you with her eyes closed, though.”
You covered your mouth to hide your laugh with a cough, because oh my god, Johnny’s face.
He turned to you, offended, red as a tomato. “Did you just laugh? You’re definitely laughing.”
“I’m not.” You cleared your throat, then turned back to John with a casual ease that only made it worse. “That’s so sweet, John. Tell Yelena I said thank you and happy birthday.”
“Will do,” he nodded. Then he crossed his arms, hands touching his elbows, as he eyed Johnny up and down. He stared at the XS outfit, the silver bracelet peeking under the sleeve of his designer jacket, and the flawless little haircut. “Nice pants, by the way. You a lawyer or something?”
Johnny was flabbergasted, to say the least. “Do I look like a lawyer?”
John shrugged, “Do I look like a cop?”
Do I look like a cop?. Johnny mimicked in his head. I’m going to burn this man down and have Reed cover it up. See how much of a cop you look like after that.
“Actually, I’ll have you know I’m the human–ah.” He grimaced when you pressed your hand harshly to his stomach, holding a couple of papers tightly against it.
“What Johnny means is he’s from Human Resources.” You gritted, glaring at him. “He was just helping me with some paperwork.”
Johnny exhaled in defeat, taking the papers from your hands, rolling his eyes dramatically but still nodding.
“Yeah, he seems pretty…resourceful.” John said. But instead of feeling intimidated against this man evidently staking his claim, especially after whatever the hell he walked on, he just chuckled and shrugged. “Now I see why you never said yes to me.”
Damn right, Johnny thought.
You just buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”
John was about to tip his head and make himself scarce before he had to arrest a pretty boy assaulting an officer, when he felt that uncharacteristic warmth he’d only felt in your office before. “I know I’ve mentioned it before, but are you sure you’re not messing with the heating? It’s so warm here.”
“The heating? Not really, I–“ Your eyes went to Johnny, who looked way too red and too suspicious at the comment. You narrowed your eyes. “Huh. Yeah, it’s actually getting very hot in here…”
Johnny avoided your gaze as he circled the desk. “Well, this was lovely, captain! Aye aye, time to go!” He placed his abnormally warm hands on John’s biceps, and turned him around, pretending not to struggle as he nudged him toward the door.
“Enjoy your cake professor, I know it’s your favorite.” John half turned, planting his boots on the floor and towering over Johnny for him to stop –attempting– to drag him away. It worked. “Pleasure meeting you, Lowell.” Not.
And after one more smile at you and a glare at Johnny, he finally walked out the door. Johnny stood there for a few seconds, just glaring daggers at the closed door. “Okay–what the hell was that? Cake? Really? He brings you cake and suddenly you’re giggling like he’s the funniest man alive?”
You rolled your eyes, scooping the plate closer, and tasted some of the frosting with your finger. “Oh, please Johnny, he was just being nice.”
He snapped his gaze back to you, utterly scandalized. “That wasn’t nice, that was–look, he walked aaall the way here from the station. You don’t just show up with cake in the middle of the day unless you’re trying to make a move on someone.” He wouldn't even be surprised if this “Yelena” was trying to get her foot in your door too.
“I park by the station when the campus is full, Johnny, I see them very often. They're just my friends.”
“Friends,” he muttered under his breath, pacing in his spot. Last time he was your “friend” he procreated a secret baby with you. “He knows your favorite cake too.”
You rolled your eyes. “Johnny, you’ve been in my life again for like four minutes. Of course people know stuff about me.”
“Wow wow wow–four minutes? Now that's cold.” He stopped pacing, pointing accusingly at you.
Jesus Christ. Was this really the same man that promised you a big house with a stupid basketball hoop while kissing your hand just moments ago?
“Says the guy who warmed up the room with pure jealousy,” you shrugged, unbothered, playing with the little spoon without looking at him.
“I’m not jealous. I just…run hot,” he shrugged, then smiled devilishly when that idea popped back in his head. “However, in case I need it–I’m not saying I will, but if I ever do, Reed can cover up a murder you know…”
“Oh my god, Johnny,” you gasped, then both bursted in laughter. “Well, until you get caught, do you want some cake or not?” You said, pointing at the cake with the spoon.
He sighed in annoyance, but still dragged his feet back to the chair. “I do…but I’m still angry.”
“I know,” you smiled, holding out the spoon with a piece toward him. “And I still have to grade these papers.”
He took the bite, smiling against the spoon. “I know that too,” he said, voice muffled. “Give me another pen.”
So there you were, hearts on your sleeves, cake frosting on your lips, and a very jealous Johnny Storm finally accepting a graded test reference so he could actually be helpful.
“But another Jonathan, really?”
“Ugh, Johnny!”
Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
Johnny hadn’t exactly planned on sleeping on your couch twice in a row. Somehow it happened, after Leo wouldn’t let him go until he read all four of his favorite books to him.
Leo didn’t like short books.
Not that Johnny minded though, he’d stay up all night reading and entertaining his son if it meant making up for lost time even in the slightest bit. He couldn’t stop thinking about Leo’s bubbly laughter when he made a witty joke, or his seriousness when he corrected something Johnny misread trying to make a funny voice. Leo’s fire was brighter than his in all aspects, and he’d never been prouder to be outshined by someone barely over forty four inches. You invaded his memories too. You sat next to him on the little bed while he put on a show, laughing at his jokes, smiling until your cheeks hurt, and ignoring the fact that it was way past Leo’s bedtime by book three. It was a Friday anyways, so who cares.
So here he was, 2 am, padding toward your kitchen, for an “I can’t sleep snack”. It was ridiculous, really, sneaking in the dark to raid his five year old’s cereal stash. He found the last box on the counter, frowning at how light it was. Almost gone. Gotta remember to buy him more. Then he went to the fridge, juggling a milk carton, the cereal, and a ceramic bowl at the same time, cursing under his breath when he almost dropped the bowl. That’s when he heard the soft steps behind him.
“Johnny?”
He froze, caught red handed with a spoon dangling awkwardly out of his mouth. He turned slowly, to find you next to the breakfast counter, arms folded, squinting in the dark.
“I–uh,” he whispered, lowering to the opposite counter to drop the spoon from his mouth, half laughing. “I couldn’t sleep.” He gestured lazily at the box in his hand. “Chose to battle my insomnia with…cereal.”
“Right,” you smiled. “I couldn't sleep either.”
Johnny put the milk into the fridge, set the bowl back in the cabinet with exaggerated care, and grabbed the cereal box with a flourish, pouring a handful straight into his palm. He munched quietly, looking at you like he was waiting for judgment. Instead, you just leaned against the counter in your oversized shirt, watching him with amusement.
“I’ll bring more tomorrow,” he justified.
You shook your head softly. “I don’t mind, Johnny. You brought it here. You can eat anything you want from this house.”
He grinned, and held out a few pieces to you in truce. You smiled and took them, brushing his fingers faintly. And now it was just the two of you, parents to a brilliant five year old, sharing stolen cereal under the moonlight at two in the morning.
“There’s something we haven’t talked about yet, and I’ve been dying to ask you about it.” Johnny broke the silence.
You frowned, but still nodded. “Sure, what is it?”
He gathered courage, and asked. “Why Spencer?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I get why not Storm, but…why the other?”
“Well…I wasn’t really thinking clearly when I first chose it.” You said, chucking nervously. “But I think in the end, it was because I didn’t want you completely out of his life,” you confessed, sighing. “It wasn’t safe to name him Storm, of course, but I couldn’t erase you, either. So…Spencer. At least some part of you would always be with him.”
And with me, you thought. But you weren’t ready to say that out loud yet.
He stood in silence for a moment, taking it all in. Then, he smiled, genuinely. “You don’t know what that means to me,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
You just nodded, biting your lip. “Now I have a question for you.”
He popped a few flakes into his mouth, grinning smugly. “Shoot, professor.”
“Why aren't you using your flames?” You asked. “Why are you brooding in my kitchen in the dark?”
That almost made him choke on the cereal, he barked out a laugh, louder than he meant to, and clapped a hand over his mouth before he woke Leo up. “Okay, yeah. I know it’s ridiculous. I don’t even remember the last time I brooded in complete darkness like this. Definitely before the accident, like, eleven, twelve years ago?” He shook his head at himself.
You looked at him amused, but still waited for his answer. He sighed and leaned on the counter behind him, one hand still holding the cereal box as the other rested on the countertop.
“Truth? I haven’t used my powers since I got here. It just…didn’t feel appropriate. Your house isn’t exactly fireproof and I wasn’t gonna risk burning down my kid’s home.”
That made you laugh, muffling the little snort into your hand. He beamed at the sound.
“I understand that, but…” You looked at him curiously, uncrossing your arms. “...I was wondering, if maybe I could see it?”
“See…it?”
You nodded, and stepped closer to him. “Your flames…it’s been a while. But I remember they were beautiful.”
Johnny set the cereal box in the counter behind him, his eyes searching yours for hesitation. “You’re not scared?”
You shook your head. “Just…step away from the curtains.”
A breathless laugh slipped from him in a mix of disbelief and nerves, but he’d do anything for you. He took one step forward, into the middle of the kitchen, and lifted his hand. A warm light washed your features when his entire hand lit up, fire curling up his fingers. The heat filled the room instantly, the warmth close enough to kiss your skin but never to hurt. And in that glow, all you saw was him. Johnny in the firelight. His blue eyes caught the dancing flames, orange and gold, but he was staring at you as if you held the fire he’d spent his whole life chasing. He stepped forward, flexing his fingers, so the flame flickered a little lower in delicate patterns.
“Yeah…” you whispered. “…still beautiful.”
You smiled at him, so softly, so honest, that Johnny almost fell to his knees for you on his spot. This was it. This was his moment. No more interruptions. No more mechanics or policemen. No more ‘almost’.
“So are you.” He stepped closer one more time. “I meant it before and I will mean it my entire life,” he mumbled, like it slipped out before he could stop it.
“Johnny…” your breath hitched, but you didn’t step back.
The flame softened even more, until it was just a quiet glow, just enough to light your faces in gold. He closed the last of the distance between you, his other hand rose slowly, and fit like a puzzle piece on your waist. His touch was warm, just as you remembered it, as his hand brought you toward him with the gentlest pull.
“Is this okay?” he said breathlessly, his voice betraying him on how badly he needed the answer.
You barely nodded, because you were too mesmerized by the fire dancing in his eyes, and the way his hand on your waist made your heart race. So he dared to close the space until your chests finally collided, until your breath mingled with his, until the world came to nothing but the warmth of his hand sliding to your back and the firelight dancing between your mouths.
“I can’t keep pretending I don’t think about the taste of your lips all the time.” His lips hovered over yours, just a breath apart. “I’ve missed you so much.” He whispered the words that have been caged in his chest for six years and could finally break free.
Your heart screamed me too. The ache, the longing, the waiting for him to come save you from the melancholy you’d drowned yourself in…it all flooded back to you as if no time had passed. So you decided it was time to finally let him in. You slipped your arms over his shoulders, hands placed firmly on the back of his neck, and pleaded.
“Just kiss me, Johnny.”
He didn’t waste another second.
Your lips touched first like a question, but the instant his mouth found yours, the flame in his hand died down, just as the one between your lips ignited. Suddenly both his hands were on you, palms running across your back, tugging you closer as if that would erase the years spent apart. His kiss was wild, desperate like he’d been starving and was finally allowed to taste what he'd been craving.
Your fingers were on his hair before you could think, pulling, anchoring you to reality as the kiss deepened. Johnny breathed against you between kisses, broken little groans that showed the hunger burning inside him. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't careful. He wanted to feel every part of you pressed against him, to make sure you were real, that this was happening, that no one was interrupting this time. It was everything unsaid, every letter you never sent, every apology he made that never reached your ears.
The kiss broke not because either of you wanted it to, but because salt hit your mouths, tears you didn't even realize had been spilling. His and yours, both mixing together until you pulled back to see the glimmer on his cheeks, and he saw the same on yours.
His thumbs wiped your tears, as he smiled through his. “I never had the courage to make you mine for more than just one night and I hate myself for it. It was my fault that we were never anything, when we should’ve had it all.” He paused, only to wipe his face. “We were just…two idiots who pretended love didn’t exist…but it did. It existed to me. It always did.”
You took a shaky breath, partly because you were still recovering from the kiss, and because his words cut too close. “It did to me too, Johnny. I’m sorry that we were never anything. I’m sorry I let myself believe we couldn’t be.”
“I don’t want us to be like that anymore. I don’t care how messy, how complicated it’ll be to find a middle ground–it just…doesn’t matter. I lost six years with you that I’ll never get back. And I swear to you, I’m not wasting another second.” He promised, still holding you. “I want it all. God, I want everything. You, Leo and me. Forever.”
You were tired of words, so you leaned in instead, your lips meeting in the middle. Soft at first, then hungrier, almost laughing against his mouth when he exhaled in relief into it.
“Yes. You…” you said between kisses, “Leo…”
Another kiss.
“And me.”
One more.
“Forever.”
Johnny groaned into your mouth, relief and joy tangling into one sound, as he guided your bodies with a few steps forward. Your lower back pressed against the counter as he leaned you against it, still kissing you. Your giggles bubbled up, breaking through the kiss, and he chased it with his lips wanting to taste your laughter. He joined you, and soon you were both giggling, kissing, pulling apart only to fall right back in. Your hands twisted in his hair, his thumb brushed the side of your jaw.
For the first time in years, the ache lifted, leaving two idiots in love, finally letting themselves be just that.
The next thing you knew, your hand slipped into his and you were guiding him to your room. He just followed, cereal and everything else forgotten, heart beating so fast in his chest he swore you could hear it. He couldn’t take his eyes off your back, the way that shirt barely covered past your ass, the way your hips shifted with every step, the way your hand dragged him to a place he thought was forbidden. When you pushed open your bedroom door, even in the dark, he could see how warm the space felt. Soft floral bedding, a few books stacked at the nightstand, pictures of your life, races of you everywhere. He wanted to soak it all in, but you didn’t give him time. You pulled him in, and he stumbled a little before he kissed you back, but then he pulled away just enough to whisper against your mouth.
“Are you sure? About this? About…me?”
Your fingers clutched his shirt, walking backwards toward your bed . “Yes. But we have to be quiet, our son is asleep.”
That made him huff out the quietest laugh just as just stopped by the bed’s edge. “You, quiet? With me? Oh, sweetheart…” He grinned mischievously. “You don’t really have the best record with that.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you. He stole another kiss, muffling his own chuckle against your lips, and then you were both tumbling onto the bed. Johnny shushed himself dramatically when the mattress squeaked, his neck stifling your laugh.
Johnny’s hands roamed everywhere, greedy, making up for every touch he couldn't give you before. Six years ago it had been laughter muffled in champagne glasses, hurried kisses that dissolved into tangled limbs, both of you too drunk to notice much beyond the spark between you. But this…this was different. His lips moved down your jaw, to your throat, to the skin peaking under the shirt. You could feel the way he was holding back still, making the effort of not rushing, because he wanted this to last. Wanted you to last.
“God,” he mumbled against your collarbone, his breath hot on your skin. “I don’t even remember if I kissed you here last time.” So now he did, warm lips making you gasp.
You were already melting under him, every kiss undoing the last pieces of the wall you’d built around yourself. It was like your body remembered him even if your mind tried to forget.
“I lied about that night.” He confessed against your lips. “It wasn’t just one night. It was everything. It's so unfair I only got to taste you once…but I’m gonna make up for that lost time.”
Clothes came off in a hurry, first your shirt, then your panties, tossed somewhere on the floor. Johnny took longer to get undressed, his shirt, his belt, his tight pants, he put a little show on for you while you did nothing but lie there naked, pretty, and wet for him. Once he was naked too, he pressed his warm body back on you, thumbs stroking your waist, while his mouth made his way from your neck, trailing kisses down to your breasts, your nipples, your stomach, until you could barely think straight. This time, Johnny wasn't laughing nervously or fumbling in a haze of alcohol. This time, he was memorizing every gasp you made, every arch of your back, every shiver as his mouth trailed lower and lower. Until a moan came out too loud, and his head snapped up right over your lower belly.
“Shh–we have to be quiet.” He grinned like a devil, then leaned back again to place a teasing kiss just above the most sensitive part of your body. “You’re perfect.”
“Johnny, come on,” you whined, your hands reaching for his shoulders, trying to pull him back on top of you. “Please don’t tease me.”
He wanted to be a little shit about it, but when he heard the need in your voice he let you pull him back, until he was hovering your body again. You ran your hands through his toned abs, his chest, until one landed on his bicep and the other cradled his face.
“I want to feel you, Johnny.” You said breathlessly, running your thumb across his cheek as you lifted your knee to softly rub his hardened cock, making his eyes widen in disbelief. “Please.”
“Oh you’re vicious.” He shook his head, laughing under his breath. He grabbed himself in his hand, pushing your knee with his elbow to open your legs to him. You just bit your lip and pulled him closer. “Alright, alright. I got you sweetheart.” He chuckled. “I want to feel you too.”
He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was enjoying having you under him, pleading and ready, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the feel of his leaking tip as he lined himself with your soaking folds.
“Fuck–you’re soaking for me, baby.” He groaned, eyes fixed where your bodies met. He looked up to check your face, to make sure you were still saying yes, and he was met with dilated pupils and your mouth parted open as you nodded. That was all he needed.
The moment he finally sank into you, his length stretching your walls the way only he could, both of you gasped at once. Your hands flew to his neck, clutching him close, and he buried his face against your neck to muffle the sounds he couldn't hold back.
“God–” he groaned, pushing himself as deep as he could. “–so much better than I remember.”
You held back your moans, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered breathless. “So good, Johnny.”
Soon you were gasping under his strong grip, clutching every inch of his body. His hair, his neck, his pecs, his back, ultimately slipping your arms around his biceps to ground yourself as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. And when a moan slipped a bit louder, he groaned into your skin, his forehead pressing to yours.
“Baby you gotta be quiet–or I’m gonna lose it too.” He chuckled under his breath, making you giggle too. He leaned to kiss your cheek, your temple, the corner of your lips, then a roll of his hips pulled another loud moan from you. “Fuck. I know, I know you like that…but he’s sleeping.”
Still, he angled himself so he could push harder, the squeak of the bed now filling the room along with the headboard hitting the drywall. That was when Johnny stopped, eyes wide, looking at you like he’d done something he shouldn’t have. You both laughed quietly like teenagers trying to get it on with parents next door. Except, now you were the parents hiding from the children.
“Jesus, wait–“ Johnny shook his head, still laughing. He pulled himself out just to grab a small pillow from your bed, and set it between the wall and the headboard. “Let me test it first.” He looked at you mischievously, placing himself between your legs again and pushing inside with no warning. You choked a gasp at the stretch, at the way you only felt full if he was inside you. The bed moved with Johnny’s thrust, still creaking, but the pillow had successfully soundproofed the headboard. “Bingo.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
You couldn’t help but laugh again, pulling him closer to you to whisper in his ear. “Just fuck me, Johnny.”
He whistled low, then whined playfully when you swatted his bicep so he would shut up. That was when he just decided to do what you asked of him, and fucked you. He dragged his cock out and pushed back in a quick pace, making your body bounce with every thrust. The sound of your muffled whimpers, his broken gasps, the slap of skin and the faint creak of the bed, all blended into a desperate rhythm.
“It feels so good, Johnny. I can’t–right there.”
“Right there?,” he groaned, thrusting deeper until you choked on the sound. His hand cupped the back of your head to lift it, leaning just enough to place a kiss on your forehead, before pulling back. “Look at me…look at me when you tell me how I make you feel.”
And you did. Breathless, clutching his arms tighter, drowning in those blue eyes as you told him exactly what he was doing to you, how he was wrecking you, how he stretched you just right, how every movement burned in the best way. That undid him.
“I swear I’ll give you everything. Anything you need–fuck–I promise.” His lips crushed yours, and soon you felt the saltiness of your shared tears.
The heat of his skin was making you sweat, and you felt that familiar pressure building, so close to snapping. Your back arched and you cried out louder, too loud, and he placed his big warm hand over your mouth, groaning into your ear. “Shhh–baby, as much as I’d give anything to hear you scream…I can’t, we can’t–”
You started moaning under his hand, eyes wet, but it only made him push harder, until your muffled moans broke into little sobs of pleasure. You bit down gently against his palm, and that was when he felt himself breaking too.
“Come with me–please sweetheart. Come with me, I can’t–I won’t last for longer–“
You finally felt the pressure snap across your body, your walls clenching around him, pushing his hand away from your mouth so you could pray his name over and over in low pants. “JohnnyJohnnyJohnny.” Johnny’s name died on his lips when he muffled his own groan against your mouth. He kept driving into you, chasing his own edge, until he filled you with every last drop of his release. You both ended up panting, your nails still dug into his biceps, trying to steady yourself as your chest rose and fell against his toned one. Johnny’s head fell into your collarbone, damp hair sticking to your skin.
“Shit,” he laughed, trying to catch his breath. “I–I didn’t even think. I finished inside…is that okay? I don’t wanna accidentally make another Leo. We can barely handle one.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, weak and breathless, and swatted his shoulder. “Johnny, I’m gonna hold your bicep when I say this. Stop talking about him when you’re still inside me. It’s alright…I got it covered.”
“Okay sorry, sorry. I just–my brain is fried. Couldn’t think straight even if I tried…pretty sure I saw God.”
“Johnny…” you giggled, warmth blooming in your chest as you played with his hair.
“I’m just saying,” he laughed against your skin, looking up to meet your gaze. “You made a strong case for heaven just now.”
As you laughed, shaking your head and holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world, aside from Leo of course, Johnny had never felt more complete.
He finally pulled out, and let himself collapse beside you, both of you boneless and dazed, just breathing heavily in the dark. You turned to lay your head on his chest, his arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you tight against him.
When he first drove into this quiet little town, he never thought he’d end up here. Not in your bed. Not with your head pillowed over his heart. And sure as hell not with a pillow between your wall and your headboard to sneak from your son next door. You couldn’t have imagined that in a million years either. But as you sighed softly against his chest, and he tightened his hold on your body, you had a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Something you hadn't felt in years.
You could love again. Because the truth was, you never really stopped.
Now you hang from my lips, like the gardens of Babylon
With your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con
Waking up to Johnny was still magical, just like last time. It was all in the way his head rested on your pillow, his golden hair falling into place like dominoes, the sunlight dancing over his perfect nose, his parted lips, his bare chest rising slowly. He looked so at peace, and you were so at peace. That little piece of quiet, tucked between Saturday and forever, felt like something that might last this time…until it didn’t. The magical moment broke when a tiny, determined fist banged on your locked door, complaining about the lack of cereal for breakfast. It didn’t take long before you sighed, barely brushing Johnny’s lips before getting up to meet your son’s demands, distracting him as Johnny groaned and sneaked out of your bedroom to pretend he’d been in the bathroom all along.
Turns out, you really had no more backup boxes, so Leo had to settle just for fruit. Then, he basically forced you both to get dressed, and go grab cereal immediately. He even was the first to beeline toward Johnny’s truck, to supervise the grocery run, but when the little twin neighbors from just a few houses down appeared on your driveway, inviting him to play at their house like they’d done many times before, he suddenly forgot about the cereal.
So now here you were, in the middle of the town’s grocery store, with Johnny pushing the cart beside you like this was an usual Saturday activity.
“If we want Leo to get into a good program, we need to do it at least a year ahead.” You said, placing a few cartons of milk on the shopping cart. “He’s almost out of school for this year, but he’ll have to do another one here while we figure everything out.”
“A whole year?” Johnny protested next to you, pushing the cart slowly.
“It might be even more, these programs have very limited timelines.” You didn’t budge at his groan, focusing on reading the back of a pancake mix box.
“But his family basically invented science! We’re astronauts, I can have Reed call any school and he’d be accepted in a heartbeat–“
“Don’t you think Reed would have to know about his existence first?” You cut him off, setting the box on the cart.
He stopped moving. “Yeah…yeah I guess.” His shoulders sagged as he leaned on the top of the cart, lowering his gaze to the box you just put in. “I mean I could call…offer a few of the calendars I give to the fire department every year and boom! Accepted.” He shrugged playfully, but his joke didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Johnny, we said we weren’t going to rush it. We have time, we can look for schools together, and find the best place for…us.”
Us.
“Yeah I know…no rushing it,” he assured, straightening up to place his hands on your waist, bringing you closer. “I just…I can’t wait to be close to you all the time. For our toothbrushes to be next to each other and all that stuff, you know.”
You laughed, but your heart still lurched at his warm hands on you. He hadn’t stopped being touchy since last night. “We’ll get there, Johnny,” you said softly, “without bribing people with calendars.”
“Oh come on, you’re no fun!” He whined, but he was grinning anyway. “I’ll get you a few, the fireman get all the shirtless pictures.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh again in the middle of the aisle.
He laughed with you, never letting go of your waist, but his smile faltered enough for you to notice. “Hey, what is it?” You asked, searching for his eyes.
“I, um…” He cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the shelves of items around you. “There’s something else we could do to start though, like I said I’m not trying to rush this but I’ve been thinking about it all morning and I–“
“Johnny, just say it.”
“I want Leo to know who I really am.” He blurted. “I mean–not just like the dad he doesn’t call dad yet, that sleeps on his couch and buys him cereal to bribe him–which, I do, but…I mean all of me. My flames, my job…I want him to know that part too.”
When you didn’t answer instantly, he added quickly, “I don’t want to scare him or overwhelm him, so I would need your help with that, but…I’d rather it come from me, from us, before he manages to figure it out on his own, given his record.”
You pressed your lips together, thinking. But just as he was about to spiral again, you nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?” His eyes widened, like he was expecting more of a fight.
“Yes, okay,” you laughed at his surprise. “We could tell him tonight over dinner, but I’m going to warn you Johnny, this isn’t just flames and smiles and comic book moments. You need to prepare yourself for the million questions he’s gonna ask.”
He nodded frantically, finally letting go of your waist to celebrate with air punches. “I want him to. I’m ready, I’m so ready.” He smiled from ear to ear, and you couldn’t help but smile too.
“Alright, hotshot. Think about how you’re gonna make your grand reveal, I’m going to find some dino nuggets to lessen the blow.” You said, patting his chest softly before turning around. “And pick some cereal in the meantime!” You yelled, walking away.
Johnny could only do what he’d been doing after last night. Smile like an idiot…and fix the crotch of his jeans, as you turned around the corner.
He was on fire. His son was finally going to know he was The Human Torch.
He pushed the cart as he strolled into the cereal aisle almost absentmindedly, already knowing where to find what he needed, when an orange box he’d never seen before caught his eye.
“Wheatie’s Thunderbolts edition,” he read, eyes judging the comic illustrations of some mystery superheroes he had never heard of. “What the hell? They sell these and not mine?” He muttered under his breath, squinting at the names on the box. “Who even are these guys…U.S Agent? Pft. What’s next, a Homelander?” He shook his head, and with a theatrical sigh, he shoved the stupid box back onto the shelf.
This is what I get for saving the world. Nothing more than irrelevant in a small town. Unbelievable.
But just as his shoulders slumped in defeat, something shiny blue caught his eye. He faced it slowly, and his pupils dilated like he just found the gates to heaven, or a whole mid aisle ‘Fantastic Four’ display. There, dozens of Lucky Charms: Human Torch Edition, were stacked in perfect rows.
Just arrived! Get your free Johnny Storm figure inside 🔥 read the banner across the display.
“Oh my God…” Johnny gasped. “No way!” He stood frozen for a second, eyes wide, mouth still open. Then he left the cart abandoned and jogged over like a kid on Christmas morning. “They have it. They actually have it now!” Johnny laughed under his breath, picking up the box with excitement. He could only imagine Leo’s little face when he found the little toy inside.
Flame on! Flame on! Flame on!
We have to tell him as soon as possible, I need to show him this after we–wait, should I get it now? Maybe just one…
“Okay, I’ll just get one for later,” he nodded to himself. “We will tell him and then bam! My name on his favorite cereal.” But then he saw the bottom shelf, with the family size ones, so he grabbed two more. “Actually...maybe just another one for good measure. I’m getting four. Yeah–that’s reasonable, I always get him two so the others are a bonus.”
I can’t wait to tell him. He’s gonna love it and I’m gonna be the best dad ever–
“God, I should’ve known this is where I’d find you.”
Johnny almost dropped the boxes when the familiar voice came from behind him. He shut his eyes, real tight with a grimace. Maybe he imagined it, there was no way she was behind him right now.
“Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm.”
Fuck.
That voice, that tone. He hadn’t heard it in weeks because he’d been avoiding it. He sighed deeply, and turned around slowly. He only opened one eye, to find none other than Sue with crossed arms in the middle of the aisle. He scattered to put the boxes back in a hurry, then turned to her again with wide eyes.
“Sue? No no no no, what are you doing here?” He panicked, looking frantically to both sides making sure you weren’t there yet. “You shouldn’t have come!”
“Excuse me?” She looked at him perplexed. She took a step forward as Johnny instinctively took one back. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through?” She snapped. “You’ve been dodging every call, sending vague messages instead. You went radio silent for weeks, when you were supposed to be–oh, I don’t know, fixing this, Johnny! Instead, I find you hiding in a cereal aisle, buying your own figures.”
“It’s not what it looks like!” He hissed defensively. “And lower your voice, she’s gonna hear you!” He whisper-yelled, eyes still darting toward the ends of the aisle.
“Johnny–"
"I’m serious!" he snapped. "You have no idea how complicated this actually is. If she sees you now she’s gonna run the other way.” He kept glancing down the aisle like you were going to round the corner at any second, catch him mid encounter, and forget everything he’d done the past weeks.
Sue narrowed her eyes at him in silence, but his pleading puppy eyes were enough for her to break her stance after a few seconds.
"Oh, for God’s sake,” she sighed, and stepped forward. She reached out, wrapped her hands around his wrists, and in a blink, they both vanished out of sight. "Better?" she said, and Johnny exhaled in relief. "She can’t see me now. So why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?"
Johnny groaned. "You shouldn’t be here."
"And you shouldn’t be ignoring your family."
"I’m not ignoring you."
"Then what have you been doing? You stopped responding, and when you did reply, it was vague answers. You wouldn’t even take my calls. Do you know what I thought, Johnny? I thought she was dead." Her angry voice finally cracked. "I thought something happened and you couldn’t tell me…and turns out you’re just buying cereal, while we’ve been worried sick–while everything is falling apart back home.”
That rubbed him the wrong way. "Oh, so now you care."
Sue frowned, caught off guard by the defensiveness in his tone.
"You want to talk about falling apart?" He took a step forward, lowering his voice even if no one around could hear them. "What about when I was falling apart back then? You took Reed’s side, told me to move on when I was still processing everything, took every last thing I had from her and locked it away. How do you think that made me feel, Sue?”
“Johnny–“ she whispered, eyes brimming with tears.
“No, I'm not done yet. You don’t get to tell me about sadness.” He hissed. “And I’m not even the one you hurt the most. She lost everything. Her name, her home, her future. I said you can’t be here because she doesn’t trust you, or them, and I don’t blame her–God, she shouldn’t even trust me. But I’ve earned it, and it hasn’t been easy. I won’t let one surprise visit tear all that down." He regretted saying it the second it was out. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but it was the truth.
Sue didn’t fight back, instead she wiped her tears and nodded. "You’re right, Johnny," she said, sniffing. "We didn't listen–I didn't listen. I let fear win, and I’ve been living with that every day since you found out she was telling the truth."
Johnny hadn’t noticed he’d been crying too, until he saw her through misty eyes. And she wasn’t angry anymore, she just looked wrecked.
"It’s been awful at the tower since then," she admitted, looking up to try to stop the tears. "Ben doesn’t really talk to us anymore. Reed hasn’t slept, he spends hours pulling old data files, thinking that if he just tries enough, he can rewind time and make it make sense. But it doesn’t, because nothing we do now will make up for what we did to her." She paused, only to swallow the lump in her throat. ”Franklin keeps asking where you are. He thinks it’s his fault you’re gone, and he’s scared you won’t come back like her…and me? I’ve been trying to keep it together for them. But it’s been eating me alive, Johnny. All I think about is that we broke her for nothing. We ruined her life, and I let it happen."
All that heaviness settled into an excruciating silence between them. Johnny could hear the faint noises of the store outside of Sue’s bubble, wheels of shopping carts, beeps of cash registers, the casual laughter of a kid running down the aisles. That’s the one that stung. She didn’t even know the worst part.
God, perfect timing. You’d finally started talking about schools, about programs, about a future. With him. You were planning on telling him tonight about his powers for God’s sake. But that doesn’t change the fact that you haven't faced the hardest part yet. His family.
"Let me help you,” she pleaded, breaking the silence. “I can–“
"No." He shook his head. "She’s not ready to see you, and you’re not about to make that decision for her. That’s only hers to give.”
Sue looked away, her lips pressed together in disappointment, but she still nodded. "I won’t let her see me, not unless she wants to," she promised. "But at least I need to know how…how is she?” She asked, hesitantly, expecting another wall from her brother.
Johnny exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "She’s okay, but it’s taken a lot to get here. I swear I’ve aged more in these past few weeks than in the last six years."
“I understand, Johnny. It is very complicated, but…I just wanted to apologize, that’s it. I need to say it to her face. I can’t sleep knowing she thinks I still hate her."
Johnny groaned, he loved his sister, but she was getting on his nerves.
"Sue, I’m fixing it, okay? Me. If you show up now, even just to say ‘sorry,’ we might go back to where we started. I can’t risk that, I can’t lose them again–“
Sue frowned. "Them…?" Who’s them?”
Johnny cursed under his breath, looking away. "Nothing–doesn’t matter."
But her eyes narrowed with suspicion, tightening her grip on him. "Johnny, what are you not telling me–"
"You need to go."
"Johnny!"
"Don’t–just…don’t, please.”
Sue hesitated, but Johnny looked at her again with the eyes she could never resist. She hated that look. It took her straight back to the times when he was just a kid who couldn’t sleep without her tucking him in.
Finally, she sighed. "Okay–but you better pick up my calls now.” She pointed at him. “And…when she's ready, she deserves to hear I’m sorry. From me."
He barely nodded. She couldn’t help it and grabbed him by the shoulders to hug him. Johnny stood frozen, arms stuck in the air for a moment. “Don’t shut us out, it’s already been hard enough.” She pleaded into his hair.
“I won’t,” he whispered, finally letting himself fall into his sister's arms. He didn’t know how much he needed it until now.
They hugged in silence, until Johnny cleared his throat and finally stepped back. “You said you wouldn’t let her see you, so let’s just…stick to that, alright? Just…stay invisible until you leave.”
She sighed, then nodded. Sue let go of him, and with a shift of a rainbow glare around them, Johnny became visible again.
That was exactly when you turned the corner into the aisle.
"What the fuck?" You froze in your step, eyes wide, clutching the frozen dino nuggets bag in your hands.
No, no, no, please, no. His eyes widened as he pointed at the cereal display in a mix of guilt, panic, and a very badly disguised attempt at pretending he didn’t just come out of thin air.
"I–uh–these just arrived! Can you believe it?" He grinned, too wide, too excited. “I say we take four, it’d be irresponsible not to–"
"Johnny.” You took a step closer, dropping the bag on the cart before looking around . "She’s here, isn’t she?"
“She? Who’s she? No one’s here–”
“As far as I know, you don’t turn invisible, Johnny. That doesn’t just happen." You snapped. “Don’t lie to me, did you call her?”
“No, no, no, I didn’t,” he panicked, rushing to get in front of you, but you took a step back. “I’m telling the truth. I didn’t even know–”
“Where is she?” You insisted.
"I’m here." A voice came from behind Johnny. “He didn’t call me, I tracked him.”
The blood drained from your face when you heard it. You stepped aside from him, and Sue Storm flickered into view like a ghost dragged out of your memory. Suddenly you forgot all about the schools, and the houses, and the nuggets, as you got thrown into the past. At a simple glance she looked just as put together as you remembered her, perfect wavy hair, long burgundy leather coat on a cashmere turtleneck dress, and a fancy pair of brown boots to match. But her face, her bloodshot eyes, the dark circles on her fair complexion, and the slight shake of her hands didn’t lie.
The two of you just stood there. None of you said anything, but it was all there. The invisible bruise between you both, the memory of that day, the betrayal, and the years that followed. You stared between them, and the shiny brand new cereal display with their number on it. It was just a matter of time before their world crashed into yours.
"I’m sorry." She blurted. “I’m so sorry.”
Your eyes flicked to Johnny, it hurt too much to look at her. He hadn’t moved either, just stood between you both, helpless, and even though every fiber of you screamed don’t break, don’t let her see, your body acted faster. You shifted, ever so slightly, getting back behind him. Not entirely, but enough to feel safer.
And enough for Sue to notice. Enough for it to sting.
"I know I don’t deserve to just show up like this.” She hugged herself. “But I need you to know…I know we were wrong–I was wrong. I should’ve listened and I’m so sorry I didn't." She stepped a little closer, but Johnny angled himself better in front of you. "I know it doesn't justify it, but I was scared. And Reed…he thought he was right. But now that we know the truth, I haven’t slept, I haven’t breathed right in weeks. Franklin still asks about you, and now he keeps asking why Uncle Johnny doesn’t call anymore. Reed hasn’t left the lab and Ben…he’s just not the same–we are not the same."
Good.
"I don’t care if you never want to see me again after this, but I needed to look you in the eye and say it…I’m sorry. I am so sorry for what we did to you, for making you carry the weight of something that wasn’t your fault."
"That’s a lot easier to say now…now that you have the evidence." You said, eyes lowering to the floor.
Johnny shifted slightly beside you, just a gentle step forward. He didn’t say anything, but he searched your face, wishing he could just reach out, wrap his arms around you and never let anyone close enough to hurt you again.
“I’m still gonna say it,” she shrugged, wiping the tears away. "I’m not asking you to forgive me. You don’t owe us anything…but I feel like we owe you everything.”
We owe you everything. Were they here too?
Your head shot up. "Are you here alone? Or did you bring someone else?"
Sue shook her head."It’s just me, why?"
You didn’t have to answer for Johnny to know what you were thinking. What if Reed was here? What if Ben was parked outside? What if they found your house? What if they followed him? What if they knew?
Your hand brushed over your pocket, instinctively reaching for your phone, and right on cue it vibrated, your neighbor’s name bright on the screen. You turned around, walking a few steps away to answer with your heart racing.
Behind you, Sue narrowed her eyes. "Johnny," she whispered. "What the hell is going on? She looks terrified."
"God, Sue, I told you this was complicated–"
"Complicated doesn't make her scared of me."
A few steps away, you were able to breathe again when your neighbor just told you she’d be going out with the twins later, and Leo needed to be picked up soon. “I’ll be there in 20, Wanda, thank you.”
“Sure, they’ve been having so much fun!” She chirped on the line, quickly being distracted by the boys in her charge. “No you can’t throw that out of the window, Billy–Hey! boys, I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to leave you–“
The line cut before you could laugh onto the phone, hoping Leo wasn’t partaking too much in the chaos. You finally sighed in relief, trying to ignore that voice in your head that told you he wasn’t safe. You made your way back to them, and cleared your throat to stop their hushed bickering.
"Johnny we–uh, we have to go," you said, while Sue tried to figure out what your call was about. "Let’s check out and head back."
He stepped toward you, worry in his face. "Wait–can I talk to you for a second?"
You nodded, and he gently took your hand and led you a few steps down where you took the call, while Sue stayed behind, pacing in her spot as she fiddled her necklace.
“Is he okay? Something wrong?”
“He’s okay, don’t worry. We just need to pick him up soon,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “But how do we…deal with this?” you asked, eyes flicking back toward Sue.
"God–yeah, I’m sorry," he sighed. "I told her you weren’t ready to see her. I swear I had no idea she was even in town until she showed up in front of the damn cereal display. I was having a moment and she showed up out of nowhere…”
You laughed softly, more out of nerves than anything. "It’s just…It’s like seeing a ghost. It’s the same way I felt when I saw you on my doorstep. Like I blinked and got thrown six years into the past."
"I know, I’ll talk to her," he reassured. "I’ll tell her to leave, and I won’t tell her anything else."
You nodded, but Johnny lingered just a second longer. He leaned to press a kiss to your cheek, meant to be casual, respectful in front of Sue, but it landed just at the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t help the little smile on your face as you turned to grab the shopping cart, head ducked low as you tucked a hair strand behind your ear. Sue, behind Johnny, saw it all.
Past me, I want to tell you not to get lost on these petty things
Your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing
Sue hadn’t said a word since they sat down in the store’s cafeteria while you were at the cashier. Her tears had finally dried up, and she pulled her coat tighter, crossed her arms, and stared at a fidgety Johnny with narrowed eyes hoping for a confession instead of a ‘good riddance!’.
“You’re hiding something,” she accused, finally breaking the silence.
“I’m not–“ He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, you already said your apologies and saw she’s okay. Still hurting, yes. But she’s rebuilding and I’m helping her, that’s all you need to know. Now you go back to the Tower and let me keep fixing it.”
“You seem very eager to kick me out.” She narrowed her eyes more. “To keep hiding whatever it is you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” He rolled his eyes, dropping his head back dramatically. “Sue–“
“No, no. Hear me out,” she cut him off, leaning forward, “The way she smiled after you kissed her, tells me you’ve done more than get your foot in the door.”
Johnny stilled in his seat.
Sue raised an eyebrow. “Wait, did you two actually–already?”
“I’m not talking about this with you.” He looked away, avoiding her gaze.
“So you did sleep with her.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “God, Johnny you really don’t waste time, do you?. ‘It’s been complicated’–sure it’s been!” She mocked, as Johnny groaned, turning more and more red. “Okay, okay, sorry, it’s just–you’re blushing like you’re fifteen again sneaking a girl into your room.”
Johnny groaned again, louder this time, and buried his face in his hands. “Sue, you really have no idea. This is not just some random fling in high school, this is serious.”
“Why? I mean, it’s not the first time,” she teased, but that only made Johnny sink deeper into his seat. She noticed Johnny was a bit more flustered than usual, so she tilted her head analyzing him. She gasped after a few seconds, her amusement dying down as worry overtook her features. “Wait–Is she married? Johnny, please don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping with a married woman.”
“What the hell–No! God, Sue!”
“I had to ask! You’re acting very weird right now.” She shrugged, “Tell me what it is then.” she pressed, but he didn’t answer. “Is she sick? Did something else happen to her? “
Sue went through many possibilities in a matter of seconds. But then she remembered…the nuggets.
“Wait–does she…does she have a kid?”
That's when his breath hitched. Sue’s eyes widened. “Oh my god–she has a child?”
All the blush on Johnny's face drained, his face went pale. Fuck it. He couldn’t keep it in any longer.
“She has a son.” He said. “A bit over five years old.”
A strangled gasp escaped her mouth, her brain couldn’t string words together fast enough to meet the truth that had just hit her.
“My God, Johnny. You’re telling me she–please tell me he’s not yours.” She pleaded, tears already welling up before she could stop them.
Johnny suddenly got déjà vu. He was about to break his sister’s heart the same way you broke his.
“He’s mine, Sue.” He shrugged, because there was no sugarcoating the bittersweet truth. “He’s my son.”
Sue forgot how to breathe. My brother has a son. I have a nephew. It wasn’t just shock that took over her, but grief. Raw and cold and devastating, because the pain wasn’t over.
“You mean–she was pregnant when–when we–“ Sue’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her sobs. “We didn’t just destroy her, Johnny. We–” She shook her head, tears slipping freely now. “We destroyed a child.”
“Sue–”
“Your child.” Her breath hitched, voice rising before she could stop it. A couple turned from a nearby table. Johnny reached out across the table quickly to take her shaking hands on his.
“Hey, hey–it’s alright.” His words came out panicked, a whisper of desperation. “You need to breathe, come on, people are looking.”
But Sue shook her head. “All this time,” she sobbed between breaths. “All these years, we’ve been sleeping soundly in that damn tower, and she–she was raising him alone.”
Her voice shattered completely on that last word. Johnny looked away, because he remembered the first time he realized that too, and how it had wrecked him.
“I wish it wasn’t that way, but I didn’t know. I swear to you, I didn’t know. I only found out when I came here…that I have a son, Sue, I have a son.” He chuckled through tears, but that only made Sue sob harder.
“You have a son,” she choked. “A five year old, Johnny, that’s five years without you. We took that from your son. I took that.”
“You didn’t know,” he said quickly, “None of us did.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s a baby, Johnny–he’s your baby. And he grew up thinking that his father didn’t want him? That we–”
“Don’t. Don’t go there, come on.”
“But could’ve been there, he could’ve been growing up with us, safe. We could’ve loved him. And instead she raised him alone. She was alone. No wonder she looked at me like she was reliving the worst day of her life,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for what I did to her, for what I did to you…for what I did to him.”
Johnny’s eyes softened, he squeezed her freezing hand. “I know,” he said softly. “Believe me, I know, I’ve been there. The day I found out, I thought I’d never be able to look at myself again.”
Sue looked at him through tears. He’d never sounded more mature to her. The cocky little brother she used to scold even at this age had turned into a man carrying the weight of two very different lives.
“What’s his name?” she asked finally, her voice barely audible. “What’s he like?”
“His name’s Leo. Leo Spencer.” Johnny smiled, Sue’s lip quivered. “He’s wonderful, Sue, he’s like all of my fire but a thousand times better. He’s smart, like Reed smart, talks a lot, thinks even faster, and for some reason he loves to wash his hands.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s too big for this town…for anywhere, really.
Sue sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Does he know who you are?”
“He does…now he does–figured it all out on his own, too.” He chuckled.
That undid her all over again. She let out a choked breath, pressing her palm to her throbbing chest, eyes filling once more.
“I want to see him,” she whispered. “I need to see him.”
“I don’t know if she–“
“Let me try, please. I can’t go back. Not after knowing all I know now.” She begged. “Please, Johnny.”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted toward the cafeteria’s window, where the golden sunlight spilled through the glass. That took him back to the ice cream shop. To his shock when he saw him for the first time in daylight, to Leo’s million questions, to the chocolate smudge on his little face, and he smiled without even realizing. Then he looked back at his crying sister…maybe she deserved the chance to see that for herself. Lord knows he’d been dying to brag about him anyways.
But you held the final word. “Let me figure it out.”
You knew it the second he came back to you. Sue wasn’t around anymore, but it was all in his eyes, looking way too guilty as he took the cart with the paper bags from your hands.
“You told her.”
“She got it out of me,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I swear I didn’t mean to–but she…she started making theories, okay? Even asked if I was sleeping with a married woman and I–”
“Wait, I meant about Leo. Johnny, did you tell her that we–?”
“Well, it’s not like she didn’t hear us the first time…”
You nudged his arm. “Johnny!”
“I didn’t give her details!” he rushed out, “Look, she’s my sister, and she knows me. She started pressing and now she kinda knows stuff…about you and me, and…Leo.” He let out a sigh. “Don’t look at me like that, it wasn't easy. She–God, she was wrecked. I haven’t seen her like that since our mom…well, that was a long time ago. But, she wasn’t even mad, just…devastated.”
You let out a long exhale and looked away. Of course she was.
“She wants to meet him,” he tried softly. “But only if you’re okay with it. I’m not pushing you, I swear I’m not, but it’s out there now. We’re not hiding anymore.”
“Johnny, I don’t trust her…yet.”
“I know.”
“But I trust you. And I’m tired, Johnny, I’m so tired of hiding, of looking over my shoulder all the time, of lying to Leo,” you admitted. “I shouldn't be planning his future without including one of the biggest parts of it. Maybe I just need to stop waiting for the perfect timing, maybe I just need to allow myself to heal. So…she can meet him. But if she tries anything…”
“She won’t,” he said quickly, reaching for your hand. “Thank you, thank you for giving me this. I know you’re scared, and so am I, but we’ll do it together. Every step, always,” he promised.
You smiled and nodded. Always.
I'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans
That's my man
Johnny’s truck pulled up to the curb of your house, as Sue’s sleek white rental parked right behind it. The whole way there was quiet, your hands still fidgeting on your lap, freezing from the uneasiness on your chest.
Until you felt his hand find yours. Always warm, always protective. You glanced down, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles, and it was enough to keep you grounded.
“You know you don’t have to go through with it, right?” he reassured, eyes locked on yours. “You can still say no, and I’ll tell her to head back to New York.”
“No, it’s time.” You shook your head slowly. “I’ll go get him, you go with her.” You squeezed his hand, before stepping out of the truck.
Sue sat nervously inside her rental, as she watched you walk a few houses down through her overpriced plastic sunglasses. She’d tried wiping the smudged makeup under her eyes in a red light, but she ended up looking worse. And her last attempt at hiding the fact she’d been crying the whole way there was unsuccessful, since the light shaded lenses didn’t really help much.
Johnny made his way over to her side, the window rolling down smoothly revealing his sister clutching a wrinkled tissue paper for dear life. She immediately sat up straighter and cleared her throat.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Sue, I haven’t been sure about anything since I arrived here,” he scratched the back of his neck, chuckling. “But uh–I guess it’s happening. She’s picking him up.”
She turned to the house she saw you walk to, wanting to get a peek as you talked to a redhead on the porch. “Well, is she sure about this?”
“Kinda…yes. Just–don’t crowd her,” he followed her gaze. “This isn’t easy for her, none of this has been.”
Sue bit her bottom lip and nodded. The moment she saw a little boy come out of the house, tugging your hand as he bounded down the steps, everything else vanished.
He was Johnny, all over again. Same hair, same lashes no boy that age should have. He moved like her brother too, light on his feet, a bounce in his step, like the world was not ready for the storm coming.
“He’s…” she whispered, her voice breaking again, “he’s you, Johnny.”
“Yeah, he is…” Johnny gave her a prideful smile. “Come on, come meet him,” Johnny said softly, opening the door for her.
“What do I even say?”
“You say hi,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you try not to scare him off with your ugly cry face.”
She let out an offended laugh, swatted his chest, and finally stepped out of the car. She adjusted her sunglasses again, and walked toward you. You were already crouching in front of Leo on the sidewalk trying to stay calm even though your palms were sweating cold and your heartbeat felt way too loud.
“Hey,” you said softly. “I want you to meet someone else.”
He narrowed his eyes at you immediately. Déjà vu.
“Like a friend?” he asked cautiously. “Like Johnny?”
You let out a shaky laugh. Smart little monster. “Something like that,” you shrugged.
He looked unconvinced, studying you with those impossibly intuitive eyes, but he didn’t argue. You tucked a small piece of lint from his shirt sleeve, and smoothed down his messy hair from terrorizing the neighbor's household. Johnny put one hand on Sue’s back as he guided her, smiling when he saw you preparing Leo to meet his aunt. You tensed when they finally stopped next to you, but Leo? Oh Leo. He eagerly turned to them, looked her up and down in that shameless way only a kid his age could look cute doing, and pointed out with a totally serious tone.
“You look like Johnny.”
Sue tilted her head, smiling immediately. You stood upright, walking behind him.
“I…yeah. I guess I do.” She crouched in front of him, studying every part of his little face.
He crossed his arms, and then, without hesitating, “Are you his mom?”
You suddenly had three adults with jaws on the floor. You covered your mouth to muffle a snort, Johnny’s eyes almost budged out his face, and Sue…she just blinked.
“No, no, no, buddy,” Johnny finally blurted, crouching next to her. “This is my sister. Her name is Sue.”
You watched his whole face light up with the realization.
“I have an aunt!?” Leo exclaimed, with barely contained excitement.
You barely noticed that you’d stepped a little closer to him. Just enough to feel the warmth coming off his little body, your hand brushing his back instinctively when you realized he was no longer just yours.
Sue let out a breathy, stunned laugh that almost turned into a sob. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, sweetheart. I guess that means I’m your aunt.”
“Cool!” Leo’s grin widened.
Johnny exhaled in relief, staring up at you with the biggest smile ever mouthing a ‘thank you’. You smiled back at him, but you quickly cleared your throat, hand still on Leo’s back.
“Okay, let’s go inside. My neighbors have already seen too much this year.” You chuckled, guiding Leo toward the front steps, while Sue followed close behind.
Johnny jogged back to the truck to get the groceries out, casting a quick glance up and down the street. He was sure he saw at least two curtains budging. Typical.
You unlocked the door and walked inside, feeling instant relief to be in your safe place. Sue lingered a second before stepping in, letting her fingers trail lightly along the white doorframe. She smiled at the tiny pair of red boots next to the ‘Welcome!’ mat.
The moment she stepped inside, she took it all in slowly. The soft light, the warmth, the history of the place. Her nephew’s home, his life. Your life. She took off her sunglasses, folding them in her hand, caught on the way Leo kicked his little shoes off by the door, and strolled to the kitchen to ask you for some water. Johnny gave her a gentle nudge as he walked in, paper bags balanced on his arms.
Sue watched it all quietly. The way Leo looked up at you when you laughed at something he said about the neighbor’s house. The soft way your fingers caressed Leo’s cheek when you handed him the water. The way Johnny’s shoulders dropped the moment he saw you both just existing.
“Mom, did you get my cereal?” Leo asked against his plastic blue cup.
Johnny froze for a second, then he placed the grocery bags on the counter. He scratched the back of his neck and muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse.
“About that…” He said, stepping over to Leo, “they were, uh…sold out, buddy.”
“Oh, really?” Leo couldn't hide his disappointment.
Johnny crouched next to him, ruffling his hair. “But I got strawberries for you, buddy.”
Leo perked up instantly. “And blueberries too?”
“Of course, champ.”
“I’m gonna wash my hands!” Leo grinned and strolled toward the bathroom.
Johnny turned to you with a crooked smile, winking before fishing the plastic containers out the paper bags, and walked to the sink to rinse the fruit for Leo. He dried the berries with a paper towel and you handed him a small bowl, where he mixed two blueberries for every strawberry, just how Leo liked it, and handed them off with a smile that matched his son’s.
“Thank you, Johnny.” Leo said, happily skipping to the breakfast table, where Johnny helped him settle in.
You began putting stuff away, eyeing Sue, who never took her eyes off Leo. She suddenly understood why Johnny hadn’t answered her calls. He had found something sacred here, a home, something he wanted to protect with his life…even from her. She felt out of place for a moment, crashing a household she never knew existed.
She’d always loved being a mother, it became the center of her world. Franklin’s first cry, first tooth, first steps across their living room, the never ending questions, even the tantrums. She’d seen Reed hold their son with awe and stumble through lullabies in the dead of night. She always had both of them.
And her brother…Johnny hadn’t had any of it.
He didn’t have you or his boy. His copy. All this time, he’d been missing the firsts that had shaped Sue’s life as a mother, and her heart broke for him. But there was a bit of hope left, because she knew Johnny still had a first waiting. She’d noticed it instantly, the way Leo called him Johnny, not dad. He’d only just learned the truth, and the word hadn’t found its way past his lips, but one day it will. At least Johnny would get that moment, the first time Leo called him Dad. She knew her brother would hold on to that like oxygen, and maybe then, she could breathe right too.
She was snapped out of her thoughts when Leo announced he was done with a satisfied “Thank you!”, then leaped from his seat to skip toward the couch where Sue sat. He stood in front of her with a tilted head, deciding if she was worth inviting to check his books. Sue just watched him with a smile and playful narrowed eyes. She’d only known his existence for barely an hour, but she’d already decided she’d love this mini Johnny as much as her own son.
“Leo,” she said his name softly, and his head perked up. “Do you mind if I hug you?”
You watched the interaction with wide eyes from the kitchen, tensing next to Johnny. He placed his hand instinctively on your back, letting you know he was there if you just wanted to pick Leo up and lock yourself until you felt it was safe again. Maybe part of you wanted to do that, because you were still scared…but your Leo wasn't.
“Okay, but not too tight, I just ate.”
The answer made you laugh softly. You looked as Sue hugged Leo with so much intensity, probably even too tight, but the boy just giggled in her embrace. Johnny’s hand slid across your back and wrapped around your waist, pulling you to him. Maybe you were right. Maybe your path to healing was simply allowing yourself to, no matter how things happened from now on.
Because the answer stood right in front of you. In Leo, in that bright mind and those curious eyes, because he was the bridge to this new world.
You turned to Johnny, pulling back just enough so he could see the determination in your eyes. “Johnny, we have to tell him, now. He deserves to know who you are.” You whispered, while Sue and Leo chattered away.
He panicked, his blue eyes darting from Sue and Leo to you. “Now? You mean now now? What about dinner or–nuggets! What about the nuggets to lessen the blow? He deserves that at least.”
“The nuggets were actually for you.” You smiled apologetically at his face of disbelief, then sighed. “Johhny…you said it yourself, we’re not hiding anymore. Secrets tear families apart. I’m not gonna make the same mistake again. It’s now or never.”
“Now or never, yeah that’s a great pep talk,” He almost groaned, but when his eyes found yours again, they softened. “Are you sure? Really sure?”
“I’m sure. He already knows you’re his dad, now he needs to know who his dad really is.” You gave him a soft pat on his chest, and he nodded.
You waited until Leo and Sue were done with their conversation, before stepping toward the living room. Johnny sat next to Sue, and you across from them, and Leo went instinctively to your side.
You smoothed his reckless hair back, taking a big breath. “Leo, sweetheart, there’s something important we need to tell you.”
His eyes narrowed, immediately alert. “You’re introducing me to someone else?”
“No, baby. Not now at least.” You said softly. “I know you’ve met Johnny, and now you’ve met Sue. They’re your family…and there’s still a few more you need to meet. I know I told you before that they live very far away, but we might be together more now, and we think you deserve to know the whole truth first. So Johnny wants to show you something.”
Leo’s brows furrowed, and he looked over at Johnny, sizing up his next victim for questioning. “Show me what?”
“Come here, buddy.” He gestured in front of him, and the kid padded toward Johnny. “You’ve heard about the Fantastic Four, right?”
Leo nodded quickly, excited. “They told us about them once in school. They live in New York! They have Dr. Reed Richards, the smartest man alive, and the Thing, and the Invisible Woman, and The Human Torch...Why? Do you know about the Fantastic Four?”
You looked at him stunned. You knew he’d heard about them to some degree, everyone had, but it was weird hearing his names in his mouth. Sue was quiet next to Johnny, knowing she was witnessing her brother’s entire world, and Leo’s, fall into place. But Johnny only looked at you, and you nodded for him to continue. Now or never.
“Well, I uh…I don’t just know about them. I’m kind of part of it.”
“Part of it?” Leo’s mouth dropped open.
Johnny steadied himself. His hand twitched just a little as he extended his palm out in front of Leo, careful to keep enough distance. Then, with a soft glow, a flame bloomed in his hand, the golden light spilling across their faces. You all watched expectantly.
His gasp was sharp, the fire crackled in waves, reflecting in Leo’s wide eyes. “You–you’re the Human Torch!”
Johnny just nodded; he couldn't get words out. Leo stared at the flame, awe written all over his face as the reality settled. His father, the man he always dreamed about, was the same one who could hold fire in his hands. Johnny couldn’t help the tears prickling his eyes and the smile that spread across his face. But then, oh boy, Leo had a thousand questions.
“How hot do your flames get? Is it plasma or actual fire? Does it change the temperature around you? It’s because of cosmic radiation, isn't it? Does it hurt? How fast can you fly? Why didn’t you tell me before–” He hardly paused for oxygen, his little hands waving around as his mouth moved quicker than his brain.
“Hey, hey, slow down, buddy–”
But Leo just turned to Sue, his eyes went wide in realization. “So are you the Invisible Woman? You can bend light around your body? Do the force fields work the same way? Could you make a bubble around me right now?”
Sue let out the tiniest, nervous laugh, her glossy eyes darting to Johnny, because she saw that same fiery, dramatic curiosity, burning so hot it was about to fry his little brain. And it did. Leo’s chest rose and fell too quickly, his questions stumbling over themselves until they turned into incoherent words, it was too much for his little body to contain. His lip quivered, and his eyes welled up.
You immediately stepped in, kneeling and pulling him close. “Hey, hey, baby…breathe. I know, I know, it’s a lot.” Your eyes welled up too, God, you should’ve listened to Johnny. This was just too much. You glanced up at them, both stunned as they watched you trying to calm him down.
Leo clutched your shirt, peeking over your shoulder at Johnny with wide eyes. And then, without a warning, Leo turned away from you, and climbed straight into Johnny’s lap, his small hands now clutching his jacket. He buried his face against Johnny’s chest and just sobbed. All Johnny could do was wrap his arms around his son, rocked him gently, and pressed his lips against the crown of his blonde head.
“Shh, hey, buddy… it's okay. You don’t have to understand right now, just let it out. I got you, I’m not going anywhere.” He reassured, and your heart broke with every hiccup coming out of your son’s mouth. Johnny looked at you with the same pain in his eyes. “I’ll take him to his room, just to calm him down?”
You nodded, and watched through misty eyes as Johnny stood, carrying Leo in his arms. Sue stayed behind with you in the living room as Johnny disappeared down the hall. And in Leo’s bedroom, it was quieter. Johnny sat on the edge of the bed with Leo curled into him, rubbing his back in slow circles, and kissing the side of his hair.
“I know it’s a lot, buddy, I didn't mean to scare you with my flames. I promise they will never hurt you, okay? Never.”
Leo tipped his tear streaked face up. “But does it hurt you?” He sniffled. “When you…when you use your flames, do they hurt you?”
“Not even a little, buddy. Feels like…like standing in the sun. All warm and nice.”
“If you stood in the sun it would hurt a lot,” Leo argued, even through his tears.
Johnny threw his head back in a shaky laughter. “Alright, bad analogy. It feels warm like…sunlight, do you feel it?” He asked, increasing his temperature just enough so his son could feel even cozier in his arms.
Leo nodded. “I like it,” he let out a sniffly giggle. “And you save people?”
“That’s what I try to do, yeah.”
“…If you save people,” he whispered, “does that mean…you can keep me safe too?”
Johnny only pulled Leo closer. “Of course, baby, always. Your dad will always keep you safe. There’s nothing in this world or the next that could stop me from doing that.”
Back in the living room, you sat stiffly next to Sue, fighting the urge to go to Leo’s room, but not wanting to overwhelm him more.
“You know,” you stared softly, without looking at her. “Now that he met you, that means he’s closer to meeting Reed and Ben…and he’ll step into your world sooner or later. And that terrifies me.” You confessed, shaking your head. “Because…what if he looks at me differently? Now that he knows there’s more out there in the world than what I can offer him. Now that he knows that his family are literal superheroes and I’m just…me.”
“Stop, don’t do that to yourself.” Sue said gently. “Look at what you’ve built here, all alone. You’ve done an incredible job with Leo. He’s happy, he’s brilliant, and he knows he’s loved. That’s everything. That’s not something Johnny gave him, that’s not something any of us did. That was all you. And as a mother, I understand why you kept him away. You were protecting him from what just happened, but this wasn't a mistake. He deserved the truth, and you gave it to him. And come on, you’re here talking to me instead of running to see him because you’d rather do that than risk making it worse for him. That’s a superpower alone.” She laughed under her breath, making you smile. You finally looked at her, and her hesitant hand found yours. “You’ve given him everything, really, and now Johnny gets to share that too. You’re not alone anymore. None of you are.”
You could only give her hand a squeeze, and nod in silent gratitude. Because maybe you weren’t ready to grant forgiveness yet, but you were ready to let her try. You finally lifted from the couch, dropping her hand gently. You didn't have to say anything, just padded toward Leo’s room quietly, and peeked over the doorframe.
Johnny was holding a sleeping Leo like he was holding the entire universe. Leo’s little face was buried in his chest, small body curled safely into his father’s arms, finally peaceful, finally complete. The thought of Reed and Ben, of the tower, of the bigger world…it didn’t feel so terrifying anymore. Not when the three of you already feel like home.
No more tug of war, now I just keep you warm
And my waves meet your shore, ever and evermore
September, one year later. New Jersey.
“Ugh–Johnny!” you called out, staring down at the box your foot just collided with. “Why are these in the middle of the hallway?”
No answer. You squinted at the label. LEO’S ROOM – BOOKS 1. You shook your head, pushing the heavy box to the side, sighing when you realized there were more where those came from. BOOKS 2, BOOKS 3, BOOKS 4, BOOKS 7–God, it had only gotten worse since his family started getting books for him. You decided to forget about the boxes, and quickly caught yourself lost in the beauty of your new house for the millionth time.
The house was one story, just like your old one, but this one stretched wide in the corner of a fancy neighborhood street. A beautiful, pale blue welcomed you from the outside, with white trims and soft gabled lines. It looked straight out of a catalog, but this one had your name on it. It wasn’t even fully furnished yet, mostly filled with cardboard boxes scattered all over, but it was yours.
Inside, the space was flooded with natural light, pooling across the wood floors. The almost floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the white living room, framing the golden trees outside like moving paintings. Autumn poured in through every glass panel, and you could see the breeze rustling the branches from nearly every room. You loved the cozy nooks and built-in bookshelves lining the hallway, but your favorite was Leo’s room, just down the corridor. You made your way there, hearing the voices before you even reached the door.
“Dad, you’re doing it wrong!”“I know what I’m doing, buddy.”
“No you don’t!”
You finally arrived, leaning your shoulder on the doorframe, amused. Leo was standing in the middle of his bright new room, holding a manual, six and half years old and absolutely done with the man on the floor in front of him. Johnny was knee deep trying to figure out the pieces of a very nice, very large and very not put together white bookshelf.
“Okay, okay–don’t panic,” Johnny said, voice muffled by one screw clenched between his teeth, “This one just goes–uh, wait, where’d the instructions go?”
“I have them,” Leo said, waving the paper exasperated. “Dad, you skipped step four! That’s why the screws don’t fit, they go somewhere else."
Johnny took one look and then shook his head, pretending he wasn't completely lost. “Leo, it’s the same thing.”
“It’s not!”
You pressed your hand to your lips to keep from laughing. because Johnny Storm was being humbled by a kid with an eye for detail. His kid.
Johnny finally caught your presence and straightened up on the floor. “Hey, this is under control. Just so you know.” He grinned, too proud for his own good…and Leo’s.
“We’ve been stuck on step three for like…forever,” the kid complained, making Johnny roll his eyes. “It was better when Mommy did it,” Leo deadpaned, flipping the instructions toward you.
Johnny turned to you with wide eyes, betrayal all over his face. “You hear this? No respect in this house.”
“Well, in his defense, I did build all of our furniture back in Georgia.” You strolled into the room with a smile, but just as you reached for the manual, the doorbell rang. “Oh, they must be here! Hang on, baby, be nice. Don’t be so hard on your dad.” You said, ruffling Leo’s hair on your way out.
Behind you, Leo groaned like a tiny old man. Johnny muttered something under his breath, which was definitely not suitable for a six year old. You said something similar when you almost tripped over another rogue box in the hallway as you headed for the door. When you opened it, the familiar faces waiting for you made your heart squeeze. Ben Grimm stood front and center, holding a foil covered tray in his massive hands. The cheesy smell hit you before he even said hello. A very sheepish Reed stood next to him, with a mysterious translucent blue box on his hands.
“Figured you got your hands full with all the boxes,” Ben spoke first, with a soft smile. “And, well, Johnny still can’t cook to save his life. So, I thought I’d bring a little something to celebrate the new place.”
“You brought your lasagna?” you asked, already smiling at the tenderness in his voice.
“You know it.” he said, with a proud little nod.
“That’s very nice of you, Ben. Thank you.” You stepped aside and gestured him in. “Come on in, the oven was installed just yesterday.”
He nodded and made his way to the open kitchen, past the trail of half unpacked boxes, torn packing paper, and random Human Torch plushie on the floor. You followed him with your gaze until he settled the lasagna on the kitchen island, right next to Leo’s–and Johnny’s–lined up cereal stack. You turned your body back to the door, eyes settling on the second figure lingering on the porch. Reed stood just a little off to the side, unsure. You took a better look at the box he was holding, sleek and translucent in their signature blue, straight out of the Baxter Building.
“Hi Reed,” you greeted politely.
“I–uh…hi,” he greeted back, and cleared his throat. Even after a year, you could still see the guilt he carried in those deep brown eyes. Reed was never one to forgive himself easily, if ever, so your process with him had been a little different than with the others. “Apologies for Sue, she couldn’t come with us. Franklin had a dentist appointment, but they’ll come by later. She’s been really looking forward to seeing the new home.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” you nodded softly. “And…the box?” You lifted an eyebrow.
“Ah, yes…I brought something for Leo. Learning material I used when Franklin was younger. They’re highly stimulating, and he showed excellent development with them at this age, so I thought they could be useful for my…for my nephew, too.”
My nephew. It still tasted strange, especially when he felt he didn’t even deserve to call him that, not even now. Yet here he was, on your doorstep, offering something thoughtful for him.
“Thank you, Reed,” you smiled, taking the big box from his hands. It was lighter than it looked, even as it was filled with all types of puzzles and stuff you couldn't really make out, but Leo most likely would. “Come in, he’ll want to thank you himself,” you tilted your head toward the hallway, making your way back to Leo’s room as he shut the front door.
From the end of the hallway, a very loud, very frustrated voice echoed through the walls. “Dad, I told you, the flat screws go in the side!”
“Leo’s teaching Johnny how to read a manual,” you explained to Reed, who stopped midway when he heard it. “I think you’ll find it delightful.”
There was a twitch at the corner of Reed’s mouth, memories of his own son flashing his head. You didn’t even make it past the doorway of Leo’s room before Johnny stumbled upright when he saw you, while Leo was too focused on counting a pile of scattered screws like his life depended on it.
Johnny brushed the dust off his grey sweatpants and tight burgundy shirt, eyes flicking to the box in your hands. “Let me help you with that, sweetheart,” he said, already reaching to take it, and stealing a kiss on your cheek that made you smile. “I’m being bullied here,” he announced dramatically, shaking his head. “All those years complaining about Reed, and now my own kid is worse than him.”
“What was that, Johnny?”
Johnny’s eyes widened, he peeked over your shoulder and smiled exaggeratedly. “Reed! I didn’t see you there. Thanks for–” he leaned over to glance inside the box. “...whatever this is.”
Leo’s head snapped up from the screws. “Uncle Reed!” He exhaled in relief, as if a competent adult had finally arrived. “Finally! Someone who knows stuff.”
“Excuse me?” Johnny turned to him, but Leo was already marching toward Reed and shoving the instruction manual into his hands.
“You’re smart enough to be able to build a bookshelf!”
“Smart enough, huh–you know what? This is your problem now,” Johnny shrugged to Reed, who held the paper hesitantly and looked panicked at you two. Johnny set the box down, and turned to you, lowering his voice. “Come on, before Leo unionizes.”
You stifled another laugh as he took your hand and hurried you out of the room, with Leo’s commanding voice fading behind. “No, Uncle Reed. That piece goes there, please read the manual.”
Down the hallway toward the front of the house, just out of sight from Leo’s room, you dodged the boxes, Johnny bumped into one and cursed under his breath before spinning around, hands now entirely free, and wiggling his eyebrows with mischief in his eyes.
“Well, look at that. My hands are free now,” he teased, softly pressing you to the corridor wall. “Guess I can finally get them on you.”
You laughed, stumbling into his chest as your hip knocked into a stack of boxes that were labeled as FRAGILE - JOHNNY’S RECORDS. “His room is turning beautiful, Johnny. The whole house is…” You beamed, running your hands through his hair.
“Yeah?” He smiled, then kissed you, quick at first, but he was already chasing another before you could breathe. Between your giggles, he nuzzled closer, planting one slow kiss after another down your neck until he found that sweet spot that made your breath hitch.
“Johnny…”
“What? Can’t I kiss my dear fiancée that loves our new house?" He whispered against your skin. “We haven’t even christened it yet.”
You laughed harder now. “Yeah, but not with them in the house. And you still have to build our bed.”
“That’s what the floor is for, babe,” he smirked, still kissing along your collarbone. “We’ve gotten good at being quiet anyways, they won’t hear us…”
“I can hear you.”
You both froze at the voice coming from the kitchen. Ben.
You peeked your heads around the corner and found Ben standing by the stove, casually stirring sauce like he wasn’t a victim of your hallway make out session. His eyes flicked up to you in that unimpressed and amused way.
“Sorry, Ben.” You smiled apologetically, trying to fix your hair, face heated up.
Johnny, unfazed and standing proudly behind you, still placed his hand down the curve of your ass, chuckling when you slapped it away. “Ohhh, is that lasagna I smell?” He made a beeline to dip his finger on the sauce Ben was stirring, but got his hand slapped again.
“Don’t you dare, fire boy. Go wash your hands first.” Ben said without even looking up. Johnny rolled his eyes, reaching for the sink, while he muttered “Bullied, I’m telling you.”
You couldn’t help but smile, leaning against the wall, listening to them bicker. You half turned around, hearing the faint voices of Reed fighting for his life under the supervision of your very serious son, and your smile grew. Then, your eyes landed on the calendar taped on the wall close to Leo’s door, low enough for him to reach. A red crayon circle marked next Saturday, “Debate with Franklin.” You shook your head, laughing under your breath.
You then padded to the front of the house, the floorboards faintly creaking under your bare feet, as you stopped by the wide window. You opened it, letting the crisp autumn breeze sweep in and kiss your skin. Your eyes went to the golden leaves sprawled across the glistening grass of your garden, to the sun shining down Leo’s bike next to the porch, to the basketball hoop Johnny was hoping to install with Ben laying beside the garage. The voices of your home filled the background, and for a moment, you just stood there, breathing it all in.
Some nights your past still caught you off guard, but you trusted the arms that held you, because you didn’t have to face it alone now. Your fiancé became the voice that soothed you every night, and the love that chose you, every single day. Your hand went instinctively to your belly, to a secret you found out just that morning, but one you wouldn't have to keep hidden like you did last time. You’d share it that same night. That’s when deep inside you, beneath every scar and ache, beneath the small heartbeat you carried inside, bloomed a quiet certainty.
That the pain wouldn’t be for evermore.
Ta da!! Thank you so so so much for reading this story, I’m delighted to have shared it you, this project is one of my favorite things I’ve ever done and it took me a whole month to pull off 😭🤍 thank you so much for all your support, your beautiful comments and asks. Feedback is always appreciated, so don’t be shy to share your thoughts 🫶🏼
Lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics and @lobster-graphics
West Savannah | Johnny Storm x Fem!Spider-variant!Reader
One-shot inspired by the song West Savannah by Isiah Rashad ft. SZA!
Summary: In which Johnny Storm falls in love one night, gets his heart broken another. But, at least you fell in love and shared something greater than the darkness that consumed you.
Warnings: Allusions to suicidal thoughts (though, not stated directly), reader as an avoidant attachment style, angst
WC: 4.9K
Masterlist!
“At least we fell in love”
The city of Manhattan was loud, buzzing with life, but up at the top Manhattan Bridge, right on one of the towers, life seemed to slow down.
You sat at the top of the bridge, legs dangling one hundred and thirty five feet above the water, kicking them back and forth mindlessly.
You finished your usual patrolling of the city, swinging from building to building, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.
Ever since getting bitten by that radioactive spider, your life had never been the same. It seemed as if you were constantly fighting for your own survival, both physically and mentally.
The job wasn’t easy. It came at a great cost. Sacrifice.
You’d lost it all. Uncle Ben. Aunt May. Your own friends.
Because of that, you feared getting close to anyone, feared that if you let someone in, you’d be putting them at risk.
All you had left was your older brother, Peter Parker.
You’d been struggling with your mental health for a while, though, you opted to keep your mouth shut, knowing Peter would pester you in an attempt to save you from drowning.
But at the end of it all, you still had great power, a great responsibility.
The weight of the world was on your shoulders.
You pulled your mask off, the cool autumn breeze on your face. You were high up, no one would see your identity.
You sighed and took in the view of the city. It was beautiful. City lights buzzed with life, the stars twinkled in the night sky.
The stars.
Where you found most of your loved ones.
Your eyes wandered the sky, noting all the constellations, until something caught your eye.
A fireball?
No.
The Human Torch.
Johnny Storm.
You had heard of him and the Fantastic Four. Who hadn’t? They were the most famous heroes in all of New York.
You took on the street level crimes, they took on far higher level threats.
His figure was coming closer and closer. Your spider senses tingled. He was headed straight for you.
You quickly put your mask back on and jumped off the edge, clinging to the underneath of one of the ledges on the tower.
Johnny landed on the tower, sitting where you once were.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Spider-Woman.”
You glanced up and saw him looking down at you with a coy smile. “You almost hit me, you know?”
“And you moved out of the way just in time,” he replied with a small laugh, eyes looking out to the city. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you and your partner in crime,” he stated. “Are you two aware?” he asked, referring to your brother.
You sighed. The Fantastic Four have been calling out into the unknown through advertisements, newspapers, and other various forms of media trying to get you and your brother’s attention. Just as the world knew who they were, they knew who you two were.
The Fantastic Four had seen what you were both capable of and thought you’d be great assets to the team.
“I’m aware,” you said, clinging upside down.
Johnny furrowed his brows and looked down at you. “So? Are you in? You wanna join?”
“No,” you said almost immediately.
“Not even your partner?” he asked.
You and your brother both agreed to not join the team. You were both fine with keeping your story street level. On top of that, you had already lost enough. It seemed as if anyone who stepped into your life faced a tragic end.
It was best to keep some distance.
“Not even my partner.”
It was silent for a moment before Johnny broke the silence. “I wish I could hang upside down and stick to the walls.”
You cocked your head to the side. “Do you now?”
He nodded. “It’s honestly kinda sick,” he admitted. “Question for you, and I’ve been dying to ask…the web fluid…does that, like, come out of you or…”
“Ew! Gross!” you exclaimed. “No!”
Johnny laughed, taken back by your reaction. “Why so defensive?”
“Because that’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard! It’s a web shooter,” you explained.
Johnny peered down at you curiously. “Web shooter?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” you said. You front flipped up onto the edge of the bridge tower, landing on your feet beside Johnny, taking a seat next to him.
Johnny looked at you in awe. Did you seriously just front lip from under the edge onto the top and land on your feet? “Show off,” he scoffed.
You smiled under your mask and showed him the web shooter. “See. That stuff does not come out of my wrists, that would be…painful?” you guessed. You’d never actually given much thought to what it would be like if you actually generated your own web fluid.
Johnny admired the web shooter attached to your wrist. “You made that yourself?” he asked curiously.
You nodded. “Took lots of trial and error, but it’s perfected now,” you said, shooting a web at the nearby tower.
“Awesome,” he muttered under his breath, watching the webbing fly from your wrist to the surface of the tower. “So, what’s your story? How’d you mange to cling to walls?”
You laughed at his word choice. “I was interning, with my partner, at Oscorp. They were making some radioactive spiders. Both of us got bit by them, and now here we are.”
Johnny raised his brows. “Radioactive spider, huh?” he huffed. “Try cosmic radiation.”
You blew air out of your nose. “So I’ve heard.”
Johnny smiled. Of course you knew how he came to be the infamous Human Torch.
You pulled your legs from the edge, sitting criss crossed. You let out a deep sigh and watched the city from afar with Johnny.
It was silent between the two of you.
Not that awkward type of silence where no one knew what to say. It was that type of silence that brought peace and tranquility, almost as if it were radiating off of each other.
“How do you…” you trailed off. “How do you manage it all?” you asked, breaking the tender silence.
Johnny turned to face you. “What do you mean?”
“I mean like, being a hero. Having the whole world look to you for inspiration and guidance. Sometimes, I guess…” you trailed off, taking another deep breath. “Sometimes it’s too much. It’s overwhelming. I have these good days where I know I’ve been put here to do good, and I know I’m here because I’m supposed to be. I feel like I’m on top of the world,” you explained, letting the words flow. “But, other days, it’s like…I don’t know…it feels like…”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Johnny finished your sentence for you. He felt what you were saying on a whole other level. For the first time in his life, it felt like someone could relate to him.
You turned to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” you breathed out.
Johnny nodded slowly. “I get it. I feel that way too sometimes. That’s actually why I’m out here now. Sometimes I just need to leave the building, get some fresh air.”
You played with your gloved fingers, looking down at the ground below you. “Fresh air,” you scoffed. “It feels suffocating no matter where I go,” you admitted.
“Maybe you haven’t found the right place.”
Your eyes met his gaze from under the mask. “Maybe not.”
It was silent again for a brief moment. Johnny reached for your hand, placing his on top of yours. You turned to face him as he spoke. “I think you’re pretty cool,” he said, voice genuine. “You make people feel safe, you bring good to the world, even when you don’t have to. You have a gift, a power, and you decided to use it to benefit others. That speaks volumes for your character.”
You smiled under your mask. Those words hit different. Those words struck you in the mind, body, and soul.
“Thank you,” you said. “I really needed to hear that.”
Johnny smiled and gave your hand a firm squeeze.
It was silent again, your mind wandering, your gaze no longer being drawn to the ground.
“I want to show you something,” Johnny said suddenly. “Want to take a walk?”
A walk with Johnny Storm didn’t sound so bad. “Sure.”
Johnny flamed on, flying down to the bottom of the bridge. You jumped off the tower, using some webbing to scale your way down.
You walked beside Johnny off of the bridge into the city. “I know your identity is top secret, so if you can’t answer, don’t,” Johnny began. “But, what’s your life like? You live alone? Have any siblings? Hobbies? Are you scared of spiders? Wait! Can you communicate with spiders?!”
You laughed at his antics. “Uh, no. I can’t communicate with spiders, though, that would be pretty cool,” you admitted. You trailed close beside him as you walked down the semi quiet streets of Manhattan. “But, I live with my brother.”
Johnny raised his brows. “You have a brother?”
“Older brother,” you replied. “Also, not technically my brother. Family friend. My parents…they uhm…” you trailed off, it hurting your heart to say, but Johnny understood. “After that, his family took me in.” You left out the parts about Peter’s parents also facing a tragic end, followed by aunt May and uncle Ben.
Johnny nodded. “That’s kinda cute you grew up together and refer to each other as siblings.”
“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “He was my biggest role model as a kid.”
“I’ve got an older sibling too,” he said. “Though, I’m sure you already knew that.” You nodded. “She’s honestly pretty cool and also my role model. Growing up I always looked up to her, and I still do. She pushes me to be better.”
You and Johnny conversed the rest of the walk to the mysterious location he was taking you to. You’d heard the stories of him being a ladies man, a player. All the bad stuff. But, in this moment, none of that seemed to be true. He felt genuine. He felt real.
You ended up underneath another bridge, graffiti covering the walls, water pooling further down the ledge you both stood on.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said sarcastically. “This is where I usually go for some peace and quiet.”
You looked around. It was empty. It was quiet, the only sound being the water flowing. “Not too bad. I’d say my place has a better view though.” You were right, you couldn’t beat the skyline view of the city at the top of the Manhattan Bridge.
Johnny smiled, walking further down the ledge. “Guess you haven’t seen this view, then.”
You followed him down the ledge, it being more and more narrow the further you went.
You popped out from under the bridge, ending up on a wider ledge that dangled over a small body of water. A lake.
The moon made the sparkles along the water dance. The water flowed at a steady pace, the sound putting you at ease.
“Not a crazy city view,” Johnny stated, taking a seat, you following suit. “But, a nice lake view, if I do say so myself.”
Your eyes took in a scenery. The view was beautiful. It was rare to see a natural sight rather than an industrial one in New York.
“How’d you find this?” you asked.
Johnny laughed. “Got pissed off at my parents one day and took a little trip around the city. Ended up here and come back anytime I need peace.”
Peace.
You’d never felt more at peace than in that moment.
Johnny had never felt more at peace than in that moment.
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
You swung back home that night, landing on the fire escape of your bedroom.
You popped open your window and climbed inside, accidentally tripping over the books you left in the window seal. You fell onto the floor with a loud thud.
“Everything okay in there?” Peter called from the living room.
You groaned and rubbed your back. “I think I broke a bone.”
“That’s better than two!”
You rolled your eyes and stood up slowly, yanking your mask off and tossing it on your bed.
Peter walked towards your room, leaning in the door way, already changed into pajamas. “You’re back later than usual.”
You shrugged. “Needed to clear my mind.”
Peter cocked a brow. “Still later than usual, even if you were at the top of the Manhattan Bridge.”
Peter learned your tendencies. He watched you like a hawk for your own protection.
He knew your usual swinging routes, knew what small noises would make you loose your mind, knew what breathing techniques kept you at peace.
He knew more about you than you knew about yourself.
You were later than usual. There was more to the story.
You took a deep breath. “I met Johnny Storm. Turns out he’s actually kind of…”
Nice?
Kind?
Not annoying?
Attractive?
“Relatable,” you finished.
Peter narrowed his eyes at you. “Relatable?” he repeated?
“Relatable,” you nodded.
“Uh huh.”
It was painfully silent.
You swallowed hard.
Peter stared at you, eyes not believing you.
“What?” you asked.
Peter shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just…” he trailed off. “I mean….why hang out with Johnny Storm for so long if you weren’t, I don’t know, somewhat attracted to him?”
Your eyes widened in horror. You? Attracted to Johnny Storm? No. No way.
No way…
Right?
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
“I think I just fell in love,” Johnny announced, barging into the living room.
Reed, Sue, and Ben were comfortable on the couch, watching a movie.
Ben rolled his eyes. “You say that about every girl you come across.”
Johnny stood in front of the t.v. and powered it off. “No!” he exclaimed. “Well…yes,” he admitted. “But I mean it this time! I felt the electricity radiating through us!”
Sue sat up straight, intrigued by her brother’s words. “Okay, well then, who is she?”
Johnny smiled, bright and proud. “Spider-Woman.”
Reed furrowed his brows. “Spider-Woman?” he repeated. “How did that happen?”
Johnny cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “Okay, so basically I was like, right here,” he explained, moving one arm to the side. “And she was here,” he said, moving his other arm to the other side. “I felt the stars in my eyes and she undeniably had them in hers.”
Sue furrowed his brows. “What?”
Ben pinched squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back on the couch. “Get a load of this cornball.”
Reed sat up. “Can you just start from the beginning?”
Johnny rambled on about seeing you on the bridge, the conversations you shared, all while moving his arms in a dramatic manner.
“Did you see her face?” Ben asked out of curiosity, sitting back up.
“No,” Johnny admitted.
Ben’s eyes widened. “You fell in love with a woman whose face you’ve never seen?!”
“I guess love really is blind,” Sue muttered.
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
Out of sheer coincidence, or rather fate itself, you and Johnny ended up back at the top of the Manhattan Bridge.
Not once.
Not twice.
Not even thrice.
But, every single day for the rest of the month.
You quickly became closer than either of you could’ve imagined.
You spent hours together, talking about the most random of topics.
Favorite songs, embarrassing moments, future plans, anything you could think of, you’d discussed it.
As guilty as you felt being drawn to Johnny, it felt too right to resist.
After that month one night, you finally took off your mask.
Johnny was star stuck by you. You had the most beautiful face he had ever seen.
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
Late one night, you were busy fighting Doctor Connors, or rather, a giant lizard.
Regardless, you got ran through the wringer. You had a large gash in your abdomen, your nose was bleeding and there was a cut in your eyebrow.
You elected to not go home to Peter. He’d lose it if he knew you were fighting villains on your own.
So, you swung straight to Baxter Building and landed on the patio of Johnny’s bedroom.
He was busy tinkering with some small gadgets he was engineering, to keep his mind at bay, when he heard the sound of a thud outside his bedroom.
He furrowed his brows and approached his window with careful steps. Suddenly, the window flew open and you dropped inside.
He gasped seeing the state you were in. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Are you okay?”
You groaned and slowly slipped to the floor, clutching your abdomen. “Never better,” you grumbled with a sarcastic smile.
Johnny rushed to your side and helped you up, draping your arm over his shoulder and pulling you into his bathroom.
He had you sit on the counter while he rummaged through his cabinets grabbing the first aid kit. “Mind telling me what happened?” he asked, slipping gloves on.
You shifted uncomfortably, the pain in your stomach growing. “Found a big lizard guy. He kicked my ass.”
Johnny narrowed his eyes at you. “Right…” he trailed off, grabbing a clean towel. “Big lizard guy,” he repeated.
You rolled your eyes. “He’s real! It’s a doctor. Doctor Connors,” you explained.
Johnny eyed you. “Okay, we’ll discuss this later,” he said, returning to the issue at hand. “You need to uh…” he trailed off, staring at where your hand was.
Your eyes widened slightly, realizing he couldn’t do much to help you if your suit was clung exactly to where you were bleeding.
“Right,” you chuckled awkwardly. You slipped off the top half of your suit, it falling to your waist, leaving you in your sports bra and bottom half of the suit.
Johnny inhaled sharply, eyes flickering briefly downward from your eyes. “This might hurt a bit,” he warned before pressing the cloth into your skin, making you wince.
You squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head away from him. His eyes lingered on you.
You shifted slightly, eyes fluttering open and meeting his. You both stared into each others eyes briefly.
That was until you cleared your throat awkwardly and looked away, Johnny doing the same.
Moments later, he removed the cloth, the bleeding now stopped. He cleaned it and wrapped a bandage around it.
He took off the gloves and grabbed another smaller cloth, rinsing it with water and wringing it out.
You watched him intentionally, awfully infatuated by his movements.
He looked up at you and gave you a small smile as he positioned his body in between your legs.
His hand carefully grabbed your chin, moving your head up. He used to cloth to wipe up the dried blood from underneath your nose. He held you as if you were the most delicate thing he’d ever touched.
Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him with unintentional loving eyes.
His eyes flickered from your nose to your lips to your eyes, shamelessly.
“You should get your ass kicked more,” he teased, voice soft.
You narrowed your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Johnny shrugged, leaning in a bit too close for you two to be anything more than just friends. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “This just feels kind of…intimate.”
You fought back a smile. Johnny made your heart feel whole again. Made you feel things you’d never felt before. “It does,” you murmured, eyes flickering to his lips.
Johnny set the cloth down, fingers still holding your chin. “Does that scare you?” he asked. Johnny knew about your attachment style. He knew how you pushed people away when things got rough. He wanted to make sure if he got too close, you wouldn’t turn the other way and run.
You shook your head. You had become consumed by the love that was Johnny Storm. You used to be scared to let people in, used to be scared of getting close. But, with Johnny, it just felt right. It felt natural.
Most importantly, it felt inevitable.
“Does it scare you?” you challenged back.
Johnny shook his head. “It’s intoxicating,” he admitted. “I crave it more and more every day.”
Your emotions took over. The smile you were trying so desperately to hide was now on full display. “Oh, really?” you teased.
He nodded. “I can prove it.”
“Then do it.”
He leaned in slowly.
Before your lips could touch, you both jumped at the sound of someone banging on his bedroom door.
“Johnny!” Ben shouted. “Give me back my wallet!”
You furrowed your brows. “You stole his wallet?”
“Borrowed,” Johnny corrected. “I borrowed twenty bucks,” he explained. “Indefinitely.”
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
One night, you were doing your usual rounds around the city. You decided to pay Johnny a visit.
It had been a few days since you both shared the almost kiss.
You swung over to Baxter Building, clinging upside down to the ledge just above his patio window and tapping in the glass gently.
Johnny was occupied by a book in bed. As soon as he heard the taps, he nearly flew out of his bed, racing to the window.
He drew the curtains back in one swift motion and smiled seeing you.
He opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside, the cool winter breeze on his skin. “Hi!” he beamed, smiling brightly.
“Hi,” you giggled, taking your mask off. “Whatcha up to?” you asked curiously.
“Reading,” he informed you. “What are you doing here?”
You scoffed. “God forbid a woman wants to see her second favorite person!” you exclaimed.
Johnny’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me,” he scoffed, taken back. “Second?! I should be first!”
You smirked and shrugged. “I fear Parker has beat you to it.”
Johnny groaned and rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“You love it.”
Johnny’s lips curved upward, eyes scanning your face, even though it was upside down.
He took a few careful steps to you, face close to yours. “We never uh…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, we almost…”
You smiled at him. “I know,” you nodded. “I’ve been waiting for you to do something about it.”
Johnny came closer, your noses nearly touching. “Say less.”
Before you knew it, his lips were on yours in a soft, warm, and gentle kiss.
Your heart was beating fast. You’d been waiting for this moment for so long.
The feeling of kissing him for the first time while you hung upside down from your webbing was surreal.
You pulled away and flipped onto your feet, meeting him at the same degree.
He smiled, hands finding your hips. “Can’t believe our first kiss was upside down,” he laughed.
“Well then maybe our second should be right side up,” you smiled.
He leaned in, capturing your lips into his. You melting right into it.
The kiss started slow, then quickly escalated. The fact that both of you had been yearning for this was starting to show.
He deepened it, pulling you closer. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer.
He groaned when you pulled on his hair lightly.
Before you knew it, you were stumbling backwards into his bedroom.
Clothes were flying, looks of love shared, lips never leaving each other.
That was where you shared your first I love you’s.
༄˖°..ೃ࿔*:･
You’d both never felt this type of way about living.
You had a reason to stay. You had someone to stay for.
In the midst of battling your own personal problems, you’d found each other and fell in love.
You had saved each other in ways neither of you quite understood. All that mattered was that you were together.
That was until one night, he nearly got killed on your behalf.
Norman Osborn had come after you and your brother. He knew your true identities and used it against you.
He came for the one person you loved.
Johnny.
He ended up being fine, of course, he was the Human Torch after all, but it was the thought of having another loved one killed because of your pure existence.
It wasn’t something you wanted again.
You cared for him. And in caring for him, you built a wall between the two of you for the sake of his own good.
You stopped coming by his room. You’d make up excuses as to why you couldn’t see him. You stopped calling. You stopped loving.
Your turn in personality didn’t go unnoticed by Peter. He had been bugging you, checking in on you constantly, acting like something was wrong with you.
But there wasn’t.
Everyone felt helpless at times, right?
You were home one night, alone. You were trying to find a way to stop Osborn before it was too late, when there was a knock on the door.
Assuming it was Peter who accidentally forgot his keys again, you went to open the door.
You were met with Johnny.
You hadn’t seen him in weeks.
“Hey,” he said, awkwardly.
Your eyes widened. “Hi.”
“Can I…can we talk?” he asked.
You nodded and let him in. You were risking a lot letting him in. Not only into your apartment, but into your life.
He stood there a moment, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “I get the feeling you don’t want to be around me anymore,” he admitted. “What’s going on?”
You wrapped your arms around your body. You knew exactly why you were doing what you were. You wanted nothing more than to be around him constantly. To hold him and kiss him all over. But you couldn’t.
“Nothing,” you said.
Johnny raised his brows. “Nothing?” he repeated.
“No.”
Johnny exhaled sharply. “Look, I don’t want to pry, or make you tell me things you don’t want to,” he began. “But, I’m worried. You…you’re different now. Sometimes it’s like you’re not even here anymore. Like, you’re a ghost or something.”
You furrowed your bows. “I’m…different?” you asked. “Like, a ghost?” You were hurt. Being told you were walking around as if you were nonexistent struck you somewhere you hadn’t been hit before.
Johnny sighed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, on the rare occasion that I do see you, you barely talk, you have this look in your eyes, like you’re not there. Like, you’re just in your own world.”
Your nostrils flared briefly. “No, it sounds like that’s exactly what you’re saying,” you scoffed.
Johnny looked up at the ceiling and pulled his lips into a tight line. “Look, I’m just saying, I’m worried. It seems you’ve lost your spark. Did I…” he trailed off. “Did I do something wrong? I don’t understand.”
He knew you too well. He knew you were avoiding him, putting up walls between the two of you. You only did that when you had your own personal struggles. He knew something was wrong.
Your eyes started to water. You should’ve never gotten close to him to begin with. You knew the consequences, but did it anyway.
It was selfish.
You blinked back tears. “No,” you muttered. “You didn’t do anything.”
Johnny stepped to you, worry in his eyes. “Okay, so please,” he pleaded. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
You wanted to cry, confess all your feelings to him. But, if you did, he’d fight to stay, insist that he would be fine and didn’t need saving.
“Johnny,” you said sternly, though your eyes said otherwise. “I’m fine.”
Johnny shook his head, knowing you were lying. “You’re not and you know it.” He wanted to fight for you, make you feel better. But in order to do that, he needed to know what was wrong. He knew about your past mental health issues, he knew what you debated daily. He didn’t want that to come to fruition. “Just talk to me so I can help you-”
You clenched your jaw. “I don’t need your saving!” you snapped. “Gosh, I swear, this is exactly why I never say anything,” you laughed, tears in your eyes. “You and Peter go ballistic if I’m not acting a certain way. Stop treating me like something is wrong with me.”
Johnny blinked, taken back. He said your name softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said calmly, looking at you with sincere eyes. “I’m worried, and I’m sure Peter is too. You don’t deserve to live your life feeling like this. You shouldn’t live your life feeling like this,” he said, trying to relax you. “Maybe you should see a therapist. We could even go together and-”
“You should leave,” you interrupted.
Johnny furrowed his brows. “What?”
“I said you should leave,” you repeated. Johnny said your name, trying to reason, but you interrupted him. “I don’t need a therapist! I’m fine!”
Johnny shook his head, adamantly. “I’m not just going to sit here and watch you drown in your own mind,” he said.
You stared at him, teary eyed. “Then don’t.”
“What?” he asked.
“Don’t,” you repeated.
Johnny scoffed. “What does that mean?”
“That maybe we shouldn’t be together.”
Johnny’s heart dropped hearing those words leave your lips. “You don’t mean that,” he muttered, tears filling his eyes quickly.
“I do,” you said, not truly meaning it.
“So, you mean to tell me our relationship means nothing? The love and passion we have means nothing?”
You stared at him. It all meant something. He meant something.
“It means nothing,” the words spilled from your lips.
Something in Johnny snapped. Anger, frustration, disappointment. “Come find me when you finally get the help you’ve needed for years,” he snapped, turning on his heel heading for the door. “If you ever do that.”
You know what would be painful in the end? If we're actually the counterpart of Gwen Stacy in a way, and we somehow put an end to it all. Tha self-sacrifice would be a nice touch
-(Joseph Quinn's) Johnny Storm x Daredevil!Reader-
Main Masterlist
🔥Summary: When a legal issue strikes, the Fantastic Four find themselves in a pickle, they desperately scramble to find a lawyer who’s willing to take their case. And that’s where you come in. A big hot shot, yet well respected, pro-bono lawyer who’s ready to put up a fight. However, when things start to get rough, the Family realizes they might need your help outside the suit and tie…
🔥Pairings: Fantastic 4 x Lawyer/Vigilante!Reader (Platonic); Johnny x Fem!Reader (Slowburn-ish)
🔥Rating: Mature (Just to be safe)
🔥Word Count: 15,710 (👀)
🔥Date: 10/22/25
🔥Warnings: Attempted Assassination; Minor Character Death; Blood; Poor Written Fight Scenes; Invasion of Privacy; Mention of Pregnancy; Japanese Translated Via Google (Probably not accurate); Reader Is Implied to Be Karedevil's Kid, Can Be Read as Bio or Adopted; Spoilers for DD Show/Comics; Spoilers for FF:FS; Openish Ending?
(Lmk if I missed anything; I'll re-beta this later)
🔥 A/N: Just a little idea that floated around and took a bit to right out. Not exactly my best work, but hopefully y'all still like it. Enjoy! -- A little heads up, this does go back and forth between 2nd and 3rd POV depending on who's the man focus.
Lynne Nichols, the CEO of Future Foundation, was running late…. And it was the first time she’s ever done that (and this fantastic family has known her for quite some time now). She was cutting it super close to the set time for the meeting that Sue had to plaster on a smile and wing it without any notes or info of what this meeting was even about. But Sue was one to roll with punches, and knows exactly how to adapt. Eventually, everything was settled at a reasonable time which happened to be on par when Lynne finally arrived.
“I am so, so sorry, Sue.” The woman says, arriving in the office was the deepest look of regret. “I usually can get up without an alarm on time.”
“It’s fine, Ly–” Sue’s words died down as she finally saw her crystal clearly. Her big blues went wide as she hustled over. “Lynne, what happened to your eye?” Her concern came out very, very motherly, despite them being around the same age.
Lynne waves the blonde off. “Oh, I’m alright dear. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“But still. It’s a black eye.” Sue frowns with concern. “Is that why you were late?”
“Yes. I guess yesterday’s incident was more tiring than I thought.” She says with a nod. “Speaking of that. Have you heard of ‘Daredevil’ by any chance?”
“Daredevil?”
“I had to go to Hell’s Kitchen to pick something up. When I got out I was going to hail a cab, but none were around, so I thought if I walked closer to another part of the city that I would find some. Well… someone came out of the shadows and attacked me, intending to mug me.” Lynne frowns, and gestures to her eye. “Got a few hits in.”
“Lynne…”
“I was just about to hand over everything when someone else came out of the dark. This person had on a red suit and mask with horns–”
“Horns?”
“And they put on a heck of a fight. It was like watching a martial art show live. It was so quick, and smooth -- They apprehend the mugger like it was a typical Friday night. They handed me my purse, made sure if I was okay, and disappeared into the night. The policeman told me that’s their resident vigilante, ‘Daredevil’.” Lynne explains with a small shrug. “Never heard of ‘em until last night.”
“Neither have I. I was unaware that there could be someone else fighting crime.”
“Well, that’s what the nice policeman said. He thinks because this city has four amazing superheroes that they wouldn’t even think twice about someone else coming on their radar.”
“Makes sense. I guess.”
“Well, maybe look into it. Maybe it’ll be nice to have an ally to rely on.”
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
“Have any of you heard of Daredevil?” Sue asks, as she enters the lab where everyone else was. They all faced her with confused expressions.
“Who?” Her brother asks, as he was bouncing his Nephew up and down on his leg (Franklin giggling here and there).
“Daredevil.” She repeats, the name still a bit strange to her (And this coming from someone who was given a literal superhero name). “Apparently there’s a vigilante in Hell’s Kitchen.”
“What? Since when?”
“Since now, I guess.” Sue fiddles with her hands a bit as she moves to stand in front of her family; She decided not to ease into the story after quick thinking. “Lynne got mugged last night.”
“What?” Johnny says with widened eyes, the two others tensing up at her words.
“Is she okay?” Ben asks, worriedly.
“She’s fine. Has a small black eye, but other than that, she’s fine.” Sue reassures. “Apparently this Daredevil person came in and stopped the mugger.”
“Stopped, how?” Her husband asks, and anyone who knew him well enough could see the gears in his head turning.
“Just by fighting. Lynne explained it was like watching a seasoned martial artist.”
“How interesting. I mean, we’ve had some… fans who try to ‘prove’ that they’re capable of joining us.” Reed pauses at his own words. “Wait. Is it a fan?”
“I don’t think this is a fan.” Sue explains. “Lynne also mentioned that the police were talking to her, they made it sound like this guy’s been around for a while. They think it’s because our family’s so front and centered that any news about Daredevil has been overshadowed.”
“That actually makes sense.” Ben says.
“Do we look into it?” Johnny asks, looking between them for an answer.
“Let’s keep it on the table. If it becomes a concern, we’ll look into it.” Reed replies, which was a good enough response for everyone.
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
A few weeks had strolled by, and anything about this mysterious vigilante had become an afterthought -- And it really was about to become a major afterthought when a thick envelope was plopped down on Sue’s work desk.
“What’s this?” The blonde asks, sitting up straighter.
“Trouble.” The other woman says with a heavy scowl. “Lawsuit.”
“What?” Sue says, as she opens it up to grab the paperwork to look over. Right on cue, the rest of her family arrives in a hurry.
“What’s the emergency?” Reed asks, worriedly.
“Lawsuit.” Lynne replies. “Apparently the name ‘Fantastic Four’ is being sued because two men claimed that they came up with the name way before it was branded by you guys. They have all kinds of evidence, and are willing to take this pretty far.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous.” Johnny scoffs. “We’ve… what? Been the Fantastic Four for how long now?”
“Six years.” Ben replies.
“Six years. And they’re now coming forward to try to sue us?”
“This evidence is ridiculous.” Sue says, after overlooking everything. “So, what do we do? We lawyer up?”
“Definitely.” Lynne says, with a nod. “I’ll contact my guys and see who they can pull.”
°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Finding a lawyer was a lot harder than they thought. Some were either incapable or too busy to take them on as a client; Or they were so focused on that they were going to be potentially defending the city’s heroes that they completely forgot how to do their jobs. That… or they were just in it for the money. I guess in their eyes, pick time superheroes, slash scientists, slash astronauts were ready just to flaunt their money around. So, they were pretty much grasping at straws at this point.
Somehow, ironically (and the realization hasn’t hit them yet), they ended up in Hell’s Kitchen, a small town in New York that wasn't the best or prettiest of places, but they were still welcomed to it with open arms just like anywhere else.
The family of five stood in front of the old building with a little sign embedded into the bricks that read: Murdock & Co. They double checked the paper to make sure this was right. This was the first law firm that was barely 1000 square feet, and its size was even pointed out by Franklin. But despite the size, it felt rather… calming. A much better feeling than being overwhelmed like the others.
“So, this is it?” Johnny asks, tugging on his collar and tie for the millionth time today (His sister made him change before they began their ‘hunt’, claiming that first impression matters).
“Let’s just hope this guy’s better than the last one.” Reed says, feeling just as burnt out as the rest of them.
They entered the building and headed for the top floor. The first door to their left, revealing an even tinier office they thought. But despite it being kind of stuffy, there still was room for a receptionist area, an actual room for the lawyer’s office, and a kitchenette.
Ben puts his hand up to knock on the doorframe after not seeing anyone. “Excuse me? Is anyone here?” He says, and gets the silence.
“Hello? Anyone home?” Johnny says, and gets a look. “What? I’m just double checking." His silly little action must have worked, because someone had finally come out of the office -- A look of shock on her features.
Her (Y/E/C) eyes got big with surprise. “Oh. What a pleasant surprise.” She says, slipping off her red glasses. “I wasn’t expecting the Fantastic Four to be standing in my office.”
“Are you open?” Reed asks, politely. “We don’t see any–”
“Yes, I am.” She replies, and starts walking over towards them. “It’s always like this since it’s only me running this place now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We were looking for Mr. Matthew Murdock.”
“Yes. I assumed. Um, well, Mr. Murdock’s no longer here.”
Reed, and the rest of the family’s faces, filled with sorrow. “Oh. My– My apologies. We didn’t know.”
Her eyes widened again, but for a different reason this time. “Oh. No! I’m sorry. I… I should have rephrased that. He’s still around, he’s just retired.” (Their faces relax now) “Took the wifey down the sandy beaches of Florida. Trust me, I’m surprised he finally left. Took him long enough.”
“So, who are–”
“I’m Y/N Murdock. I’m actually Matt’s daughter. Uh, he left me this place. But, I can assure you, and not to brag about myself, I’m just as good a lawyer as he is.” She chuckles nervously. “But I guess I can’t exactly prove that to you without knowing what’s going on.” She gestures to a few chairs off to the side. “Please, grab a seat. We’ll talk in my office.”
They do as they’re told as they gather around a small desk. Y/N even came over with a half empty box of crayons and some paper for the toddler present -- Franklin taking it in and plopping down on the floor to start doodling.
“Thank you, for that.” Sue says, smiling. This little interaction was already scoring a point in her book since the other lawyers seemed to have ignored her child while they talked.
“No worries, Ma’am.” Y/N says, taking a seat across the way. “So, what are you gentlemen and lady in here for today?” They take a moment to explain, offering extra details, thoughts, and what other lawyers’ thought before handing over the paperwork they were given. Y/N looks over it intensely, humming quietly to herself every few seconds.
“So, what do you think?” Sue asks, with a worried undertone.
“Honestly, I can probably get this thrown out rather quickly.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Basically, in a sense, and forgive my bluntness, it’s kind of stupid they decided to file a lawsuit against you guys.”
“How so?” Reed asks, curiously.
“Well, it would be different if you guys weren’t superheroes. If you guys were solely just astronauts, no powers either I may add, then this would probably be a very tight race between the two of them and you.” Y/N explains, talking with her hands a bit. “But, since you guys are a really well known, and very, very respected group of people, super-people, the judge will mostly go in your favor.”
“Just because we’re superheroes?”
“Exactly.” Y/N nods. “I mean, who wants this to go on a full on trial? Even if these gentlemen did in fact come up with the name before you guys, their background is as completely bland as you can get. They’re two gentlemen working at a local restaurant in the Bronx. And… not to mention, they actually shouldn’t be suing you over the name after all.”
“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, trying to follow (and he thought he talked fast).
“Well, if I remember correctly, you guys didn’t come up with the name. The public did. Heck, they even came up with your codenames. So, in reality, these gentlemen should be suing the city. Not you guys. Once I present that part of history to the judge, they’re gonna immediately throw it out.”
“So, that’s it?” Sue said, looking at the rest of them who were thinking the same thing. “We don’t have a case after all?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Y/N smiles, and they all mutter their excitement. “You guys will probably still have to show up to court because of your reputation, but I guarantee this whole thing will be five minutes flat. In and Out. No strings attached.”
“Oh, wow. That’s great.” Ben says, all joyful. “That’s really great.”
“Thank you, Miss Murdock.” Reed says, shaking her hand.
Y/N blushes at the boast a bit. “Don’t thank me yet. I still gotta file all this.”
“But still, thank you. You don’t know how hard it’s been finding a decent lawyer.” Sue explains.
“So how much do you charge?” Reed asks, which was already getting a firm head shake.
“Oh, no. Please. Consider this Pro Bono for all the work you’ve done for the city.” Y/N replies, honestly.
“Pro… Bono?” Johnny says, confused.
“It means free of charge.” Ben explains.
“Oh, free.” The blond nods, but pauses. “Wait. No. You cannot deny payment, Miss.”
She chuckles at their antics. “Guys, it’s fine. Listen, my father started this place doing Pro Bono work. This is just me continuing his tradition.” Y/N says, but the small family wasn’t going to let her win this one.
“That’s very honorable, and generous, but it would be rude not to.” Sue says, everyone else agreeing.
“Mrs. Richards–”
“Please. We insist.”
Y/N ponders on the thought for a moment, because leave it up to Sue Storm-Richards to persuade someone with only a few words. The lawyer finally decided to give in, but in her own way. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s make a compromise. You can pay me when we win. And only if we win. How’s that sound?”
“I can tell there’s no point in arguing.” Ben says, but he knew deep down they had nothing to worry about.
“Well that would beat being a lawyer, you know?” She stands up. “I’ll walk you out.” She trails them, and as they pass the kitchen, she says, “Do you guys want anything to go? I’ve got plenty of coffee and food to go around.”
“Well, if you insist.” Johnny grins, after she opens up the fridge pack full of stuff (Some from her doing her own grocery shopping, others were from clients that gave her food for her service). “Whatcha got?”
“Are those from the Nelson butcher shop?” Ben asks, recognizing the packaging quickly just from a tiny glance.
“They sure are.” Y/N beams with joy. “My Uncle owns the place. He’s constantly thinking I’m gonna starve myself since I’m on my own now.”
“Well, compliments to the chef. Their honey baked ham is amazing.”
“Mmm. The brisket for me.” Johnny claims, as he holds up two sandwiches in his hands (he was practically drooling at this point over the smell and the reminder of how good this sandwich was).
“I’ll let him know you said that. He’ll be over the moon.” Y/N says, closing the fridge and pulling out a business card from her suit jacket. “We’ll keep in touch. I’ll try to get us in front of a judge before the end of the week.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Richards. You guys have a wonderful evening.”
Leaving the office was honestly a wave of relief for the family; It felt like someone had just lifted a heavy boulder off their shoulders.
“I have a good feeling about this.” Sue says, once they got into the car, and everyone else agreed immediately.
.
.
Meanwhile, from the window above, you watch them leave before quietly laughing to yourself. “God, wait until Dad and Mom hear about this. They’re gonna flip.”
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
And true to your word, they had won the lawsuit with ease. As soon as you mentioned the whole “The Town named the Family” was pretty much the final nail in the coffin for their accusers. When the gavel hit the family cheered, cameras flashed, and reporters were ready to ask their questions to them and their lawyer. When all that was over, you were ready to slip back to your office and out of the spotlight, but the Fantastic Four wouldn’t let you go that easily. To them, giving you your paycheck, and a few hugs and handshakes weren’t enough in their eyes.
So, that’s how you, a smooth-talking lawyer, found yourself in the elevator of the famous Baxter Building, while holding a vase full of sunflowers, and looking well dressed. You take in a nervous inhale. Relax, Y/N. It’s just dinner. Dinner with a very famous superhero group…
Although, your pep talk to yourself seemed to fuel your nerves. I mean, you’ve done a lot of things in your life, and just having this one dinner with your client has made you more nervous than anything. Because this was you, you after work. This was you without your business suit (and without your other suit too), and you feel a little bit vulnerable that you’ll be showing them the non-work version of you.
You pull yourself out of your thoughts as the door chimes open and lets you out where you’re immediately greeted by Sue.
“Thank you for coming.” She said, giving you a warm hug.
“Well thank you for the invite.” You said, handing over the vase.
“These are lovely, Miss Murdock.” She smiles, and gestures for you to follow.
You do, and your eyes start gazing at their home with awe. You’ve seen and been in some nice homes before, but those don’t hold a candle to this. “Oh, wow. This place is spectacular.” You say, before coming to a halt. You are surprised again by someone beeping at your feet. “Oh, hello.”
“That’s HERBIE.” Sue replies, as he holds up a glass of wine for you.
“Thank you.” You said, and take it. He beeps with excitement and returns to the kitchen. You noticed Ben was there finishing whatever dish he was cooking, Reed setting the table, and Johnny going back between the two. You feel a small sense of warmth in your heart from seeing this; It reminded you of your small family growing up. Sometimes you miss the old days.
Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe the kid did sense your tiny mood change, but Franklin came running over with a picture he drew. “Lawyer lady! I made you this.”
“Oh. Well thank you.” You take the picture in your hand. It was a small stick figure of you and the words ‘Tank U’ on it. You smile. “It’s a very nice drawing of me. You’re a good little artist.”
He giggles at you before running back to his father. Reed notices you first. “Ah, Miss Murdock. Glad you could make it.”
“And look what she brought us.” Sue said, holding up the flowers before setting it on the table.
“Miss Murdock!” Johnny said, boisterously. “Care for a drink?”
“Would love to, but your robot kind of beat you to it.” You respond by showing off your wine glass.
“Ugh, Herb. You’re making me look like a bad host.” He playfully says, as the bot beeps in confusion.
“I hope you like Fettuccine Alfredo, Miss Murdock.” Ben says, as he starts bringing the dish out.
“Anything you make, Mr. Grimm, is better than what I’ve had in the last weeks.” You reply, as Johnny pulls your chair out. “Thank you. And uh, we’re not working together anymore. Feel free to call me Y/N.”
“Well then, likewise. Please do the same.” Sue says, as they take their seats.
Franklin shifts around on his booster seat, trying to reach for his drink. You, who was sitting right next to him, pushed it a little closer to him so he wouldn’t cause a mess. And that’s when he notices something you were trying to hide. “What happened to your hand?” He asks, with curiosity.
“Oh, uh, I–” You subconsciously cradle your bandage hand to your chest. “Had a little accident in the kitchen. I’m fine though.”
“Why do you wear sunglasses inside?”
“Um, well…”
“Franklin. Don’t be rude.” Reed quietly scolds.
“It’s fine. I can answer.” You reassure. “My eyes are a little sensitive right now. I had to get them checked at the doctor early.” And half of that was the truth. You couldn’t exactly tell them the real reason why. That… and you were sporting a pretty nasty black eye.
“Oh. I went to the eye doctor a while ago. They said my eyes were healthy!” Franklin beams with pride.
“I’m sure they did. You take good care of them, now, alright?”
“Okay.” He smiles, everyone else at the table sighing with relief mentally that his twenty questions are over– “Are you single?”
Sue nearly chokes on her wine as you blush a bit. “Franklin!” But her child didn’t stop. He just kept going with damage.
“My Uncle Johnny says you’re pretty.”
“Franklin!” Johnny gasps, as you laugh.
“Oh. He did, did he?” You spare the blond in questioning a look, before looking back at his Nephew. “Well, tell your Uncle I’m very flattered.”
“Oh, bury me now…” Johnny whispers in embarrassment. “Can we actually start dinner before my Nephew makes it worse?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Ben said, taking amusement in all this and started serving. Their conversations were eventually moving on more naturally, Franklin occasionally saying something that either got him scolded or a laugh and head ruffle by you.
“So, that’s how you two met? Sounds like a perfect fairy tale set up to me.” You say, after Sue finishes her story -- Her husband a bit beat red from it.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a fairy tale…” Reed said, as he took a sip from his glass.
“Oh!” Sue said, just as a metaphorical light bulb went off. “I can’t believe this completely slipped my mind, but I guess the whole lawsuit threw me off. Y/N? Do you mind me asking you about someone in Hell’s Kitchen?”
“Sure.” You nod. “Ask away.”
“A few weeks back, a friend of ours was in Hell’s Kitchen and got mugged.”
“Oh, dear. Is she okay?” You ask, worriedly.
“She’s fine. Minor injuries. She probably wouldn’t be if someone hadn’t stepped in. Have you heard of ‘Daredevil’ by any chance?”
“Daredevil?” You keep a calm composure. “I’ve never actually seen him, but I’ve heard of him.”
“So, is it a vigilante?” Johnny asks, genuinely interested (He too forgot about this mysterious figure).
“That’s what I’ve heard. I mean, in news reports he’s usually acting outside the law, but not overstepping legal boundaries. If that makes sense.” At least that’s what you tell yourself you do.
“So, has anyone actually seen this guy? Or have proof other than eye witnesses?” Ben asks.
You hum, choosing your words carefully. “It’s usually just word to mouth. I mean, Daredevil usually operates at nighttime, so there’s not many reporters or journalists around waving their cameras. Plus, I heard this guy’s pretty good at the stealth thing.”
“And what does this vigilante do besides stop muggings?” Reed asks.
“Uh, I’m too sure. I’ve heard he stopped robbers, and caught some criminals the cops were trying to bust. I’m not really sure, he’s pretty… mysterious.”
“Fascinating. But rather odd.” Reed replies, the wheels turning in his head that you could see.
You decided you wanted to test the waters a bit by asking, “So, now that you know about this guy, what’s your views on this? Personal or… superhero wise?”
“Well, I do think it’s nice to know that we have help handling crime or distress. At least in that part of the city.” He pauses. “However–”
“We probably prefer if this guy would obey the laws.” Ben chimes in, as his friend nods.
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
“So, you guys don’t agree on… stretching the legal limits?” You ask, before looking at Reed. “Not a pun, by the way.”
“I guess that would entirely depend on what that would be.” Sue replies, before frowning. “But still. We’re superheroes.”
“Yeah, we kind of have to obey the law a bit.” Johnny says, sounding a bit saddened by this. “We’re too well known not to. Plus, we don’t really have secret identities. One wrong move and we could lose our jobs.”
“I guess that makes sense when you put it that way.” You said, processing their views. “I never really thought about looking at your situation that way. I guess I should have… I am, or was, your lawyer.”
HERBIE suddenly appears at the table, saying something to Ben whose face lightens up. “Oh, it’s ready? Perfect timing. Y/N? I hope you saved room for dessert. Chocolate mousse from scratch.”
“That sounds heavenly. I most certainly have room for dessert.” You reply, and pick up your drink. You’ll admit, you’re a little full from dinner, but what could a little bit of dessert hurt you?
As you bring the glass up to your lips, that’s when you heard it.
A window. One of the upstairs windows is being opened and closes rather quietly. You tilt your head subtly towards the sound, tuning out as the family chattered amongst themselves, oblivious to your silence. It was odd though, you couldn’t hear anyone upstairs. Could the window have opened automatically? This house seems like it would come with a feature like that. But it didn’t make sense that one window would open and close. You were about to do something else you usually save as a last resort, but someone had placed a bowl of dessert in front of you.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Ben said, gently.
“Oh, don’t be.” You shake your head. “I just thought of something. My brain never turns itself off, I swear.”
“Ha. That sounds like Reed.” Johnny pokes at his brother-in-law.
“Well, dig in everyone. I tried a new receipt. So I hope it’s good.” Ben says, taking his seat again.
“Well, it smells and looks amazing. I’m sure it’ll be great.” You reassure, and pick up your spoon. You didn’t even get a chance to take a bite when your hearing picks up something once more. This time it sounded like a loud ‘click’, followed by a rolling sound. You turn to look at the floor…
A strange canister rolling your way.
“GET DOWN!!” You screamed, kicking Johnny's chair over, and pulling Franklin into you to shield him.
Your scream triggered everyone else to move, Reed using his powers to bat away the canister. The object flies into a wall, immediately going off. Luckily, it was only a flash grenade, but still. Only a few people present weren’t looking at it straight on.
You felt Franklin wail in your arms, as you took a deep breath to assess the damage. But within that damage you saw something else… someone else. The figure was dressed in head-to-black, their eyes could only be seen. Then that figure turned into two more, these guys having weapons in their hands. Your eyes widened with recognition because you knew who these people were.
And they were beyond bad news.
Before you could say something, Sue beat you to it. “Who are you?!”
But her response went unnoticed. The men with weapons took a step forward, but the middle man held up his hand. He quickly said something in native tongue, making them lower their swords. They all took one last gaze at the very pissed off family, before bolting out the sliding doors and over the balcony.
“Hey!!” Reed shouts, and they chase after them. They peeked over the railing, watching as the three intruders scaled their way down the building for the streets. His face floods with more anger. “Ben! Get the car and we’re going after them. Sue, see how they got in. Johnny, get Y/N home safe. Once you two are done with your tasks, meet us at our location.”
They shake their heads in compliance, you only half listening to Reed’s orders as you make sure Franklin was alright. You were almost startled again when Johnny touched your shoulders.
“Hey. Let’s get you home.” He explains, helping you up.
“Home?” You ask, concerned. “But what about Franklin?”
“He’s going to be fine.” He gestures to the robot coming over to them. “Herb’s going to take him to his room.”
“His room?”’
“Relax. My sister and Reed made all our rooms like fortresses. No one’s getting in. My concern is getting you home right now.”
“Shouldn’t I stay here? Wouldn’t my house be more dangerous?”
“As far as we’re concerned, these people were targeting us. You’ll probably be safer there.”
“But, I–”
“Just trust Reed, okay? He knows what he’s doing.”
Your heart beat in your ears, mostly from the adrenaline you were coming off. Although it didn’t still feel right getting treated this way, you knew they were professionals and knew how to handle this situation.
The situation, not the people who attacked.
That’s when it dawned on you that you were wasting their time, and even yours. You needed to get home and do your job too.
You gave in to Johnny’s pleas, and you gave him your home address. Luckily for you, you always kept the window near the fire escape unlocked, but you didn’t mention that to him. Somehow you convince him to let you go there, lying that your (imaginary) roommate will let you in, and that he won’t have to waste time touching the ground.
You look at him worriedly when you notice his apologetic expression. “Johnny–”
“I’m so sorry about that. I promise we’ll make up dinner. You and your roommate stay safe, and let us know if anything happens.” He replies, and shoots off in the direction he pinpointed the car at.
“Johnny.” You frown, and waited until he was out of sight before going inside. “You’re lucky I can smell your cologne from miles away.”
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Johnny eventually catches up with Ben and Reed. Whoever these guys are, they were fast -- Fast on their toes, and fast on staying in the shadows at every chance they got. What really irritated the team was that these intruders didn't even make noises; They were quiet like a field mouse. And even when the city isn’t as lively as it is during the day, it was still nosy enough to make them blend in.
“Where’d they go?” Ben asks, after they lose them in a cross section of an alleyway.
Johnny’s eyes scanned high and low, eventually catching something. “I see one!”
“Go!!” Reed shouts, and he takes off.
The blond manages to trail him pretty far, before he enters an empty building. Johnny floats to the ground, his flames going out slightly as he enters with caution. The old warehouse was almost completely empty, besides some broken glass, a few hollowed crates, and random stuff like that. But he wasn’t here to talk about the property, he needed to find where that guy went.
“Where did he go?” He whispers, his flames going out to give him more stealth. He couldn’t have lost him already… right? He takes a couple more steps around, oblivious to something on the floor–
He yelps in surprise as he suddenly finds himself dangling upside down by his foot. “What the heck–”
“You and your little family need to back off.”
A very groggy and low voice came from behind. Johnny tenses up at the threat, and tries craning his neck to see who it was. From the weird angle he could see the shadow-y silhouette starting to become solid; It formed a person dressed in head-to-toe ruby colors and dashes of gold. He could see the person holding the end of the billy-club close to their side, as his eyes grew wide.
“You’re Daredevil.” The words slip past his lips as he stares directly into the vigilante’s face; Their lower half of their face was covered a bit with the golden scarf, and their eyes were covered with a tint that you couldn’t see them. And don’t get Johnny started when he notices the protective dome’s shape. “...You literally have horns.”
“Human Torch. You need to back off. Let me handle these guys.” Daredevil replies, with a bit of pressure again -- the blond notices this, and quickly shakes his shock that he’s face-to-face with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and gets back into business.
“I would love to, but these guys just attacked my family. And in my own home no less. So, no. Me, or the rest of us, aren’t turning a blind eye yet.” Johnny replies, as they take a small step forward.
“You’re making a mistake.” They hissed, it had enough venom to almost make him flinch. “I’m doing you a favor. You don’t need to be involved in this.”
Johnny chuckles quietly. “I appreciate the honesty, and concern, but I can handle these guys.”
“Says the man who hasn’t realized that he can burn through my billy-club yet.”
Oof. They got him there. But as usual, he plays it off with a shrug and a smirk. “What can I say? I might be enjoying this.”
They tilt their head slightly. “You’re an odd one, Mr. Torch.”
“Oh, please. Human’s just fine. Mr. Torch was my father.”
“Funny.” They reply, and flick their billy-club. Suddenly, Johnny finds his foot coming free, and making him land roughly onto his shoulder with a loud thud. They take another step forward, now towering over him with a cold stare. “I mean it, let me handle this. You do not need to get into the cross hairs with these guys.”
Johnny huffs as he rolls onto all fours, and then sits on his knees. “Well, tell me who these guys are–” He begins, as they start backing away. “And then we’ll make that decision.”
“How about you just take my advice. And don’t take it with a grain of salt.” They say, and slip back into the shadow; Disappearing so fast that Johnny was sure they used some kind of magic.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
After realizing that they lost their enemies, they decided to regroup back at the tower. From there, Johnny Storm explained what went down in the warehouse, and his family took careful notes as they listened.
“That’s what she told me.” He finishes, while rubbing his sprained shoulder.
“She?” Ben pushes, a bit skeptical. “You sure?”
“It was definitely a woman.” Johnny says, with a nod. “Even with all that armor, you can’t miss the physique. Not to mention, even with trying to make the voice sound deeper, it’s definitely not very manly.”
“And how did she sound when she told you this? What was the tone? Threatening?” Sue asks, concernedly.
“It wasn’t quite threatening, but it was definitely a warning. She made it sound like we were crossing into her territory.”
“Territory of what, though?” Ben asks. “We still don’t even know who the attacker was.”
“We don’t. But she definitely does.”
“I don’t get it. What are we missing?” Reed asks, as he starts pacing a little bit.
“Well, for starters, finding out who those guys are is probably a start.” Sue says, and everyone agrees. But how are they supposed to find people who disappear with the wind?
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Yesterday went way different than you expected. You were exhausted from pulling an all-nighter, so much so that you didn’t even bother opening the office for the day. Nah, you have bigger problems to worry about. How come out of all the bad people you’ve encountered, it just had to be ‘The Hand’? Better question… why is The Hand going after the Fantastic Four? You know for a fact that they weren’t after you seeing that they attacked them at their usual Sunday dinner at 7 (I mean, everyone in the media knows the Fantastic Four does this). So, you knew they were after the family for sure. But why? What are you missing?
What did they do to piss them off? You were just going to ponder on that all day if someone didn’t knock on your front door. You froze, head cracking towards the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Johnny.” You look down at yourself, realizing you were still in your Daredevil suit. “I just came to check on you.”
“Uh–” Fuck! Seriously? Now you get company?! “G-Give me a second.”
You race to take off the suit, discarding it in the closet, along with your mask, before putting on your pajamas. You race back, taking a small deep breath as you open the door. “Johnny? What a surprise.”
“Hi.” He says, with a warm smile. “May I…?”
“Y-Yes.” You prayed you put everything away. “Yes. Come on in. Please.” You side step out of the way, letting him in -- his eyes lingering on you for a moment.
“What happened to your eye?” He asks, worriedly as you mentally curse (You forgot you weren’t wearing your shades!).
“Oh, I think I might have bumped it when I grabbed Franklin yesterday. I’m fine.” You said, which didn’t sound too convincing because he was still giving you a look. “Seriously, Johnny, I’m fine.”
“If you say so.” He shrugs. “I feel bad. First you hurt your hand in the kitchen, and now you have a black eye.”
“Yeah… it’s crazy.” You cradled your still bandage hand to your chest, which you may or may not have reopened the wound last night.
“Is your roommate here?”
“My room– Oh, yeah! S-She’s not. She’s at work right now.” (Smooth. Real smooth with the cover up, Y/N) You just hope he didn’t notice that your home clearly had only one bedroom. You clear your throat, making sure his attention was on you. “So, uh… what happened? Did you catch any of them?”
Johnny shakes his head, clearly frustrated. “No. We lost them. Although, I ran into Daredevil.”
You pretend to act surprised. “Really?”
He hums. “I was definitely surprised. But I thought it was kind of weird though.”
You try to not sweat from the nerves. “How so…?”
“Well, she’s from Hell’s Kitchen, right?” (You find yourself freezing up again.) “I found it weird that she appeared on the other side of the city. It was–”
“She?” You ask, acting confused. Was my father’s costume not that bulky on me after all?
“Oh, it was definitely a woman.” Johnny replies, as he recalls every little detail of their conversation. “At least, from upside down Daredevil looked female. Oh! And that fake voice. It was not very masculine.”
What’s wrong with my fake voice? But you just shake it off, still going the route of a curious individual. “So, what’s next? What are you and your family planning on doing?” He flashes you a skeptical look, and you quickly lie, “Sorry. I’m thinking like a lawyer. Uh, your lawyer. Uh– Client-Attorney privilege, you know?
“Right.” He says, clearly falling for your lie. “Right. That makes sense. Uh, I don’t know what we’re going to do. We’re trying to figure who those guys are, and who might have it out for us. Which…” He frowns. “There’s a lot. You know. Superhero business.”
“Right.” You crack a small smile. “Superhero business.” And in that moment your smile immediately went away, your concentration face formed at a thought. Wait a minute. Could it be…?
Johnny catches that expression rather quickly, and latches onto it. “What? Did you figure something out?”
You did in fact figure something out, but were reluctant to share. You didn’t want to risk being right and something were to happen to him or his family. Yet, at the same time, maybe using them to draw out the enemy might actually work… you just have to keep a very close eye on them.
“Maybe.” You start, still acting like you were thinking. “This might be a stretch, but you guys did just come off a big court case.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, those gentlemen were pretty upset about losing. Do you think their anger was enough to try to kill you?”
His eyes widened at your answer. “That… that is a stretch. But it’s a start.” He smirks, and starts heading for your door. “Thank you, Y/N.”
“Sure. Do you want some help investigating?” You ask, trying to feed into his ego a bit.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Leave it to the pros.”
You laugh, coming over to lock the door behind him. “Be careful, Johnny.” You reply, and he gives you a wink. Once the door was closed and locked, you let out a long sigh. Sorry, Johnny. I gotta use you as bait.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Ben gives the man a gentle nudge backwards, and back inside his home. Johnny’s lead (which he got from you) seemed a bit far-fetched at first, but as soon as the four of them arrived and suggested that he may be behind this, he tried to flee. Ben closes the door as everyone else comes closer to their now suspect in the assasination case.
“Mr. Ramirez–” Sue begins with her very stern, but sickening sweet voice that could make anyone feel guilty. “We just have a few questions to ask you.”
“You won’t be in trouble, unless you don’t comply.” Her Husband adds.
“And if you don’t…” Johnny pushes, as he was cracking his knuckles. The sound alone was enough to make the man shiver, and nearly trip on his own coffee table.
“I-I told you! Me and Smith didn’t do anything!” Ramirez said, eyes widened with fear.
“Then why’d you run?” Ben asks, arms crossed.
“B-Because… You’re fr-freakin’ superheroes! And you all looked pissed off.”
“Of course we’re pissed off. Someone just tried to have us all killed. And conveniently it happens right after our legal case with you.”
“So it’s a coincidence! We didn’t try to have you guys killed.”
“Prove it.” Reed said, coldly.
Ramirez bats his eyes. “H-How? What? You want to have a look at my phone bill, or somethin’?” He asks, half-joking. But when he saw their deadpan expressions, he knew they weren’t messing around. He grits his teeth, pivoting on his heels. “Fuck it!” He curses, and bolts down his hallway, the family not exactly knowing where he was even going to go.
“See? This makes him even more guilty.” Johnny sighs, as he sister starts moving to go get him. However, Ramirez came back into view; Backing up slowly with his hands in the air… And someone’s weapon pointing in his direction. “Daredevil?”
The rest of his family stared in shock, the vigilante who likes to stay hidden, who liked to pretend they didn’t exist, was now standing in the same room as the rest of them.
“Holy cow…” Ben mutters, as you narrowed your eyes at the common enemy.
“Torch is right, you know? Running makes you look more guilty.” You respond.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ramirez replies, as you wave him off.
“Nobody to be concerned with. Now, how about you finish explaining yourself to this lovely family?”
“Explain what! I already told them everything!” He yells, looking between them. “We didn’t hire anybody to kill ya.”
You tilt your head as you tuned in; Despite the nerves working his heart, it was racing in a way that told he wasn't a liar. So, he is telling the truth.
“I don’t believe that.” Ben interrupted your concentration.
“It’s true! I swear!” He continues, his eyes now pleading. “I’ll take a freakin’ polygraph or somethin’. But I’m tella ya, my boy and I are–”
You flick your billy-club upwards, deflecting something just as he came through the window. Between the cracking of glass, his scream, and everyone dropping to the floor, you barely registered what had just happened. You take a look at what was embedded in the wall above your head. A very familiar looking arrow was staring back down at you.
They attacked again? And in daylight? You just couldn’t believe it. They really had the balls to do in the sun now? You turn your attention back to Ramirez, who was trying to be calmed down by Mr. Fantastic himself. You hate to be the bad guy here, but you’re gonna have to be to get this mystery solved.
You reach out, grabbing him by the front of the shirt, and pulling him towards you with a yelp. “Your partner? Where is he?” You hissed, making him shake.
“Uh, he w-went to the market around the corner. Off 5th.”
That’s not around the corner! Yet you didn’t snap at him verbally. You just let him go before glancing at the heroes. “You get him to safety. I’ll handle Smith.” You said, no, demanded to the others as you proceeded to get up and jump back through the window you came in through.
The Hand weren’t the only ones risking being exposed fully by being out in the daytime. You were too. Despite the color scheme of your costume (the one that your dad insisted on having), you still blended pretty well in the darkness. But now that you were out and about when people were, you were risking having your identity exposed if you made one small mistake. That one small mistake could put your entire family at risk.
Yeah, and mom will kill me if I run dad’s retirement. You sprung across the rooftops, soon picking up a very faint sound -- A muffled scream. Your blood ran cold as you picked up the pace. You threw yourself down into the alleyway, Smith’s struggles against their hold was evident, and you threw up a kick. Once again, the same three from the other night were here, the main leading one ending up being your opponent.
Your kicks matched his, and your billy-club went against sais. You forgot how skillful The Hand really was… and were semi-grateful that backup came. Red hot flame shoots over you in a warning, enough for your opponent to push off of you and beckons his other two to follow. You follow them as they scaled the building, Smith’s cries in the background intensified when Reed came over to apply pressure on his wound. Normally, you would let the enemy get away and tend to the injured, but since Reed seemed to have it covered, it was a perfect opportunity to finally stop The Hand.
“Keep an eye on him, Mr. Fantastic!” You shout, not looking back and you scale the building too. You may not be able to hear them, but you can certainly sniff out the blood that was on their weapons. At least that’s what you wanted to do… alone. But a certain someone was insisting on doing this solo, too.
When you caught up with them, so did Johnny. Now, the flying was a plus. The fire? Not so much. You would think being able to shoot flames at will would be nice against a trio of ninjas, but when they were a very skilled group of individuals, they managed to counter back that as well. Eventually, when they seemed to get annoyed with the two of you, that’s when the smoke bombs were deployed. A very thick, gray haze clouded your vision to the point it was hard for you to even pick up if someone came charging at you through it. You became extremely worried when Johnny was just about to fly through, afraid that he might come out of the cloud with a knife in his eye. So, without even thinking, you threw your weapon, billy-club cable quickly wrapped around his wrists, looping around a post before pulling him against it.
He takes a moment to process what just happened before looking your way. “This again?” He asks, half-joking. “Are you going to get my legs now, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart…? What? But you shake the moment you felt your heart flutter off, and focus on your strong demeanor. “You know I’m starting to think this is a turn on for you.” You quip back.
“Maybe…”
You roll your eyes. “Alrighty, Torch, you’ve done your part. Now go home.” Which was true; You managed to make Johnny and his family talk to Ramirez and Smith (and somehow managed to bring the Hand out during the day), and that’s all they needed to do. You can take care of the rest.
Johnny tilts his head at you. “Why are you so desperate to do this solo? We’re obviously trying to do the same thing here.”
“And what would that be?” You ask, before you could stop yourself. Why the hell would you say that to him? You have the information you need, now you just need to investigate further before–
“Uh, going after the freaky ninja dudes. If we can just get the two dudes to confess, then–”
“Confess what?” (Shut up, shut up, shut up, Y/N–) “They’re not lying about hiring the ninjas, you know?”
He stares, confused and bats those very bright blue eyes of his. “What are you talking about?” He asks, in a tone that he was using to try to sweet-talk you. And it almost worked.
Almost. Luckily, the rest of his family arrives -- Sue even stepping furiously towards you, with a snarl. “Let go of my brother!”
“Sis, relax, this is just how Double-D greets people.” Johnny replies, and you give him a look.
What is he? Foggy? Your Uncle was always coming up with weird nicknames on the fly.
“I will relax when she lets you go.” Sue says, and on cue you do.
“Last warning–” You begin, as you head towards the ledge of the building. “You guys stay out of this.”
“And why should we?” Reed asks, distrusting.
“You just should. Trust me.”
“How are we supposed to trust you when we barely speak?” Ben replies back, as you glance back at them.
“You trust me by taking my word. These people take no prisoners.” You reply, which was the truth. Your Dad’s told you enough stories about the Hand to know it was true. “I’m only saying that because I don’t want to wake up and find out in the news that the Fantastic Four have kicked the bucket, and left their two year old behind.”
“That seems a little harsh.” Sue said, watching you closely.
“Is it? You’re superheroes, aren’t you? These are the risks.”
“Then what are you? Aren’t you one of us?” Ben asks, also trying to get a good reading off you.
“I wouldn’t call myself that.” You explain with a bit of a distaste towards yourself. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I wouldn’t want a lovely bunch like yourself to make the same mistake.”
“How thoughtful.”
“Look, sweetheart–” Johnny cuts in. “I told you the last time, we’re not backing down.”
You look away and shrug. “It’s your funeral then.” Then you jumped.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
You were getting a little irritated at this point. Irritated that you were neglecting your law firm, irritated that you blew off a few phone calls from your parents, and irritated that you managed to accidentally slip a few times. You don’t get it… you’ve always been professional. Cheeky, and persistent, but professional (and that was going for both your jobs). So, why the hell were you slipping up so much? Did the Fantastic Four’s presence bring you comfort? Was play-boy Johnny actually that charming?
You scoff to yourself. Yeah, there’s no way.
He was obviously doing that to get your attention, to get you to slip up more and to get information. But you needed to stay calm… calm like you were in a courtroom; Calm like you were doing a stakeout over the local hospital–
You turn and swing your fist, surprised that you missed your opponent by a single hair. How the hell did you not hear or even smell him? “Motherfu…” Your crude words die on your tongue. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could be asking you the same thing, sweetheart.” Johnny said, tucking himself against the same wall you were. It was the perfect spot away from the hospital, a perfect view to keep an eye on the two men who were attacked.
You purse your lips, clearly irritated that he just happened to find you. “I’m going to string you up again if you don’t leave.”
“I could just burn it.”
“Burn it? I thought you had a kink for it.”
“Then why even bother?” He pokes, as you groan. “Look, what exactly are you–”
You grab him by the collar, and then pin him against the wall with your elbow. “Go.The.Fuck.Home. Can you please just let me handle this.”
“Why? Why are you so dead set on us not helping you?”
“‘Cause you have no idea who you’re messing with. I don’t want you dead. I don’t want any of you dead.”
“Then why don’t you just talk to me? Just me.”
“Johnny–”
“Look, these people, they came after my family. In my home. Not only that, but they banged up my Lawyer pretty bad, too.” You try not to react to his words. “So, will you please give me something? Or, at least finish what you were saying before my sister interrupted?”
“Just you?” You ask, skeptical. “You’re not going to get anyone else involved?”
“I swear I won’t.” He replies, as you listen to his heartbeat. The tiny thumps were sporadic, weren’t pounding like it was going to jump out of his chest. Which means only one thing…
He’s not lying. Was Johnny really just going to keep this all to himself? Did he really want to be so selfless? You felt like he was mimicking a lot of you right now. Maybe he’s got that Murdock curse, too.
“Alright.” You sighed, letting him go before gesturing to the building. “Those guys in the hospital, the ones who were trying to sue you, weren’t the ones who hired the ninjas.”
“How do you know?” He asks, taking all the information he could get.
“I just do.” You reply, a look getting sent your way. “It’s kind of my thing. Don’t ask questions.”
“Okay, but if they didn’t hire them to kill us, then who? And how are they connected?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Hence the stakeout.”
“And how long have you been at this stakeout for?”
“A while.”
“How long’s a while?”
“You talk a lot, you know.”
“My mother says it’s a gift.”
“Well, it’s definitely a gift for something…” You mumbled, as you turned your attention back across the way. It stayed quiet between you two for a bit, but I guess the man dressed in blue couldn’t handle it after a while.
His mind turned back on, and he started rambling at you once more, “So, why ‘Daredevil’? How’d you come up with a name like that?” He asks, genuinely curious about the alias.
“I didn’t. The newspaper came up with it.” You admit, truthfully -- It was still a strange name even after all this time. I mean, Daredevil? Just because your father could do crazy backflips off a building?
“The newspaper?”
“Yeah. The Bulletin.”
“Bulletin?” Johnny knew that paper immediately. It was one that went under when he was a kid! “Wait… how old are you?”
Shit. You almost slapped yourself at your new slip up. “Around your age… I think.”
“You think?” Now Johnny’s brain’s on overdrive. “And there’s no way the Bulletin named you. Not unless you have been crimefighting since kindergarten.”
“I wasn’t the first Daredevil, okay? I was the protégé who took over, I…” You cut yourself off, growing quiet. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”
“Look, it’s not like I’m going to blackmail you, or anything, sweetheart. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Yeah? And let’s keep it that way. I’m not looking for fame or glory.”
“Then what are you looking for?”
You take a deep breath, reciting the same answer you’ve always told yourself. “Look, I’m just here to make sure my city’s safe. That my loved ones are safe. I deal with the criminals that sometimes the cops are unaware of… maybe you and your family are unaware of. I take the beatings, so families can rest easy. Does that make sense?”
“Is that why you don’t ask for help? You’re afraid someone will get hurt?” He asks, watching you frown.
“You have no idea what some of these criminals are like, Johnny. They’re… heinous.”
“Then, tell me about it.” He says, almost pleading. “I mean, I can stay out of your territory if you like, but if there’s something going on in my city, I would like to know and help.” You ponder on that, because maybe you could– You froze; And he perks up at your reaction. “What?”
You listened in harder to make sure you weren’t actually crazy. “They’re in the vents…”
“What?” He said, confused.
Your eyes widened in distress, and turned around to face him. “They’re in the vents! Smith’s in trouble!”
Your words were enough to get you both going. You use your momentum from swinging to bust through the window, Johnny coming close behind you. You both were met with a horrific sight, Smith’s hands clasping around his neck, a trail of blood all across the floor that led to vents The Hand had come in-and-out of with ease.
Thump– Thump– Thump– Thump– Thump–
“Shit…” You croaked, rushing over as you held your hands over his. “Shit. Smith! Smith! Hey– Stay with me!”
Thump– Thump– Thump– Thump–
“Fuck.” Johnny whispers under his breath. “If they attacked him… do you think they got Ramirez?”
Thump– Thump– Thump–
“It’s a possibility.” You said, thinking about how easy they might have slipped past security to get Ramirez.
Thump– Thump–
Smith let out a noise, a cross between a choke and groan. “T-They’re… c-cutting loose ends…” He slurs, eyes starting to roll back.
Thump– Thump…
“What?”
Thump…
“Th-They’re… n-no… no witnesses…”
Thu…
“What?” You push, just as you heard the sound that you’ve always dreaded -- The sound of someone’s heart coming to a stop. “Hey! Hey!!! Stay with me!” You turn your attention to the door. “Nurse! Somebody! He needs help!!”
Seriously, where the fuck are the nurses? And where the fuck is security?! You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice Johnny was back away; The gears in his head turning.
“Y/N…” He whispers, but you heard it clearly.
Your head snaps back his way. “What?”
“My lawyer. She was a witness.” He explains, face draining off all its color. “They’re going after her.”
Shit… You face him, trying to ease him off that thought. “You don’t know that.” But he was already backing up towards the window.
“Yeah, I do. Check on Ramirez. He’s at the station.”
“Johnny!” You shouted, not realizing you had used your real voice. But it didn’t matter he had slipped up, because he was already long gone.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Johnny doesn’t think he’s even flown this fast before, and is surprised he didn’t black out. But somehow he made it to her apartment, his fist pounding a few times on her door. After a while of calling her name, he wonders if she, or even her roommate, were even home… but he couldn’t just leave without knowing. He tells himself he’ll pay for her new door, and kicks it down. He wanders inside the dark room, looking around as he gives himself some light.
“Y/N?” He calls out, taking a few steps around. “You home? Anyone?”
Maybe, and luckily, she wasn’t home. Maybe she’s actually safe. Or maybe he should swing by her office just in case. Yeah, maybe he should do that. It would certainly put his mind at ease. And maybe… these people weren’t going after her? That could be a thou–
He felt a sharp pain in between his ribs, followed by a gushing sound. A gasp falls from his lips as he stumbles forward, his hand on instinct grabbing the wound that kept growing red. He spotted the silhouette in the corner of his eyes, his flames were enough light to see the jagged knife in the intruder’s hand, his blood staining the metal.
He heard someone scream his name in the distance, but his brain could register anything else but the pain he was in. As he was following to his knees, something was happening behind him -- something along the lines of shouting and fighting that he could see who was winning. His body met the cold floor, those black spots people talk about danced in his eyes…
.
.
.
“JOHNNY!!!”
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Johnny, in all honesty, had never felt this crappy before. He honestly thought that this was really it, that this was his end. He honestly thought when he opened his eyes his own mother would be staring back. But instead he felt the sting in his side, the smell of antiseptic, and he was laying on something other than the hardwood floor. It was strange because he felt so… at home. Was he at home? Did he actually get stabbed? Was Y/N actually in danger–
“-is insane.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve reminded me several times already.”
He hears two voices. Two that he can’t quite make out who they are, but they’re near him. He tried opening eyes but they weren’t quite budging…
“I can’t believe this. I should call them.”
“Uncle Frank’s handling it.”
“I know that. But maybe your dad–”
“We’re not calling my dad.”
Johnny finally lets out a groan, someone moving around to stand next to him.
“Well, welcome back to the land of the living, Flamey.” The voice makes him finally open his eyes half lid, the person’s face soon coming into view. He was met with a tired, but peppy, older man with graying blond hair and beard. “I’m just lucky the neighbour’s elderly and half blind, or otherwise I’ll have a lot of explaining to do why the Human Torch was being dragged into my apartment by Daredevil.”
Johnny blinks a few times for an adjustment, and just pure confusion. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Nelson. Foggy Nelson.” Nelson… Nelson. Where has he–
His eyes brows shoot up. “Wait.” Johnny carefully starts sitting up with the man’s help. “You’re that butcher.”
“Yes, I am.” Foggy replies, with a nod.
“And I’m in your… living room?” Johnny looks around at the dimly litted apartment. “How? And did you say Daredevil brought me here?”
“I did.”
“I don’t understand. Why to your place?”
“Because…” A familiar voice calls out, and comes out from the shadows. “I’m kind of his Niece.”
And it took all the strength in Johnny’s body not to kneel over in shock. There’s no way that you, the nicest lawyer he’s ever met, was in fact that no BS vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen.
“...Y/N?” He says, like he was still unsure it was actually you.
“In the flesh.”
“But you’re… you’re, uh…”
“A lawyer?” You said, with a playful smile. “Look, I’m a lawyer, and you’re an astronaut, and we’re both playing dress up. Is it that much of a shocker?”
“Uh, kind of. I just…” How does he put this? “I just don’t take you as someone who would have a night job like this.”
“Gotta keep myself entertained somehow.” You chuckles, making that surprise stare of his return. “That was a joke. Are you okay? Are you still… loopy?”
“No, no, I’m just processing, I guess.”
“Understandable. Take your time.” You reply, and take a seat on the open armrest. “I still gotta wait for Frank to clear things up in my apartment.”
“Your apartment?” He whispers, a sinking feeling hitting him. “Wait. That ninja… your roommate–”
“Yeah, I kinda lied about the roomie.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You heard me.” You averted your eyes for a second, ashamed of the lie and the aftermath of what happened a while ago. “After he stabbed you, I… couldn’t let him leave.”
“Wait.” His stomach dropped. “Did you…?”
“Not exactly.” You admit, still not meeting his gaze as you fiddled with your hands. “I managed to get him tangled up, and I was going to leave him like that until I got you some help, but I guess The Hand is all triumph or death. He took the coward’s way out. Broke his own neck.”
“Jesus…” He’s never fought an opponent who’s attempted to take their own life (But I guess you did mention to him that you fight the worst of the worst). “Wait, ‘The Hand’?”
“That is what the ninja group is called. They’ve been around for centuries.”
Johnny quirks up a brow, suspicious. “And have you been around for centuries? ‘Cause you seem to know an awful lot about them.”
You frown, feeling Foggy’s worried gaze on you. “They’ve… come and go through us Murdock’s lives. My dad first experienced them when his mother crossed their path by accident in a lawyering case. Killed in a way that made it look like a suicide. Then, in college, they killed an old girlfriend of his, and his mentor. Almost killed my Uncle Frank during a trial, my mom, too. And…” You pats at the hidden scar just above your hip. “Me. I guess that’s why I was so reluctant on you not helping. These people come and go like cancer.”
Johnny’s face softens with pity. I mean, his family and him had their fair share of tragedies and close calls, but this? And to be suffering by one group for years on end, and still have the will to go on? He has to give you, and your family, some props for that.
“If these people have been around for a long time, then how come I’ve never heard of them?” He eventually asks after taking everything so far in.
“Because, they’re originally from Japan, and normally stay in Japan; Unless somehow you’re messing with one of their oversea ‘businesses’, then they pay you a visit. And they’re quick. Unseen like a ghost. You can thank your status and superpowers for keeping you alive this long.” You explain, truthfully.
That got Johnny to sweat a bit. If it wasn’t for his status, he would have already been a dead man? Talk about a spine-chilling thought. “This is insane. And you seem… really calm about all this.”
“I try.”
“How long have you been fighting them on-and-off for?”
“Not long. At least in my case. My dad was usually the one dealing with them.” You reply, getting the same strange look from earlier. You clear your throat, clarifying, “Uh, the suit, tie, and booksmarts weren’t the only thing I inherited from him. I got his other suit–” You gesture to the outfit you’re wearing. “I got to be Daredevil, and all the abilities that came with it.”
“You have powers?” He said, surprised. “Powers that you were born with?”
You chuckle quietly at how childlike he sounded -- It was like telling a kid you’re taking ‘em to the amusement park they’ve been nagging you about. “My dad likes to call them abilities rather than powers. But, yes, I was born with them.”
“Does your mom have any?”
“No. She’s normal.” You shake your head. “My dad when he was a kid got into an accident, chemicals got into his eyes and blinded him. But it also heightened all his other abilities. Smell, hearing, taste, touch. The first two especially.”
“So you have all those as well?”
“Yep.”
“But you weren’t… born blind?”
“No. Surprisingly not. And no, my eyesight was not enhanced. It’s just regular 20-20 visions. Although, I’m very sensitive to light. Hence why I’m always wearing the glasses.”
“So… not a fashion statement?” He teases, making you laugh again.
“Nope. That was dad’s thing.”
“Yeah, he’s always with those dumb red glasses.” Foggy chimes in, and points to himself. “I called them the ‘Lady Killer’ in College.”
Johnny flashes his gaze your way, intrigued. “Your dad was a player…?”
“He was. He was.” Foggy sighs, as he reminisces about the old times. “Still sort of is. Could get any lady to fall for him, even though he’s married. And the women he would pull? Drop dead fucking gorgeous. For being blind he sure knew how to pick them.”
“Still salty, I see.” You poke, as he rolls his eyes.
“Hey there, young lady, I can be as salty as much as I want. He’s no longer here stuck behind a desk. He’s just getting a sunburn on the hot beaches of Florida.”
You snort and look at Johnny* “Yeah, now I’m trying to convince him to give his shop to his nephew so he can retire and get sunburned, too.”
“I cannot hand over the keys to Thomas. He’s not ready.”
“He’s so ready. You just don’t like not being in control.”
“You sound like your mother.”
“Hey, she wasn’t a reporter for nothing.” You reply, with Johnny laughing at the family bickering (He’ll have to admit, it’s kinda cute). He then tries to get up, but you were right there to stop him. “Hey, stay still.”
“C-Can’t.” He shutters, the pain starting to return.
“Johnny–” You trail off and look at your Uncle. “Can you get more painkillers, please?” Foggy nods and heads for the bathroom, just as the blond hero finally stands fully up. Your face flashes with concern. “Johnny–”
“Look, I’m loving the family lore, but all this talk about these ninjas killing people doesn’t sit right with me. I need to get home and tell my family everything. Then, we gotta kick some ass.”
“Johnny, you’re in no condition for fighting. Well alone trying to take these guys head on.”
“Then, come with me.”
You froze. “What?”
“Come with me back to the Baxter Building. Team up with me and my family. I know we can stop this if we actually work together.” Johnny says, covering your hand that was on his chest. “Please.”
Your face falls for numerous reasons. “Johnny, I would love to, but I can’t risk revealing my identity. I have way too many enemies, besides The Hand, to count.”
“I’m not saying you have to. But I’m not exactly good at keeping secrets from my own family, you know? So it’s either me telling them, or you.” He replies, as you become lost with thought; He squeezes your hand after a while in reassurance, and your eyes finally meet once again (Thump– Thump– Thump–). “What will it be, sweetheart?”
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Sue was pacing around and close to chewing all her fingernails off. She, and everyone else, had no clue where her baby brother was. He wasn’t answering his pager, he didn’t even leave a note, he didn’t even bother telling HERBIE where he was going; So, where was he? And what was so important that he had to go alone?
Johnny, I swear, where the hell are– Her pacing comes to a halt as he enters the lab, with an emotionless expression. “Johnny!” She shouts, everyone perking up as she runs over to hug. It only lasted a few seconds when she heard him wince. “We were so worried! What happened to you?” Her blue eyes surveyed him fast, quickly landing on the bandages, and blood stained suit. “... Johnny?
“I’m fine, Sue.” He begins, giving her shoulders a gentle touch. “I, uh, got patched up by Daredevil.”
“Daredevil patched you up? Why?” Ben asks, suspicious/confused.
“Well…” His eyes trail over his shoulder. “She kind of knows me…” And that’s when you appeared, still in uniform, and holding your cowl. You gave a vague wave as the rest of their eyes widened in shock. “I promise you her explanation’s really good.”
And it was. You started from the top just like you explained to Johnny, and you even occasionally sprinkled a few things in you might have forgotten; You carefully answered their questions, as you watched the wheels in their heads turn at the info.
“So, what does this mean for us?” Reed asks, making you frown.
“Basically, if we don’t figure out why they’re after you, you’re F-U-C-K-E-D.” You reply, bluntly.
Reed hums, thinking hard. “Maybe…” He lowers his voice for just his family to hear. “Maybe if we pull out all the Future Foundation contracts in the last few months, we could see if there’s anything sketchy?”
You raise an eyebrow, obviously hearing what they’re saying about their business, as Johnny clears his throat, and nudges his brother-in-law. “Careful. She can literally hear everything.”
Reed’s face paled, shocked. “W-What do you mean?”
“I have enhanced hearing.” You reply, averting your eyes like earlier. You always felt bad that you could literally hear everything. I mean, you want a bit of privacy in your life? Well, that ain’t happening when you’re around.
“Enhanced?” Sue asks, asking for her baffled husband. You nod in response, as Ben crosses his arms and asks,
“Prove it.”
You take a moment to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t. So, you take a deep breath, and begin, “Uh, well, for starters, Franklin’s not actually asleep–” You point to the couch behind them. “He’s been pretending since I’ve been here. So, Franklin, you might as well get up.”
Everyone watches his blue eyes open, and a sheepish smile crosses his face, like he doesn’t care that he got caught. You then point to Ben, continuing, “Your heart’s beating really fast as I talk, and–” Then at Reed. “Yours is even faster every time I speak.” The two men exchange glances, as your orbs land on Sue.
“And Sue…” You pause, nose picking up something. “Not hearing related, but I can smell that you’ve been eating a lot of strawberries the past few weeks. Mostly with whipped cream.”
You pretty much just blew their minds in just under 3 minutes… and these were coming from people who have superpowers.
“So, if you have this… enhanced hearing, did you hear them when they came into the building?” Reed asks, as you make a face.
“Sort of. I heard the window they use open, but I didn’t actually hear them.” You sigh. “The Hand have trained themselves to slow their heart rates down to the point it almost sounds like they have no pulse. It’s harder for me to track unless they’re right on top of me.”
“Well can’t you like… smell them?” Johnny asks, almost embarrassed to say it.
You almost roll your eyes. “Smelling’s the last thing I do, and unless they have blood on them, I’m screwed. I just got lucky I heard the vents rattling around or otherwise we would’ve not known about Smith.” Your face falls. “I just wish I got there a little quicker…”
You're still kicking yourself over your fatal mistake.
“And Ramirez is safe? You called and upped security?” Sue asks, as you nod.
“Yes. Anonymously, but yes.”
“Okay, but how do we stop The Hand?” Ben says, as you start thinking carefully.
So, we know about the suing case being all fake, but who hired them, and why are they trying to clean up loose ends? Your mind was wandering somewhere that you thought was a stretch, but what if it isn’t? What if you’re not too far off? “Sue–” You begin, getting her undivided attention. “Before the trial, in any recent meetings with world leaders, or any business partners, seemed… off?”
“What do you mean?” She asks, confused.
“Well, like… when you were stating your opinion, was anybody opposed to it in a drastic way? Like, was there anyone that seemed pissed off at you?”
“Where are you going with this, Y/N?” Johnny asks, as his sister thinks long and hard.
“Just bear with me. I have a hunch.”
“Actually…” Sue starts, realization crossing her face. “About a month before the trial, I had a meeting with the world leaders about some concerns on sea transportation; Like for materials and food. A few people didn’t like it, a few people did. However, there was one who really didn’t like it. And he really made a scene.”
“And who was it?”
“Prime Minister Takashi.”
You find yourself immediately wishing you were wrong. “I fucking knew it.”
“That was your hunch?” Johnny said, surprised.
“His family’s been in politics for a really long time, and are known to do some illegal activities, if you catch my drift. This all makes sense now.”
“Care to explain? Because I’m lost.” Ben asks, as you comply.
“If you tighten security on ports, they won’t be able to transport what they need without getting caught. So, he decided to hire folks who want to sue you, in hopes that maybe regardless of the outcome, your reputations would be tarnished a bit. I mean, this whole trial could have gone way worse if you went with another lawyer. So, when it didn’t go as planned, he went with the messier options, killing the Fantastic Four.”
“... And by killing us, the world would be so focused on our deaths, no one would be paying attention to the underlying problem.” Sue finishes, as you nod again.
“Exactly.”
“Damn.”
“So, what does this mean? What’s the plan?” Johnny asks, ready to get the ball rolling again despite being in horrible pain.
“You guys can’t just go in guns blazing. I mean, as logical as this sounds, you still don’t technically have evidence.” You explain, as his face falls. “However…” You’re not even sure if this is going to work. “I have a plan.”
You were met with the family exchanging looks, Reed stepping forward with, “Y/N–”
“Look, I know I haven’t been a team player, and I haven’t been honest with you when I should have. For that, I owe you an apology.” You reply, with pleading eyes before your features shift to ‘all business’. “But as of right now, as your lawyer, I need to trust me.” They all exchange looks again, while you mutter, “Please. I swear on my life that nothing will happen to you if you follow my plan.”
And now you were holding your own breath, because for the first time in a long time, you were scared that things would go south again… and you desperately didn’t want to have their blood all over your hands.
Your own heartbeat could be heard in your ears; The loud: Thump– Thump– Thump– Thump– Thu–
“We trust you.” Ben said, lifting the weight off your shoulders immediately. With a smile, and new confidence, you start telling your plan in great, great detail.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
The man rushes into the Baxter Building all in a huff, a clear look of irritation on his aging face. He blows off all the “hellos”, and attempts to get a conversation going as he beelines for the conference room. He throws open the doors to empty chairs and stage, which honestly pisses him off even more.
“Mrs. Richards?” He calls out, but nothing echoes back. He checks his watch frantically. I mean, this was the time he was told the emergency meeting was going on. “What in the–”
“My apologies for the confusion.” Your voice calls out as you stroll out of your hiding spot with a huge smirk (You were back in your business suit and tie, and were wearing your shades). “We are having a meeting. Except you were the only one invited, Prime Minister Takashi.”
“What is this? And who are you?” He spats, as you keep your cool.
“What?” You tilt your head all cocky. “You don’t recognize me from the headlines?” You wait for him to say anything. “No? That’s too bad. Well, for your information, I’m Y/N Murdock. I’m the Fantastic Four’s lawyer.” And then his face falls. “Yeah. Now you recognize me.”
“What is the meaning of all this? Why drag me here if you wanted a meeting? You could’ve just called me over the phone.”
“That’s true. But where’s the fun in that?”
“Excuse me–”
“I dragged you here because of my clients.”
“Your clients?” He scoffs. “What for? Isn’t the trial over?”
“Well, to be frank, you know damn well that it’s not over.” You said, taking a small step forward.
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you hired those two buffoons to pretend they came up with the name ‘Fantastic Four’. I know you were just trying to distract the world a bit since you hated Mrs. Richards’ ideas on the ports’ security.”
He stares at you, and you can hear the slight hutch in his breath, and his pulse picks up. He scoffs again. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Am I? Because…” You lean in close, whispering, “You know for a fact that you know who I am. Which means, you know I can tell when you’re lying.” His heart beats even fast now, as you pull away with your smirk growing. “So, you might as well come clean. I would love to hear your take on all this.”
His face twists in disgust and defeat, his hands clenching and unclenching as you wait (im)patiently. “So, what if I did? Why is it such a big deal? I could just broadcast an apology.”
“Yes, you could. However… You did attempt to assassinate the family.” You reply, very nonchalantly (It was making him start to sweat). “Technically twice on one of them. And hell, you even tried to kill me twice. And you try to kill Ramirez, and…” You frown with anger. “You killed Smith.”
His eye twitched. “I-I–”
“Save your excuses, Mr. Takashi. That bridge has been burned for a long time now.”
“You’re mistaken, Miss Murdock.”
You laugh. “Oh, Mr. Takashi. Still trying to lie to me even though you can’t? I mean, come on. Really? That’s really stupid.”
“Miss Murdock–”
“Don’t.” You hissed, with a cold stare that could be seen even through your glasses. “Since your trial route failed, you decided you had no choice but to hire some hitmen. You attempted to kill the family in their own home, and failed. You then try to kill me in my apartment, which resulted into Mr. Storm being almost fatally stabbed. And I can bet my bottom dollar that you have them on standby somewhere, don’t you?”
ThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThumpThump–
“Just admit it.” You continue to push. “I already know.”
His hands clench into fists, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I did. So, what? What are you going to do? It’s your word against mine. And all I have to do is make one phone call, and I can have your head on a platter. I can have that whole family on a platter. So fucking what? What evidence do you have?”
Your bitterness fades at his, and now you find yourself laughing again. “Oh, man. That was good. Truly, it was.” You sigh blissfully, as your hands reach into your pockets. “What evidence do I have, you ask? Well… I have a confession, that’s what.”
You pulled out a remote, pressing a button that lit the full room. There at the top was your clients, security, a few Future Foundation workers, and even Lynne Nichols, who were all looking down at him with some type of hatred. His body froze, and was becoming paler before you even got the chance to show him the grand finale.
“Oh, and if you think this is bad, wait until I tell you that you weren’t the only world leader here.” You begin, holding back another laugh at his new expression. “You see, even though they’re not present, Mr. Richards had the pleasure of equipping all the chairs with microphones and speakers, so if they’re ever not available to come in person, they can still listen to it while they’re overseas.” Your eyes shift to one of the seats closest to you. “Can you hear me okay, Madame Laurent?”
[ ‘Oui. Loud and clear, Mademoiselle.’ ]
Your gaze lands back on him, his whole body now running hot and sweaty, and his heart pounding like a never ending drum solo. “Well, to be blunt, and excuse my unprofessionalism, but you really fucked yourself, didn’t you?”
Hook. Line. And Sinker. The good ol’ fashion lawyering technique that has been used in your family for generations. A good ol' check mate.
You watch his face twitch again, and just like you predicted, he bolted.
.
.
.
He ran and ran, but everywhere he went felt like someone was waiting for him. He stumbled down the staircase, threw open the door for the parking garage, and down the ramp. If he can get to his limo, if he just gets to his driver in time before word gets out, maybe he’ll have a chance to escape. But you stuck your foot out, clipping his ankle and making him land on his knees.
“You know, running makes you look more guilty.” You teased, as he pushed himself to a stand.
“But, I do admire the theatrics. I mean, making yourself look and even feel nervous? I’ll admit, that’s some dedication right there for something you damn well knew you were going to lose.”
“I could say the same thing about you." He brushes his suit off, the fearful façade falling and gets replaced with a serious expression. “Are we actually alone? Or is there anyone else lurking in the shadows?”
“Just me.” You reply, copying his expression. “Trust me, you’ll know when someone is coming.” Your words lingered in the air away as you two glared at each other, only for the ice to break when he barks up a cackle.
“My, my. I’d never expected this to turn out this way. I never thought you would stick around after the case. But again… you are just like your father and grandmother before you. Stubborn as a bull.”
“You should know this by now, Takashi.” You tilt your head. “Or would you like me to call you Nobu again?”
“Hai. I haven’t heard that name in a while.” He grins. “I must say, no wonder I didn’t recognize you, you’ve grown quite a bit.”
“And you’ve aged a lot.” You push as he brushes the comment off.
“What do you want?”
“You know exactly what I want.”
“Do I?”
You grit your teeth for a second. “Stop beating around the bush, Nobu. The more you stall, the faster the others will get down here. I can hear some of them getting closer.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You know, I don’t have to be the one to give the command. You should know this by now, little devil.” His words were a cue for you to notice you were getting surrounded by The Hand. For once, you weren’t afraid of their presence; Only afraid of what they truly stand for.
You close your eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as you mutter, “Tachi nasai. Kazoku o hanatte oite kudasai.” (*Stand down. Leave the family alone.) Your words were enough to get them to sheath their swords, and give you a small bow before dispersing again.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Nobu jams into, as you try not to wince. “You should know by now the power you hold.”
“I didn’t want this power, and you know this.”
“True. But it’s not like you have a choice. You and your parents can deny all you want, but you belong to The Hand. You’ll be the destroyer of all worlds.”
“Yeah?” You scoff, irritated that this was a common discussion. “And when is that supposed to fucking happened? Huh?”
“Whenever the Gods see fit.” Nobu said, proudly.
This fucking– You trail off when you hear the footsteps again.
“They’re coming?” He asks, already knowing the answer.
“You know you’re gonna have to let yourself get captured, right?”
“Oh, I know. But… you know me. I’ll always find a way out.”
“And I’ll be patiently waiting.” You reply, with a forced smile, and the footsteps on the stairs getting louder and louder.
“I know you will be.” Nobu says, as he walks past you, a hand coming up to pat your shoulder. “I’ll see you later, little devil. Or shall I say…”
.
.
.
“The Black Sky.”
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
“Oh, thank you, thank you.” Sue says, pulling you in for a big hug -- Takashi in custody, and the assassination news was heard across the board. Tonight was just going to be the family trying to get every loose end cleaned up (Wish them luck). “You don’t know how grateful we are for you.”
You smile genuinely as you hug her back. “It was my pleasure, Sue. You don’t even need to bother with…” You pause as you pick something up. You pull back, really listening. “Huh.”
“What?” She said, confused/concerned.
“Well, it explains the strawberry craving.” You said, amused. “And not to be weird, but you smell really good.”
“I’m so confused–”
“You’re pregnant.” You bluntly reply, watching her blue orbs go wide. “You can still take a test if you want. But I hear your heartbeat… and another. Unless you have two hearts, of course.”
“I’m pregnant?” Sue echoes your words, the shock slowly wearing off. “I’m… pregnant.”
“Yeah. Not sure why I didn’t pick up on that sooner, but again… ninjas were after us.” Your expression grew. “Congrats. Let’s just hope this one doesn’t hail down another planet eater.”
Sue laughs with joy, as she hugs you again -- Already thinking of ways to break the ice with her husband later. Speaking of, he and the others finally managed to slip away from the police, and reporters trying to catch wind of what was going on in Baxter Building.
Franklin came running over to you, eyes like his mama sparkled with curiosity. “Lawyer lady. That was so cool! But where’s your suit?”
“Well, my suit is a secret.” You said, bending down to his level. “And I need you to help me keep that a secret. Can you do that for me?” He shakes his head, and makes a ‘zipping’ motion across his mouth. You laugh, and ruffle his hair.
Reed appears before you, shaking your hand. “We’re forever in your debt, Miss Murdock. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No need. I’m here whenever you need me. In whatever way possible.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“So do I.” Ben said, also shaking your hand. You nod, and bid everyone ‘goodbye’ before joining Johnny at the elevator.
“After you.” He said, holding the door.
“Such a gentleman.” You said, smirking. You both entered it, the door closing, and headed down. Your nose picks up on a coppery-musty smell. “Your wound’s starting to get infected. Make sure you clean thoroughly after this.”
“Eh, I’m sure I can just burn it off.”
“Johnny…”
“What? I’m joking.”
You roll your eyes, the smirk still on your face. “Only you.”
He chuckles. “Only me.” The elevator dings to the garage, and you both step out. “Hey, I know you’ve heard it like a billion times already, but thank you. For helping my family with everything.”
“No need to thank me, Johnny. I’m always happy to help.” You said, as you spotted a familiar car pulling in. You sense Johnny getting tense since the garage was supposed to be empty; You touch his arm. “Relax. That’s just my Uncle Frank. I called him earlier.”
“Oh.” He relaxes. “Sure you don’t want me to fly you back?”
“Oh, no–” You shake your head. “You don’t need to be doing anything until you’re healed. Capish?”
He gives you a sloppy salute. “Yes, ma’am. And…” He raises a brow. “You’re sure you don’t want to join us? I mean, you can probably get around without revealing yourself.”
“It’s tempting, really, but I don’t want to risk it. Besides…” You tug at his uniform. “Blue’s not really my color.” He snorts, and your smile grows. “But, if you guys ever need help, lawyer or superhero related, I’m all in.”
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” Johnny replies, as you start trying to leave, but he’s desperately trying to keep you here a little longer with his charming self. “Sure you don’t want a drink or anything before you go, Sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. That nickname was going to be the death of you if you’re not careful. “Love to–” You start, trying to hide your blush. “But I need to get back to my day job.”
“Suit yourself.” He said, a bit sad (It made your heart ache in more ways than one (Damn you, Jonathan Storm).
“Awe, don’t pout, Mr. Storm. You know, if you ever want to visit–” You reach up on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You know where to find me.”
You watch his eyes light up at your words, as his hand touches his cheek as he watches you go. You wave one last time before getting into the car, buckling up as the car pulls away.
“I don’t like how he looks at you.” Was the first thing Frank says, once you’re out on the bridge towards the city.
“Who? Johnny?” You ask, batting your eyes.
“Yeah.” He nods. “He’s flirting with you.”
“He’s not…”
“Oh, yes he is. And what until I tell your dad about this.”
You sigh at his (usual) antics. “You know if I want to date him, I can. I’m an adult.”
“You’ll always be a child in my eyes.” He says, with a soft smile on gruff features.
“Whatever you say, Uncle Frank.” You remove your frames for a second, rubbing your tired as you feel him staring.
“Are you okay? Did something else happen that I don’t know about?” He asks, in a tone like a gentle parent would use. You almost slipped up because of his effect on you, but you manage to hold your tongue. Besides your parents, no one else in your life knows what you really are; And despite knowing that one day that destruction that you’ll supposedly cause might happen, you just want to enjoy being treated like a normal human being until then.
You shake your head, forcing another smile on your face. “I’m fine, Uncle Frank.” You said, looking his way in an attempt to throw him off his game. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Tired.
Yeah… that’s it.
Just keep telling yourself that you’re tired.
(TBC…?)
A/N: If this gets enough track, I might do a follow up stories. 'Cause I really do like writing Daredevil!Reader.
Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader Word Count: 24k gold (sorry)
Description: After an attack on the Baxter Building threatens the family, every trace of evidence points to you being a traitor. Johnny is torn between believing you, the one he’s been in love with since day one, or his own blood. And while they question your loyalty, no one knows what you’re really hiding: a secret growing inside your belly, one that has Johnny’s name written all over it.
Tags: fem!reader, angst, idiots in love, secret pregnancy, the F4 think you betrayed them, more angst, johnny cries a lot, regret, resentment, it gets better eventually, fluff, baby is described to look a lot like Johnny.
This was inspired on Taylor’s Swift’s album Evermore, so you will find lyrics from it on every divider 🍂
Note: This is a Part One. I really didn’t want to split this up but it ended up longer than expected and I went over tumblr's word limit 🙂↕️ Part two will be posted soon! This story has been the bane of my existence for the past 3 weeks (lovingly) so I’m very happy to finally share it with you!! Get cozy, and pretend I’m holding your hand while you read it bc this one is a rollercoaster of feelings 🫶🏼 Special thanks to the lovely @breadcheese444 for beta reading this 😭 you’re the best ily 🫶🏼 enjoy!
You’d lived in the Baxter Building long enough to feel like part of the family.
What once was a hard earned internship to work with the greatest minds of New York, turned inevitably into the Fantastic Four taking you in as one of their own.
From Reed’s speeches when you assisted him in the lab, to Sue’s gentle reminders to take care of yourself, and Ben’s kindness that always managed to warm your chest, it was impossible not to let them enter your life as they let you enter theirs. Being around them felt comfortable, safe, everything you could’ve ever wished for.
And part of that was Johnny, who always managed a way to set your perfect little world on fire.
The main problem was, Johnny Storm was nothing and everything all at once. He was the spark that lit every room, the one who made you laugh when you didn’t want to, the one who winked across the lab when Reed was being too serious, the one who leaned just a little too close when you were working on something.
But Johnny was just a friend, and that was it.
A friend who flirted too much, but never went past that, no matter how much you wished him to. It was the kind of will-they won’t-they thing that made Sue smile knowingly, Ben shake his head, and Reed mutter under his breath about unresolved tension in his lab.
And the kind of thing that made you want to jump from a high place just for him to come and catch you.
And then kiss you.
Yes…you were down bad.
And then came the gala. The kind of night where champagne tasted like water at some point and the city blurred behind the tall glass windows of the building. You shouldn’t have let Johnny keep pouring into your glass, shouldn’t have let yourself get swept into his orbit more than usual, but you did.
His warm hand fit perfectly against your waist when he pulled you into a spin on the empty dance floor, your laugh echoing on the walls as he twirled you around. You two looked like a mess. His shirt untucked, hair tousled, your shoes off, dress loosened up on the back where his hands inevitably began drifting lower and lower.
Everything felt so funny, yet so right. His laugh was loud and golden, his lips too close when he whispered a joke meant only for you, even when there was no one else around.
You told yourself it was just the alcohol, the dizzy haze of his scent and the music he’d played on the turntable. But his warm hands kept roaming freely, and you couldn’t help yours from feeling every ridge of his muscles either. The night faded into sloppy kisses, his hips snapping against yours as you finally turned that ‘unresolved tension’ into a melody of midnight gasps and your headboard banging the wall; knowing Sue would probably give you hell about it the next day.
But the night was just like him. Everything and nothing all at once.
Everything because all you’d ever wanted was his body on yours, his groans against your skin, his undivided attention on making sure you were having as good of a time as he was. But it was supposed to mean nothing because that’s what you were. Even when he was buried deep inside you.
Next morning, you woke up to his warmth. Your legs tangled on your satin bedsheets, his arm slung heavy around your waist. We shouldn’t have, was your first thought. But when you saw his face just inches away from yours, soft and peaceful in sleep, and his golden hair on your pillow, and you could picture yourself waking up to that everyday.
It wasn’t just the alcohol. You knew it.
And he knew it, but “we shouldn’t have” was his first thought too, and unfortunately he let that be the only one. Johnny cracked a joke, like he always did, and you forced a laugh, because for the first time you didn’t find him funny.
The two of you ruled it out as a mistake. Too much champagne. Too little sense.
When it was too much stupidity, actually.
Because it didn’t feel like a mistake, not to you. Never to you. Not when the warmth of his touch still lingered on your body, not when his cologne clung to your pillow even days later. And most certainly not to him, either. When he could still hear your moans, when he could still feel your nails on his back, when he could still remember every thrust he buried his love with.
But when people said ‘idiots in love’, you two surely loved to focus on the ‘idiots’ part of it.
Because you let fear rule over your love, because you were nothing, just friends, and friends weren’t supposed to wake up in each other’s beds with their hearts racing. And you couldn’t afford to ruin a friendship over what you thought was a one sided infatuation.
And the heart I know I’m breaking it’s my own
To leave the warmest bed I’ve ever known
You thought staying friends was safe…until it wasn’t.
A month and a half later, you were holding a test that changed everything. Staring in shock at a blue + sign that pulsed on the tiny screen. You felt lightheaded, your pulse skyrocketing as the world tilted under your feet. Terrified wasn’t even enough to describe it.
Because you loved Johnny Storm, stupidly, deeply, recklessly. But to him, you weren’t his. You were just…you. A friend. How you came to despise that word.
Now every day felt like waiting for the inevitable, for the moment you’d have to tell him. For the moment your almost thing would turn into something you couldn’t go back from.
You thought you could hide it. But then the mornings started hitting harder. The nausea, the way your head gaslighted you into thinking you suddenly hated the smell of coffee. You brushed it off as a stomach bug, as stress, as anything other than what you knew it was. It worked for a while; you became an expert at dodging the family’s concern behind excuses of exhaustion.
But Johnny…Johnny was trickier. He wasn’t oblivious, not when it came to you. If anything, he watched too closely. He could see when your laugh didn’t reach your eyes, when your smile was more of a mask. He thought it was because of that night. He thought he’d ruined something that didn’t even exist in the first place. So he asked one night, casually, leaning against the doorframe of your room with a bowl of popcorn.
“Are you waking up earlier? I haven’t seen you around breakfast lately.” He said, a cocky grin on his face to hide the true worry behind his words. “One would think you got tired of my face.” He joked, like always.
“Got tired of the same cereal.” You joked back, and he feigned offense by putting a hand on his chest.
He didn’t press further, because the truth was he didn’t want to know if it really was that night, and it was easier to deflect reality with stupid jokes. So that night you ended up watching a movie. His shoulder grazing yours as you shared the popcorn, sat on the same bed he’d made love to you. Your head inevitably leaned on him. And he let you, of course he did.
You hated that you didn’t mind it.
As months kept going, your clothes became tighter, so you stole Johnny’s sweaters with the excuse of the weather getting colder, even when it was the middle of August and autumn was still yet to come. But he didn’t mind, how could he when you looked so cute wearing his clothes?
How naive he was.
You told yourself you were buying time. That you needed to be sure before you said anything, that you had to pick the right moment. But really, you were scared of the look on his face, scared of turning something unspoken into something real.
For now, it was enough to live for the hope of it all.
August slipped away into a moment in time
‘Cause you were never mine
September.
On the day you turned three months pregnant, you left early in the morning for an ultrasound appointment. Your only company was the chilly September air. It was just supposed to be that, a normal day. But as you lay on a medical bed and saw the life growing inside you through a screen, something terrible was happening back in the tower.
A planned attack.
It wasn’t dramatic in the sense of fire everywhere, or the use of brute force. No, the Fantastic Four were more than capable of dealing with that sort of stuff. In this case, information was more valuable, and unfortunately, more vulnerable.
The Baxter Building was supposed to be untouchable, layers of firewalls, Reed’s tech securing every inch of the place. But today, someone managed to hack every single file. And what better way to create a distraction than by targeting the innocent little droid first. All they had to do was program H.E.R.B.I.E into thinking his family was the enemy, starting with the two year old that was left in his care.
Franklin.
And for a few terrifying hours, the Fantastic Four had to fight an invisible enemy. Franklin had barely left unscathed, H.E.R.B.I.E was shut down until he could be repaired, but the damage was done. Their entire database got transferred to some location Reed kept desperately trying to track.
Some screens still flickered, the alarms were muted but still ringing in everyone’s heads. Reed’s lab was suffocatingly tense, his quick typing and occasional scribble on the chalkboard were the only sounds.
Sue rocked Franklin on her hip, she had twice survived someone wanting to harm her child; her bloodshot eyes showing she wasn’t sure she could ever take a third. Ben sat on the yellow couch, occasionally offering reassuring smiles to little Franklin.
Johnny had been trying to contact you as soon as the hellish situation was over. But tracking you was useless, because you’d left the watch he’d given you in your room that day, since you noticed it messed with the ultrasound machine every time.
But the worst part wasn’t that he couldn’t find you, no. The worst part was that every single trail of what happened that morning in the building was traced back to you. To that watch Johnny found on your nightstand, and which Reed now held next to his screen.
And you weren’t even there to defend yourself.
“Tell me this is a mistake.” Sue’s voice cut through the tension, still bouncing Franklin desperately. She walked toward Reed, leaning over his shoulder.
He didn’t look at her, his eyes still darting over the evidence scrolling down his screen. “I’ve checked it four times. The data breach is always traced back to an internal device.” His tone was even, but his hands hesitated when holding the watch. Your watch. “Not just internal…hers.”
Ben shifted uneasily on his seat. “Come on, Reed. We’re talking about the kid here…there’s no way she’d pull something like that.”
Reed went through the decryption for the fifth time, and all the incriminating details. Log-ins with your name, encrypted messages sharing information only you would know. It was too calculated, almost like the perfect crime, but they couldn’t see past the fear that morning caused.
“This is bullshit.” Johnny snapped, walking around the lab shaking his head. “She wouldn’t–she couldn’t do this. Not her, and you all know it.”
“Johnny, it’s all right here.” Reed looked at him. He didn’t want to believe it either, but he was a man of facts, and they were right in front of him.
Johnny shook his head violently, pacing like he was going to burst into flames to burn the adrenaline off. “No, I don’t care what your computers say. She’s not like that– you know she’s not.” He defended fiercely. “She loves this family. She loves Franklin. She loves–” He cut himself off, like he still couldn’t say it out loud. “She loves us, okay–Sue? Help me a little bit here.” He looked at his sister, still clutching his nephew for dear life.
“Johnny, I really wanna believe you.” She said, soft and honest. “But we’re talking about my son’s safety. Your nephew. What if…what if she isn’t who we thought?”
Reed sighed, exhausted. He wasn't an emotional person, but he wasn’t immune either. Pushing past all the logic, all the damning proof on his screens, his eyes reflected his heart trying to cloud his judgment.
He’d grown fond of you too. You were brilliant, a true delight to work with. And you had always been so caring to the children of the place. Franklin and Johnny. Well, at least that's how it played in Reed’s eyes. The point was, he didn’t see you as just an intern, but as family.
“I wish it wasn’t this way, Johnny. But we can’t ignore the facts, the evidence–strong evidence. Whoever did this had access to information only available to us…and the trail points to her being the leak.”
Johnny lifted his hands in the air, closing his fists like he wanted to choke the words that came out of Reed’s mouth. “If you think for one second I’m gonna stand here and believe she betrayed us, then you don’t know her like I do.” He tried to sound firm, confident, but his voice cracked. “I just know she…she wouldn’t do this to me.”
“Johnny…” Sue sighed. “This is not just about you…this is Franklin we’re talking about.”
That set him off. The argument kept going in circles. Reed insisting on facts, Johnny yelling at him, Sue trying to reason with her brother, and Ben caught in the middle, taking Franklin from Sue’s arms to move him away from the confrontation.
But then Reed’s screen chimed, with the results of the last decryption of information he got from your watch. He froze, making Johnny stop bickering with Sue.
“What?” He asked, leaning over Reed’s shoulder.
Reed’s hands hovered over the keys as he took in the information. He saw dozens of image files, schematics, and hand drawn maps of the Baxter Building.
And not just that, but the personal notes you’d made on them.
At first he tried to find the logic, like he always did. And there was actually a reason behind it. It had been a project you’d worked along with Reed to set up a new security system when Franklin was born. He could see all the key points that he had explained to you alone. Okay, acceptable. But it had extra annotations around Franklin’s nursery, weak points, blind spots, stuff only you had observed and noted.
But he didn’t know it had been from a place of good. The extra time you took to analyze everything to make sure the new systems would secure the child’s safety. And of course, they couldn’t see past that, because the thing you had used to protect him, was the very same that was used against him.
And this time, in their eyes, there was no more room for the benefit of the doubt. Not when you weren’t there to explain it to them. Not when Sue couldn’t keep her eyes off Franklin in Ben’s arms as if something would happen to him the second she blinked.
Johnny just stared in silence, he recognized the notes instantly. He remembered you perched at Reed’s side, stylus scribbling on your tablet as you tried to follow his explanations. He remembered laughing when you drew a tiny flame by his room. “So you don’t get lost, blondie.”
It was yours, that was undeniable. And the decryption showed those notes had been shared outside the tower a few weeks ago. Far away from the family it belonged to.
“Tell me someone forged this,” Ben said roughly, as the last thread of hope he had on you had snapped.
Reed shook his head. “It’s not forged. These are her annotations, this was information I confided in her with…her own observations on the Tower’s weak points.”
“That’s yeah…that’s hers.” Johnny breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s–god, that’s her handwriting.”
Sue pressed a hand to her mouth, tears already spilling. She adored you like a sister, trusted you with Franklin more than anyone.
Johnny staggered back a step, like the air had been punched from his lungs. His eyes still locked on the little flame doodle. Was that why he couldn’t reach you all morning? Had you ran away and left them to pick up the pieces of everything you broke?
For the first time, Johnny had no defense, no fiery protest. Just the crushing weight of evidence that seemed to confirm what he feared the most. The girl he loved had been betraying him–no…all of them all along.
And I fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole
Long story short, it was a bad time
You carried the folded black and white print in your bag. Proof that everything inside you was still very real. But for the first time in weeks, you didn't feel afraid, instead you felt a strange kind of calm.
That’s when you decided you’d tell Johnny.
Whatever happened after, he deserved to know. He deserved to know you didn't really see him as nothing, that he was actually everything. And that everything, that love, was turning into something beautiful. You’d seen it through a screen today, and you wanted nothing more but to share it with him. Maybe next appointment he’d be there to hold your hand through it too.
You just hoped he’d be able to forgive you from keeping it a secret for so long.
When you walked back into the Baxter Building, you couldn’t find anyone. The place was quiet, as if the multiple floors of offices had been evacuated. Your heart raced as you went up the elevator, and walked around the empty halls of the family’s floors with not even a sign of Herbert. You rushed to the lab, the last place you needed to check. The elevator’s door opened, and you sighed in relief when you found your family inside.
They all turned to you at once, and you were shocked to be met with red, puffy eyes. Sue rushed to stand in front of Franklin and Ben. Reed’s eyes darted between you and the screen, and Johnny…Johnny wouldn’t meet your gaze.
The relief didn’t last long.
“What is going on? What happened?” You walked instinctively toward Johnny, but halted when you noticed he took a step back before you reached. “The whole building is empty, are you guys okay–“
“We didn’t think you’d actually show up here.” Sue’s harsh tone made your brows furrow. It didn’t sound like her, not like the woman who would put a blanket over you and Johnny when you fell asleep watching a movie in the living room.
“What? Why wouldn’t I?” You asked, completely taken aback with the way she looked at you. “Johnny?” You called to him, but for some reason he refused to lift his gaze from the lab’s floor.
“There was an attack today. On our…information.” Ben explained, softly. “And on F–“
“Franklin.” Sue finished for him, and your eyes went wide, but before you could ask, Reed rotated the sphere monitor so you could see what they’d discovered
“The breach came from your device. And these…” He pointed to the screen. “These schematics were used to override our firewalls, and steal all of our information. Including all our safety protocols."
You walked a few steps closer, just enough to see your watch connected to the monitor, and all the information displayed on it. Your notes, your handwriting, your sketches, things you’d only ever shared with them.
“That’s–no, that’s impossible. I never shared that with anyone…I don’t–Reed, you know I never–“ You fumbled your words, nothing could’ve ever made you ready for this type of accusation. “My watch has been glitching lately, Johnny I told you that.” Your eyes darted to him, hoping he’d say something, that he’d defend you. But that wasn’t what came out of his lips.
“But that’s your handwriting.” He mumbled, arms crossed across his chest, but he still wouldn’t look at you.
“On the plans that put my son in danger today.”
“Yes, that’s my handwriting, those are my notes. But–” The words tore out of you, panicked. “I don’t know how they got that. I swear to you, it wasn’t me.”
Your eyes burned, your throat tight as you looked around the room at the family who once claimed you as their own, at Johnny, who didn't have it in him to meet your desperate gaze.
“Johnny, please.”
Finally, Johnny’s head lifted. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red. It hurt you to see him like that, but it hurt you more that his mistrust of you was the reason behind those tears. Still, for one moment you let yourself believe he might leap to your defense like always. And as he looked right into your eyes, he wanted to. God, he really wanted to.
To this day he could still remember the taste of the champagne from that night, the way your laugh had muffled against his neck, the feel of your fingers brushing his. He could still remember the way he brushed it off as nothing. But it wasn’t “nothing”. You weren’t “nothing”.
You were supposed to be the one person who saw him, past all the cockiness, the one who always listened to him even when the family didn’t. You weren’t supposed to be the one who lied, who hurt him. He looked at Reed, hoping for a sign, hoping for that impossible “I was wrong”, but Reed only shook his head, because as always, he wasn’t.
“The watch matches the breach exactly. There’s no evidence of tampering on it.”
“Then find it!” You snapped at Reed, making everyone flinch on their spots. “This is my home, I would never hurt any of you, much less Franklin.”
You couldn’t believe it. Had they really given up on you so easily?
“Johnny, come on,” you whispered. “You know me. Better than anyone.”
He did…or at least he thought he did. But the screen behind you glared back at him, your notes, your access codes, the coincidences. The smoking gun in your own handwriting.
“If this is some kind of mistake,” Johnny said quietly, “then give me something. Anything that makes this make sense.”
“I wasn’t even here, Johnny. I was–“ you cut yourself short, not exactly knowing how to explain you’d been hiding a baby when everything you said already sounded like a lie to them. “Can you just give me a second? I just need to–“
“There’s no time to spare, I need to track where this information has gone. You could at least tell us that.” Reed said, and you blinked in disbelief.
“I can’t tell you something I don’t know.” You shook your head. “This is not about what you guys are seeing on that screen. This is about you trusting me for who you know me to be.” You fought one last time.
Reed just sighed, finally daring to say what they’d all agreed on before you arrived.
“We are shutting the building down. Everything will be changed to make sure the information that got leaked won’t be relevant. I’ll conduct a further investigation, but…I think it’s clear enough for now. You have broken our trust. And if you’re refusing to share information with us, that means we can’t…it’s not possible to have you here anymore.”
Johnny’s head snapped up, but this time it was you who couldn’t meet his eyes. All that was left was the quiet, the heartbreak, and the sound of your breath hitching as the family you loved looked at you like a stranger. You thought of the ultrasound picture in your bag, of the heartbeat no one here knew about. The one they were casting out alongside yours.
The weight of it crashed down. The lab blurred as tears filled your eyes in disbelief. At this point you didn’t even care about their “further investigations”, because they had already decided it had been you. Their eyes didn’t lie, they didn’t believe you.
You lost them. And in that moment they lost you.
So you just nodded, and whispered, “I understand.”
But in your chest, your heart screamed I don’t. That’s when you decided to turn to the last person who could give you saving grace. With what little steadiness you had left, you cleared your throat.
“Johnny,” you said softly, not daring to look at anyone else. “Can I…can I at least talk to you? Just once. Please.”
Johnny didn’t answer right away. His shoulders were stiff, his face turned away, but he exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah…okay.”
Sue looked at him, but with the unbearing love she still had for you somewhere inside, she decided you two deserved that moment. So she took Franklin from Ben’s arms and rushed out of the lab, Reed following her, Ben lingered just long enough to give you one last conflicted look before the elevator doors shut closed.
You were left in the silence of the lab, standing across from Johnny. This was either your last chance, or…your last goodbye. The room felt too big now, like you didn’t belong there anymore, but still you gathered the strength to fight one last time.
“I can’t change what you saw, and I don’t understand why you would believe that was me. You know how much your family means to me. How much you mean to me.” You started, your voice faltering with the tears you tried to keep from spilling. “Just…think about everything we’ve been through. Every night in this place. Every secret. Every laugh. Do you really think that wasn’t real?”
That got him. His eyes snapped to you, glassy and burning, like your words meant the opposite you wanted them to.
“It was real to me,” he said. “And maybe that’s the problem. Because now all I can think is, what if it was all just part of this? What if you were playing me the whole time?”
“Johnny…”
He raked a hand through his hair, pacing again. “Do you know what it feels like? To look at you and not know if anything you ever said to me was true? To wonder if every smile, every moment, was just you getting closer to what you wanted?” His voice cracked. “What did you even want to get from this? I don’t understand.”
The realization hit worse than ever. He wasn’t questioning the stuff he saw, he was questioning you. He didn’t understand why you’d done it, because he’d already decided in his head it had been you.
“I–this is my family.” He continued. “Why would you want to do this to my family?”
The words carved into you. To believe you had come into the building ready to finally confess, to tell him about the baby, to give him the one piece of truth that could not be forged. But the way he looked at you now, made your stomach twist.
“I can’t tell you something I don’t know.” You repeated the same thing you’d said to Reed, blinking back the tears that blurred him out. “But I don’t think it’d matter anyways…it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”
This wasn’t about proving yourself anymore. Not when he’d already decided you didn’t even deserve the chance.
He didn’t deny it, and that was the moment you knew. The same way Sue protected her child. You couldn’t give yours to someone who didn’t trust you, who doubted the very core of who you were for some made up evidence against you.
“I will do as your family said, I won’t be a problem to you anymore.” You said.
His lips parted one last time, like he wanted to speak, to backtrack, but nothing came, instead his eyes went back to the floor. That silence was enough to break the parts of you that once belonged to him.
It was clear to you, that no matter how much it broke your soul, you had lost everything. So it was time to go. You wiped your tears with your sleeves, and decided you wouldn’t spill any more for him. Or at least, not in front of him. You took one last look at Johnny, the coward who couldn't even look at you as he exiled you from his life, his home, his family.
You didn’t say goodbye, he didn’t deserve it. So you just turned around, walked to the elevator, and didn’t look back as the doors closed.
That’s when Johnny allowed himself to break. Breathless, broken sobs muffled by his hands soaking with the hot tears spilling. He didn’t know what hurt more, that he never got to confess he loved you, or the fact that everything that made him love you wasn’t even real. He was overwhelmed with emotions, the disbelief, the fear, the anger, that it was so hard to see clearly past all of that.
All he had left was the facts, the damning evidence on Reed’s screen. Because he didn’t have you anymore.
Believing that was the biggest mistake of his life.
By the time the building settled into the darkness of the night, you were already gone. No goodbye note in your room, only your untouched belongings and your heart left behind. As the cab sped away, your mind was a whirl of grief and uncertainty. They had taken your home from you, but they could never take away the last part you had from Johnny.
The only thing you had left.
Johnny didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands and your watch on his nightstand. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. He went to your room that night, trying to find something, a clue, anything that would help him see further the haze of pain that wouldn’t leave him alone. The room was silent, cold, even when he was a walking furnace.
You’d left the bed made, two drawers half open, but the rest was intact. Picture frames, gifts he’d given to you through the years, records he’d chosen himself still displayed on your shelves. Like you couldn’t bear to bring a single piece of him with you. Only the faintest trace of your perfume lingered, clinging to the air like a ghost.
The room looked frozen in time, like you just stopped existing. Which, you kind of had.
Johnny’s chest burned, but not with fire this time. With the void only loss could cause. He leaned on the doorframe, staring into the space that used to be yours, and in some unspoken way, his. He wanted to rage, to scream, to burn the whole damn world down if it meant changing what happened. But nothing would do.
You were gone.
Because they’d asked you to. Because he didn’t fight for you to stay. The smoking gun was not in your hands, but in his own.
That night he slept on your bed. Eyes crying acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head. He clung to your scent and the good old memories, grieving the fact that he would never get to make new ones. Not with you.
Haunted by the look in my eyes
That would’ve loved you for a lifetime
Leave it all behind
November.
The city you once loved became unbearable quickly. Every corner of Manhattan screamed their names. Fantastic Four billboards on Times Square, interviews replaying on café TVs, merch stands at every store. You couldn’t buy milk without Johnny’s smile flashing at you from a cereal box. It wasn’t home anymore. It was a wound that wasn’t allowed to close.
So you left New York for good, all to end up in a small southern town in Georgia.
No flashing billboards, no cameras, no whispers of superheroes. No Fantastic Four influence anymore. Nights weren’t easy.
You sat by the open window of your small rental, the autumn air freezing against your skin. You stared out at the trees of a world that felt foreign, while you replayed every step that had led you there.
Some nights you wrote letters. Folded scraps of paper with words you couldn’t say to anyone. Questions, confessions, apologies. Letters to the fire, to him, to the life you used to have. To no one. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff screaming ‘give me a reason’.
There wasn’t a clear path set for you anymore. The internship you earned through your hard work had once been an impossible dream, one you got to live.
You guessed this was the price you had to pay for those few years in heaven.
And there was one feeling that remained with you through the fall of the leaves. That peculiar ache, the sense that this wasn’t just pain for now, this pain was for evermore.
My eclipsed sun
I am ash from your fire
Tis’ the damn season.
The city became unbearable for Johnny in December. Three months after your departure.
The Fantastic Four’s Christmas photos were everywhere. Sue smiling with Franklin on her hip, Reed stiff as always, Ben wearing a ridiculous Santa hat marketing forced him to wear but he secretly loved. And Johnny, always the center of attention, always grinning.
Because he was miserable but nobody had to know.
Because the world saw him as the spark of every season.
Because he was Johnny Storm, and he could do it all with a broken heart.
Even when he hated himself most of the time. For doubting you. For letting the proof shout louder than his heart. So he did what he was best at, and hid behind a smile and his muscles, carrying the weight of believing you’d betrayed them…and the heavier weight of still missing you anyway.
Winter was in all its glory.
Johnny wasn’t very fond of the snow since he got his powers. It wasn’t enough to affect him, since the cold never bothered him anyway, but it felt different when flying. Different than in any other season.
But now he liked to see it fall through the large windows of the tower. Because maybe, wherever you were, he hoped you were seeing snow too. He could at least share that with you.
So that’s what he was doing tonight.
Johnny stood by the large windows of your room, a place where he found himself often, and thought about you. He always thought about you. Lost in his head, entranced by the way the snow fell, he didn't notice the tiny socks dragging against the blue carpet, until a little hand tugged Johnny’s the fabric of his pants.
“Uncle Johnny?”
Johnny looked down to find Franklin, clutching a stuffed dinosaur you’d given him on his last birthday. He smiled at his nephew, crouching to his height.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Where is she?” Franklin asked, tilting his head. His question was innocent, it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.
The words knocked the air out of Johnny’s chest. He stared at his nephew, and the dinosaur tucked under his arm, the same one he’d helped you pick, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Franklin tugged his arm this time, when Johnny didn’t answer right away.
“She was always with you,” Franklin said softly. He’d always liked to point stuff out. Facts. Just like his father. “But now she’s not here. Mommy said she had to leave…” His little brow furrowed, because he didn’t understand. “Do you know why? Did she stop liking us?”
Johnny shook his head, forcing a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No, buddy. She didn’t stop liking you. She…she just had to go away for a while.”
“But I miss her.”
That was it. The final crack in Johnny’s mask. He wrapped his arms around him and hoisted him up, wrapping him tight in his arms as he walked towards your bed and sat there. He buried his face in Franklin’s blonde hair so he couldn't see his eyes burning. “Yeah, buddy…I miss her too.”
He didn’t notice Sue standing on the doorway. She just watched as Johnny clung to her son, both of them breaking with the absence of the same person.
Back in your little southern town, you stared out the window too, but there wasn’t snow there. You missed it. Missed teasing Johnny about it. Missed laughing until you cried when you tried to make snow angels and he melted the snow into water in a matter of seconds.
You couldn’t share the snow anymore, but you were thinking about him too. All while in a city miles away, Johnny held a child who wasn’t his, whispering that he missed you too.
You’re not my homeland anymore
So what am I defending now?
January.
It was the first day of the new year.
Sue found him in your room again. It was late, hours after she’d put Franklin to bed. Johnny sat in your bed in the dark, the glow of the moonlight painting his somber eyes. His hand was curled around your watch like he couldn’t let it go.
“Johnny.” Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of someone who’d been watching him break for months.
He didn’t look at her right away. Just mumbled, “Can’t sleep.”
Sue crossed the room, sitting down beside him. She let the silence sit for a moment before speaking. “I know it hurts. More than it hurts the rest of us.” She reached out, resting a gentle hand on his arm. “But it's been months. And for your sake, Johnny…you can’t keep living like this.”
Johnny remembered what Franklin told him that night, and he wanted to use the same argument. ‘But I miss her’. He was sure he’d sound the same as the child, considering how his voice wasn’t as confident as it once was.
“I can’t stop thinking about her. About that night…about everything I didn’t say.”
Sue’s hand slid to hold his, comforting in a way only a sister could be. “I know, Johnny. But sometimes people make their choices, and all we can do is let them go. You can’t burn yourself out trying to hold on to something that isn’t here anymore.”
Her words cut deep, but he knew they were spoken with love. Johnny sat there for a long time, staring at the watch in his palm. “You’re right.”
“I know it seems impossible now, but it’s time to bury it. Move forward, Johnny, for you.”
And he nodded, even though it seemed impossible. He decided then, to shove it down, to lock it up, to pretend the only fire burning him was the one from his own flames. He had to bury the pain, to bury you, somewhere he could never reach again.
The next day, as much as it hurt Sue, she moved every photo, every souvenir, every memory of you they had in the tower to that room, and put it under lock and key. Because she couldn’t keep watching her brother talk to a ghost.
Johnny inevitably went back a couple of days after, only to find he could no longer get in. He’d noticed photos where you appeared had gone missing, as well as all of the stuff you’d once given to him, so he figured his sister locked them away in your room.
In that moment, Johnny wished he’d kept every receipt of the times he’d gone out with you. He would've, if he’d known one day every scrap of you would be taken away from him.
All that he had left was your memories. And he couldn’t help but wonder, What is she doing now?
If I didn't know better, I'd think you were still around
I know better, but I still feel you all around
February.
Six years later.
The town had become your home in ways you never thought it would. You’d grown to love the main street lined with diners, boutiques and an old movie theater. The way everyone waved and actually made eye contact when you walked by, the rhythm of a place that moved slower than the world you’d left behind. It was like living inside a Hallmark movie. Except…without the love interest part.
By day, you taught at the community college. Your mornings went by as a professor in the science wing, filling blackboards with equations and diagrams, trying to pass on your love for learning and the things Reed had once taught you. Your students adored you, not because you were easy, but because you made them feel like science was reachable, like anyone could do it if they put in the effort.
By night, your world was your son.
Leo Spencer.
He was everything all at once. The spark in your life, the reason behind your smile, and the vivid reminder of the one person you could never outrun.
Because Johnny Storm lived in your son’s face.
The same golden hair, the same dashing smile that lit up every room, his charming confidence, his small quirks. The way he drummed his fingers against the table without realizing, the way he tilted his head when he was curious, the way he filled a room with energy without even trying. He was a copy of the man who broke you.
But not his eyes, no, those were yours. Johnny let you have one thing, at least.
The only thing missing was the fire. Thank God for that. He never needed flames to shine. At only five years old, his restless curiosity had already outgrown the classrooms around him. Teachers threw around words like gifted and advanced classes, ones that carried dollar signs heavy enough to scare you. You worked extra hours tutoring in the afternoon to afford his tuition in a private school, even picked up shifts at the local bar on weekends, while your lovely neighbor took care of him. Exhaustion became an everyday thing, but you’d do it a thousand times over if it meant Leo had what he deserved.
You weren’t the same person who left New York. You changed your first name, and picked the same last name as your son for you, Spencer. It seemed stupid when you chose it, being Johnny’s second surname and all, but you weren’t really thinking clearly when you did. At least it had helped you tremendously to share it with Leo when it came to signing him up in the advanced programs. It kept people away from making questions since there wasn’t a “father” in the picture. They could only assume he’d divorced you or died.
It was a place where gossip ran like water, after all.
Your one story house wasn’t that big, but it was yours. White paint on the porch railing, a garden you kept stubbornly alive, shelves lined with books you actually had time to read again. At night you’d sit on the steps with a mug of tea, watching your son chase fireflies across the yard, laugh bubbling while telling you facts about their wings.
You’d built this life with your own two hands, out of nothing. You did it with a broken heart, with one truth you carried quietly, tucked deep inside your chest.
I’m never going to love again.
People tried to show their interest in you; a colleague who lingered too long in conversation, a neighbor who offered to fix the leak on your sink when you’d mentioned it, or even the police captain offering you coffee when you passed by the police station in the mornings, but you shut the door on all of it with a polite smile.
The world had taught you what it cost to put your faith in someone else, to hand over your heart and believe they’d protect it. You couldn’t afford to make that mistake again, not when there was a child depending on you. So you forgot about your big city dreams, at least until Leo was able to have his own. You kept your world small, safe, and put caution tape around your heart.
Miles away, Johnny wasn’t much different.
Of course he didn’t have to hide behind a fake name, he was still the golden boy of New York, still the Human Torch. Half naked in calendars, covers of magazines and billboards. He’d leaned into the spotlight harder than ever, laughing loud, burning brighter than his flames.
But beneath it, the void never filled.
Six years, and he never let another woman close. Flirting, sure, he couldn’t help it, but he never took anyone home. It felt like betraying you, even when you betrayed him first.
It was absurd, really, that he kept burning for a ghost.
He told himself he'd buried you, like Sue told him to. But the wound never closed. So he researched, quietly, secretly. When the others thought he was sleeping, Johnny sat in Reed’s lab going through old files, things that never quite added up. It had started as punishment, as a way to prove to himself that the evidence had been real, that he wasn’t crazy for believing it. But the longer he stared, the more holes he found. Places where the trail was too clean, where it looked too deliberate.
He didn’t find proof that you’d done it. He was finding proof that he had destroyed you for nothing.
That’s when he started looking for you. But your name didn’t show up in any database after that September six years ago. You just vanished into smoke slipping from his hands.
He was supposed to be the fire, to absorb it before it burned everything down. But this time he had to be the one picking up the ashes left behind, one by one.
And every night he whispered the same prayer to the stars, let me find something. Let me find her.
And it's been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong
I'm right where you left me
March.
You spent your afternoons tutoring, guiding your students the way you’d wished someone did for you when you were younger. Every bright mind that walked through your door had the potential, you just showed them what they could do with it.
But some shone brighter than others, like this girl Kate. The darkest long hair, a sharp gaze and even a sharper mind. The kind of mind you recognized instantly. Restless, unable to settle for easy answers. She deserved more than the small town college could give her, and more than you could give her, if you were honest.
Now, one of the many things The Fantastic Four contributed to the world were their academic programs. Opportunities, grants, financial aid, internships were all part of the things someone could earn through them. Of course, you had to be brave enough to even apply in the first place, and compete with millions of ‘exceptional’ applicants across the globe.
You had once been brave enough to, and felt like you won the lottery when it landed you an internship with…them.
We all know how that story went. In the end, you lost the game of chances. But maybe Kate would play her cards better. So one day, pushing past your fears and your own trauma, you talked to her about the program that changed your life many moons ago.
“Have you ever thought about applying to the Fantastic Four First Steps Program?”
Her head snapped up from her notebook, eyes wide. “Me? No way. I mean…that’s for geniuses, right? Not many people get in, only the people from the big cities.”
You smiled softly, even though your chest ached at the name. Fantastic Four. You hadn’t said it out loud in years; it was exiled from your vocabulary the way they’d exiled you. You never thought you’d send another person into that world ever again, but your experiences shouldn’t tarnish the ones others could have. So, even if the words tasted bitter in your mouth, you forced yourself to go on.
“Kate, that program was built for minds like yours, no matter where you apply from. I seriously think you could get in, I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t.”
She hesitated; she had heard of other people from the college applying, but she thought they were crazy for even considering it, since no one from there ever got accepted. “Well, but…even if I could, which would be crazy…would I even belong in places like that?”
God, how many times had you asked yourself the same thing?
“Listen to me. You belong anywhere your brain can take you. And if you’re worried about the application, I’ll help you, I know what it takes to get in. You don’t have to do it alone.” You reassured, and after some consideration, she finally nodded.
You let out the part ‘because once, I was in’. Because once, those halls were your home. Because once, your whole life had unraveled on the top floor of that tower. But that was a long time ago, and you were starting to live for the hope of it all once again.
Maybe life would be kinder to her the way it couldn’t be with you.
So you both worked on her application right away. Crafted it perfectly. It wasn’t a hard task, since she was brilliant and her scores backed her up. You just helped her polish everything, keeping your name out of it, and soon her file was mailed to New York.
It's been a long time
And seeing the shape of your name
Still spells out pain
October.
Johnny had been sent to represent the family at the Fantastic Four First Steps Program Showcase. Where dozens of students made a presentation on the projects they’d been working on since they got into the program.
He arrived just in time, wearing a leather jacket over a fancy button down, and the most inappropriate pair of tight pants he found that day.
“Family representation, Johnny." Sue had said that morning, shoving the itinerary into his hands. “Behave, pay attention, and ask questions.”
And he tried, he really did…at first.
But by hour two, saying he was bored wasn’t even enough. He still clapped when everyone else clapped, smiled when a camera panned at him, even threw a wink or two when someone in the audience managed to get his attention.
He just had to hold on for another half an hour. Then he could sneak out, text Sue “great event!” and pretend he’d been deeply moved by the future of scientific innovation.
He wasn’t even looking at the stage when the next student walked up. Kate Bishop, the host announced. Another young person with a bright future and a nervous smile. Johnny didn’t even notice the accent in her voice or the way her hands trembled holding the slide pointer to the huge screen behind her. His gaze was fixed on the watch on his wrist, until her presentation came to an end.
“…and I wouldn’t even be here today if it weren’t for my mentor, my professor back home,” Kate was saying. “She pushed me to apply, even when I didn’t think I could make it.”
Johnny looked up absentmindedly, he was ready to clap and give a thumbs up as if he heard the whole thing, but his hands stopped midair when he saw the slide change.
There you were. On the screen.
Standing in a college lab, radiant as ever, the sunlight from the big windows pouring over your shoulder. The girl on stage was smiling next to you, her head tilted slightly in your direction. Your hand rested on her project model. You looked proud, happy, alive.
You. It was you.
Johnny couldn't clap, smile, or even breathe. He forgot where he was, forgot the rows of interns, the attention from the audience, the cameras pointed at him. The entire world narrowed to that glowing projection of you.
He hadn’t seen you in six years. Not in memories that didn’t hurt. Not even in photographs because Sue had locked them away in your room. His heart started to race, too fast, too painful. He felt it everywhere, in the edge of his ribs, in his throat, his ears.
All he could see was your smile frozen on that screen. The same smile that used to undo him every single day.
“The project began with her, back home in Georgia. She taught me that even if people don’t believe in you, you have to believe in the impact you’ll leave behind.”
Johnny squinted, trying to read the caption under the picture.
Professor Spencer and student Kate Bishop. Thomasville, Georgia.
Spencer. Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm.
You took his name. His second surname.
You’d vanished, built a life, a reputation. And you chose somewhere quieter, smaller, far from him, far from the city that ruined you. You built yourself back up, became a new person, and still took his name.
But Johnny didn’t have time to spiral, because for the first time in six years, he didn’t just have a ghost, he had a trail. He had a location now.
Thomasville, Georgia.
He had to find you.
Johnny left the conference building in a blaze of golden fire, without even saying goodbye to anyone, and went back to the Tower.
He stumbled into his room, slamming the door behind him, the rush of adrenaline burning through his shaking hands. He went straight to his nightstand, pulling out the last piece of you he kept, the only one Sue couldn't take away from him because he’d hid it.
Your watch.
He paced the length of his room, the watch clutched tight in his hand, muttering under his breath like that would help calm the storm inside him.
“Six years,” he whispered. “Six years and I finally found you.”
He pressed his palms against his face, but in the middle of his frenzy, the watch slipped from his grasp. It clattered to the floor with a sharp crack, metal case popping open, tiny pieces scattering over his carpet.
“Fuck…”
He dropped to his knees, scooping the pieces up, but stopped over something that didn’t look like it belonged there. He picked it up carefully, staring at a tiny silver chip, glinting under the light coming from the large windows. It didn’t have the blue number four Reed stamped everything with.
What the hell…
He scooped the rest of the pieces from your watch, and set them on his bed. Then, without even giving it a second thought, he took off his own watch and closed his eyes as he slammed it against the floor. The casing burst open just like yours, gears and metal scattering on the floor. But all he saw were pieces that were meant to be there, stamped with the tiniest four emblem. No weird chip.
“No, no, no…” He shook his head, looking all around the carpet to see if he missed it coming out of his watch. But he found nothing.
He needed answers now.
Johnny didn’t remember running through the halls. His chest burned, and his vision blurred. By the time he burst into Reed’s lab, he was gasping, eyes wet, the small chip clutched safely in his hand.
“Reed–Reed, I need you to look at this!”
Sue jumped in her spot, and sat up straighter from where she was leaning over some papers. Reed looked up from his work, brows furrowing at Johnny sprinting toward him.
“Weren’t you at the education summit?” Reed asked, just as Johnny set the chip in front of him.
“I left early.” Johnny shook his head quickly, catching his breath. “This is more important. You need to analyze this. Now.”
Reed glared at him for a few seconds, but when he noticed the desperation behind Johnny’s pleading eyes, he reached for the chip with a tweezer. Johnny began pacing, raking his hands through his hair, breathing uneven as Reed studied the component carefully.
“Are you okay?” Sue finally dared to ask, but Johnny didn’t answer.
He turned to Reed. “Well?” He demanded. “It’s not from here, is it?”
Reed ignored him, and set the chip under his scanner. A pulse of blue light ran over it, as Reed pressed keys, analyzing its composition, code structures, searching for anything familiar. When the machine was finally done with the results, Reed leaned back.
“This isn’t ours.” He announced, and Johnny froze in his pacing. “This is advanced nano technology. ”
“Johnny, where did you even find that?” Sue asked, but was ignored once again by her brother.
“Are you completely sure it isn't ours?” He pressed.
“It is not. I am years away from implementing it on our equipment. I’m afraid I don’t have the capability of building something like this here…yet.”
Johnny just stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the chip glowing faintly under the lab lights.
“The chip…it was in her watch. The one we got the information from when we threw her out.” He explained, quiet anger threaded in every word. “The one she begged us to believe was glitching.”
Sue and Reed exchanged a wide eyed look, they knew exactly who he was talking about. Sue got up to put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, but he turned away.
“Johnny…”
He slammed his hands against the counter, as tears burned the back of his eyes. “She told us. She told us something was wrong, and we didn’t listen. We just–we believed the files instead of her.”
Reed’s expression hardened as he looked back at the chip. His mind piecing everything together. “Nano technology is extremely dangerous. Someone must have embedded it on her device when she was out in the city, stole her information and then transferred the breach into it to cover their tracks. To make it look like the leak came from her.”
“Oh my god,” Sue gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“This…this could have been planted on any of our watches. But whoever did this chose hers.” Reed added.
“Because she wasn’t blood.” Sue shook her head.
“Because she wasn’t officially one of us, which would make it more believable to us.”
Johnny turned furious toward Reed when he heard that. “She was part of the family! At least back then she was. Don’t you dare imply she wasn’t.”
“Johnny, I’m not implying anything. I’m just trying to reason on how this happened–”
“We let her take the fall, that’s what happened! You let me believe it was her, when she was innocent!” Johnny snapped, pointing accusingly at him. Reed opened his mouth to argue, but Johnny didn’t even let him speak. “How did that chip get past you? You got all the information of the breach from her watch. How come you didn’t see that?”
That’s when Sue decided to step in. “Johnny, we had no idea. None of us did. There was so much evidence, you saw it.” She reached out, her hand hovering near his arm. “We can only hope to forgive ourselves for believing–”
“Forgive ourselves?” Before she could reach him he recoiled, staggering back offended. “How can I forgive myself? Tell me that, Sue. How can I fucking forgive myself?” His voice cracked.
That was the moment Johnny couldn’t hold it in anymore. He leaned over the counter, palms supporting him as his eyes drowned in tears with the heartbreaking realization that it wasn’t you. It had never been you.
And he found that out six years late.
Six years of feeling guilty for not hating you. Six years of burying you. Of forcing himself to believe that you were the one who had cut them open, who had put Franklin at risk, who had taken everything they built and sold it out. All those years, all that evidence, the betrayal they’d carved into your name, was a lie. Someone had planted it. Someone had turned the watch he gave you into a weapon against you.
And he believed it.
He thought he knew pain before, the loss of his mother, the terrifying day that changed his life on that space mission. But this was a different kind of pain. Because those other things he could have never foreseen, or prevented. But this? He didn’t keep you safe, didn’t protect you, just let you take the blame.
And he could never undo what he’d done to you. This was a fire he ignited himself, a fire he’d let consume you.
Sue walked over to him, her face pale at the sight of endless tears streaking down her brother’s cheeks. She placed a hand on his shoulder hesitantly, expecting to be rejected once again, but instead stumbled backwards when Johnny turned around and wrapped his arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder. Sue’s eyes swelled with tears too as her brother cried uncontrollably, clinging to her for dear life.
She let him get it all out, one arm hugging him tightly and the other lifted to stroke his hair, just like when he was a kid. Reed just watched in silence, guilt sinking deep into his bones with every sob that echoed in the lab. Johnny was right. He should’ve seen it, he should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt instead of making them think you would do something like that. He hadn't just failed you, he’d failed his entire family.
Johnny’s tears finally came to a stop after what felt like forever, his chest heaved with leftover hiccups. He pulled back from Sue, running his hands violently through his soaked face. He sniffed a few times, gaze lowering on the floor, hands on his hips.
“I let her walk out with nothing. I watched her beg me to believe her and I–” His voice cracked again, but he pressed his palms to his eyes. “I didn’t, Sue. I didn't. For six fucking years I let her believe we hated her.”
“Johnny, we can’t change the past.” Her voice softened, she wiped her own tears with a napkin Reed pulled out from his shirt. “All we have is the now–”
“Now? Now she’s in some small town, working in a community college when she should’ve had the world with us. We stole her future from her.”
That made Reed’s head snap up. “Wait–you know where she is?”
“Johnny, you found her?” Sue asked, just as surprised.
Johnny nodded, sighing. “I saw her–not in person. This girl from the program, Kate, showed a picture of her in her presentation today. Said she was her professor at the community college back home.” He sniffed as he forced himself to go on. “In Thomasville. A town in Georgia, she’s there.”
Sue stepped closer, her arms crossed in her chest. “Then we have to fix it.”
She got startled by Johnny’s bitter laughter. “Fix it? How the hell do you fix six years? How do you fix letting someone you love think you hated them?” He shook his head. “I love her, I never stopped. And now I don’t even know if she’d even look at me, let alone forgive me.”
Reed sighed, walking over to Johnny. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and spoke to him the way he did when Johnny was younger. “Maybe it’s not about forgiveness, Johnny. Maybe it’s about the truth. About giving her back what was stolen.” He looked over to the chip, regret flickering through his calm voice.
“So now we try. It doesn't matter if it’s too late.” Sue added. “And it has to be you. It doesn't matter if she slams the door in your face. You try, Johnny, you have to.”
Reed nodded. “We can’t undo what we did. But we can stop letting her carry it alone.”
Johnny stood there, comforted by his sister who’d always been his mother figure, and Reed who, no matter how much they bickered everyday, had also always been there for him in ways only a father could.
He didn’t know if it was possible, he didn’t know what came next. But he knew he had to try.
He was coming to get you.
Guilty, guilty, reaching out across the sea
That you put between you and me
Thomasville, Georgia, was quiet that sunny Sunday morning.
Church bells rang in the distance, families walked out of diners with paper bags of pancakes, the people on the streets moving at that slow pace that belonged to small towns.
Johnny Storm had never felt more out of place.
He could’ve flown there. Part of him wanted to, he loved traveling in that fast, fiery streak across the sky. But he couldn’t risk it. If the news caught him flying in some random town instead of New York and you saw it, you might vanish before he ever got close, and he couldn’t lose you again. So he flew into the nearest big city instead, rented a shiny black pickup truck that in his head looked appropriate for his trip, and drove for hours to your town across red, yellow and orange trees with the windows down, letting the autumn air cool down the heat gnawing inside him.
He hadn't been able to find your address on public records, so he chose to start by the community college first. The campus was almost empty that Sunday, only a few students lingered by the library steps. He stepped down his huge pickup with sunglasses on, the less flashy pair he owned, and a cap to cover his distinct blond hair. Johnny kept his head down, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, slipping past unnoticed.
The directory board near the main entrance gave him what he needed. Your office number. He dodged a custodian pushing a cart, and ducked past a pair of students glued to their books. His heart pounded louder with every turn until finally, he found it.
The office.
The door was unlocked, strangely enough since there was no one inside. But when he stepped in, he understood why. The space was…bare. If your name wasn’t on the door, he would've thought no one worked there. He saw a desk, a neat stack of papers on it, and a clean chalkboard. No photos. No plants. No little trinkets to claim the space as yours.
Johnny closed the door softly behind him, his chest aching as his eyes traced the emptiness. There was no warmth, no spark of you. It was efficient, practical, almost…detached. Like you could walk away without leaving a trace. And Johnny realized, with a sick twist of his stomach, that your trauma had a shape. Four walls, stripped bare, a life lived like you might vanish again tomorrow.
“You never let yourself settle,” Johnny whispered to the empty room.
Because six years ago, they had made you leave your home with nothing. Because you had learned the hard way that belonging could be ripped away overnight. The guilt pressed down harder on his chest, almost suffocating. Johnny shoved those feelings away, he was on a mission to try to fix all of that.
He rounded your desk, and checked the papers on it first. Faculty memos, notes, nothing relevant. His hands went through the drawers, he found more notes, a few bags of snacks, and finally, a folded bill, with your address printed clear at the top.
“Bingo,” he grinned.
He shoved it in his pocket, then tugged at the next drawer but nothing happened, it was locked. He grinned wider, because if there was anything Johnny Storm liked, was sticking up his nose where he shouldn't. And he’d known you long enough to remember you used to hide things in plain sight. All he had to do was scan the desk until he found a small key tucked inside a pencil holder.
Typical.
At first, it was nothing remarkable. Just research notes, class grades, tests drafts. But then his hand found envelopes tucked deeper. He pulled them out, and found letters with your handwriting, but no stamps, no addresses. Letters that were never meant to be sent. But his brow furrowed when he noticed his name on the first one.
My Johnny.
He flipped to the next.
Dear Johnny.
Then the next.
Johnny.
And then the last one.
For him.
You wrote to him, even when there was no hope, even when he was never going to read them. He clutched the envelopes, his heart fracturing when he realized he went from being called yours to someone you couldn't name anymore, not even on paper.
He took a deep breath, ready to read what the first one said, but before he could take out the folded letter out of the envelope, the doorknob rattled.
He didn’t even have time to panic. He shut the drawer in a rush, and dropped down to his knees with the stack of the envelopes clutched tightly against his chest, crawling under the desk just as the door creaked open. The sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. Someone was walking up to the desk. Was it you?
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God–
“Yeah, I’m in your office now,” a man’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Where’s that document you said you needed?”
Johnny’s eyes went wide. That man seemed to be on the phone. With you. He couldn’t make out clearly what you were saying, not from where he crouched, but the knowledge that you were there, so close, closer than you’d been in six years, nearly made him throw up.
That, and also the fact that someone was on the other side of the desk and if they decided to round it, they would find the Human Torch hiding like a fucking thief.
The man hummed at whatever your response was, rifling through the stack of papers on top of the desk until he found it. “Ah, here. You owe me, Professor.” He chuckled.
And then, faint but unmistakable, Johnny heard your laugh carrying from the other side of the line. God, he’d forgotten what it sounded like. Six years apart, and the first time he heard your laugh again, it wasn’t for him.
“Lucky for you, I was passing by campus today.” He said. Then his voice shifted, to a more playful tone Johnny knew too well. “By the way…have you thought about that coffee yet?”
Johnny stiffened under the desk. The man had an ease to him, the kind of thing that wasn’t forced. He wasn’t pushing, just…trying. He leaned closer so he could hear what you said to that. And that’s when he heard it again, your laugh. Like he was the funniest man alive, and it twisted Johnny’s insides.
“John, I’m always flattered with the offer.”
John? Another John?
Jealousy wasn't something Johnny had felt in a long time. But at that moment, a million questions popped in his head in a matter of seconds.
Who was he? How did you know him? Why did you ask for his help? Why were you laughing so much? Was he blond too? What car did he drive–
“But you know I’m busy, so I’m going to–”
“...Reject me, I know, I know.” John finished your sentence, and laughed under his breath, almost like he was expecting it. Johnny had to cover his mouth before he sighed in relief. “I’m used to it. But it's always worth a try, though.”
Always??
Before Johnny could lose it under that desk, it seemed like this “John” was finally about to leave, but stopped midway. “This may sound weird, but your office feels too…warm. I know it’s autumn, but how much do you crank up the heating?” He snorted, looking around the room.
Johnny cursed in his head. He hadn't even realized his temperature had risen significantly with all the jealousy. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, though.
“Huh, yeah, that’s weird. I always turn it off when I’m not there. Must be your imagination.” You joked.
“Or your voice,” John flirted. If you could even call that flirting, in Johnny’s very humble opinion. He grimaced, and thankfully, you protested too. “Alright, alright sorry. Let me get this to you and I’ll be out of your way.” He joked.
“Okay…thank you, Captain Walker.”
Captain Walker? Why did that sound flirty? Why did “John” laugh at that? Was it an inner joke? Was he an actual captain?
Johnny had to see this man right now.
But before he could spiral any further and create scenarios in his head, the line clicked off. He held his breath, waiting for the man to leave. Finally, the footsteps shifted toward the door, and Johnny couldn’t stop himself. He tucked the four envelopes on the inside of his jacket, and then he lifted himself up just enough to peek over the desk.
He couldn’t see his face as he walked away, but with the way he carried himself, he was probably handsome. His hair was darker than Johnny’s but still blond, most likely with the same blue eyes to match. Taller, broader, the kind of frame that filled a doorway without trying. He wore a dark red flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves, worn jeans, and brown cowboy boots. The outfit screamed southern man on a Sunday.
Finally, the guy left the office, leaving him alone again.
Johnny should’ve been glad you’d turned him down, at least for a moment he was. The thought that you’d smiled politely, laughed softly, and still said no soothed the part of him that was still in love with you.
The guy seemed kind, and didn't really come off as a creep. He was a captain, apparently. He sucked at flirting, according to Johnny, but you seemed to laugh genuinely at his attempts…you seemed comfortable. Now Johnny only knew him from that short interaction, but he felt like the type of guy who looked steady, rooted…safe. The type of man who looked like he belonged there.
The type of man you would've said yes to.
But something gnawed at the back of his head. The delusional part of himself thought that maybe you’d rejected that guy because you still remembered him. But then, the darker part of him whispered in his ear that it was actually because of what he did to you, and you couldn't risk another heartbreak.
The same way you didn’t seem to get attached to spaces, like your office, maybe you didn’t let yourself get attached to people either.
Johnny’s heart pounded in his chest as he drove to your home. He didn’t really have a plan…or words. What could he say after six years? What could possibly fit into a sentence when what he did to you should be a lifetime of apologies?
All he knew was that he had to see you.
When he finally turned down your street, the world seemed to slow. It was a beautiful place, for sure. Orange leaves fell from the trees lining up the street, landing in the gardens of the houses. It was quiet around, yet it looked so lived in. Johnny parked a few houses down, and he sat there for a long moment, just staring at his shaking hands. He finally gathered the courage to get out of the car, and looked for the house with the same number he found in the bill he got from your office. He finally found it, and he stood right in front of it.
Your home.
A single story painted in soft baby blue with a beautiful porch. A little rocking white bench sat out front, and plants that looked cared for lined the steps in mismatched pots.
You built this, he thought. Without us. Without me.
Each step to the porch felt heavier, like he was walking straight into a storm. He ran his hand over the wooden railing, steadying himself, letting the softness of the blue paint calm him down. He paused at the door, looking down at the doormat that said Welcome!
He chuckled nervously under his breath, but something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Right by the door, there were two pairs of rainboots. One black, the other shiny red. It would've been a normal thing, if it wasn't for the fact that the red ones looked too small to belong to you. Johnny tilted his head, but the nerves running through his body didn’t really let him think clearly. So he just shrugged it off. Maybe some kid from the neighbors had left them there. It seemed like the type of neighborhood where everyone knew everyone and everyone shared everything.
He took one last deep breath, and finally knocked on your door.
The time is near
What would he do if he found us out?
He's gonna burn this house to the ground
The knock that would change your life echoed through the quiet of the house. You finished slipping your sports shoes on, frowning at the sound. Sunday afternoons were calm, Leo was already at the neighbor’s so you didn't get interrupted as you got ready for your shift at the bar. You weren’t expecting anyone.
And when you opened the creaky wood door, you certainly weren’t expecting Johnny Storm to be standing right outside the mesh screen.
It felt like a bucket of ice water just got dumped on you.
The last rays of golden sunlight hit him perfectly, catching on that familiar blonde hair you saw everyday on a smaller version of him. Your eyes went over the sharp lines of his face, ones you had spent years trying to erase from your memory. It was him, without a doubt. A few years older. Real. But somehow missing that boyish spark you were so used to seeing on him.
For a moment you didn’t move, you didn’t breathe, you couldn’t even if you tried. It felt like the air had been stolen right out of your lungs.
And Johnny? He was no different. Because even though he knew he was seeing you that day, he wasn’t prepared for this version of you. The one whose eyes told him you were still haunted by everything he had taken away from you. And you were so real, not a memory, not a brief visit in his dreams, not a picture on a presentation yet he looked at you like he’d seen a ghost.
Because that’s what you were, his ghost, his lost six years.
The mesh door separated you like a thin wall, but the weight of lost time pressed through it. Your face was stunned, eyes wide like you were seeing death itself. Because that’s what he was to you.
But this time what died didn’t stay dead, and it was standing on your porch, right in front of you.
The pain of it all hit you immediately, like it never left. You remembered the way he’d said everything all those years ago, his voice harsh and determined. Words that had followed you through every lonely night, every rock of your baby’s cradle, every time you told yourself you’d never trust again.
And now he dared to show up at the house you built with the bricks they threw at you.
Your heart rushed, panic replacing your anger. The only thought racing in your head was Leo. He came for Leo. He found you somehow, and now he was going to take your son away.
“J…” Your voice broke trying to say his name; it had been buried in your throat for years. But saying it felt wrong, unnatural, like dragging open an old wound.
His own breath hitched, his eyes getting glassy before he could stop them. “God…” He whispered. “It’s you. It’s really you.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. You stared at him as if he might vanish like he always did in your dreams. He would be doing you a favor anyways, you’d much rather be safe and stranded, than giving someone the chance to hurt you again.
Your fingers gripped the edge of the doorframe to ground you, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and defensive.
“What are you doing here?”
Johnny flinched, just slightly, like the sound of your voice had cut him. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said softly. “For a long time.”
Your stomach twisted. Panic and fury knotted together in your chest, and you shook your head. “You shouldn’t have.”
He took a small step closer, seeing the fire in your eyes, yet still he dared to ask. “Can I…come in? Please. We need to talk.”
“I don’t think you should.” The answer came firm, unhesitant.
The firmness in your voice startled even you. His face fell, taken aback, like he hadn’t expected you to stand so solid, to draw a line in the sand. Six years ago, you’d begged. Six years ago, you’d folded under the weight of their disbelief.
But not anymore.
Johnny cleared his throat, his voice breaking as he tried again. “Just–just a conversation. I swear. We really need to talk.”
For a moment, you wanted to shut the door. To bolt it and keep the small, safe world you’d built intact. But his eyes…always those eyes. Wide, glassy, unguarded. And against every instinct, against every scar, you found yourself unlatching the mesh door. It creaked open, and you stepped aside.
Johnny crossed the threshold like he was walking into another world.
The door clicked shut behind you, leaving him standing awkwardly in the small living room. Johnny’s eyes darted everywhere at once, taking it all in. The scent of lemon freshness, the warmth of afternoon light across your light cream walls, the faint clutter of everyday life, papers stacked on the table, faint scuff marks on the wooden floor, a blanket folded neatly on the couch. It wasn’t the Baxter Building. It wasn’t glass and striking colors and grandeur. It was a home. Your home.
And Johnny Storm stood in the middle of it, stunned, feeling like he had no right to breathe the same air.
“You can uh…sit,” you said quietly, gesturing to the couch near the door, trying to keep him from looking closer and finding something that could hint at a child living in the house.
He obeyed without question, lowering himself onto the cushions. They sank beneath his weight, too soft, too comfortable. Nothing like the Baxter couches, firm, pristine. This one probably carried the wear and tear of movie nights and lazy weekends. He wasn’t sure the last time he had something like that. Still, no matter how comfy, Johnny sat stiffly, hands clasped trying not to fidget.
You hovered nearby, nervous, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Do you…want something to drink?”
For a second, he softened. The offer was familiar, like the ghost of old times when you’d fuss over whether he wanted a soda or coffee before turning into your assistant for long nights in the lab. His lips twitched, almost a smile, but the nerves won out.
“No. I’m fine.” He said, voice awkward.
You crossed your arms, finally steadying yourself enough to meet his gaze. “Then say what you came to say. I don’t really have much time.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I have to go to work.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Work? On a Sunday night? Classes aren’t–“
“It’s not college. I have something else on the weekends.” You didn’t elaborate further, you didn’t need to.
Something in his chest sank, knowing you had another job, a side job. You, who once had the whole future wide open in the palm of your hand, who got everything promised when you were selected to work on Reed’s lab, becoming one of them, now pulling late shifts somewhere just to make ends meet.
Johnny swallowed the lump in his throat, understanding without you spelling it out. You needed the income. The silence stretched until it strangled him, until he couldn’t keep those words inside anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, then leaned forward, voice already breaking. “I’m so goddamn sorry for everything. For not believing you. For letting you walk out of that tower like you were nothing when you were–when you were everything. I know it wasn’t you. I know now.”
Words…how little they mean, when they’re a little too late.
Johnny dragged a shaking hand down his face when you just blinked at him. “I found the root of the leak…some nano chip that was hidden inside your watch. I know you told us–you said it was glitching, that it wasn’t you. Someone planted it there, got your information and used you to cover their tracks. And we–” He stopped for a moment to breathe, to steady his voice. “We let them. We handed you over without a fight. I–I did.”
Hearing Johnny say those words should’ve made you jump into his arms and kiss the tears away. Should’ve shattered you into granting him the sweet light of your forgiveness. Six years ago, you would have. Six years ago, you would have fallen to your knees just to hear them, would’ve clung to the smallest scrap of his belief.
It was the apology you had begged for in the dark, the one you had prayed might come. For years, you had whispered those words into your pillow, written them down in letters addressed to the fire, waited for the day he would arrive and tell you what you already knew.
But that day never came.
Not until the years had worn the edge off the pain. Not until you’d forced yourself to move forward. For your sake…for Leo’s. Still, that didn’t make it any easier for you.
You could see it in him…the wreckage. His eyes wet, voice cracked with regret, chest rising and falling too fast. He was crushed under the same weight you’d carried alone for so long. As his chest ached with the same heartbreak yours once did, you stood still, lips sealed tight, arms crossed to protect yourself.
That silence killed Johnny. And he had no one else to blame but himself.
“I should’ve believed you.” His last choked apology came in a whisper, barely audible.
Johnny stood up from the couch, but didn’t get closer. His fire buzzed under his skin, begging to flare to burn the ache down, but he forced it off. The last thing he wanted was to scorch this place, your place, the home you had built from the ashes he’d left you in.
You swallowed hard when he did, but you said nothing. You didn’t uncross your arms. Didn’t break…not yet.
“Please,” he begged. “Don’t just look at me like that.”
When you said nothing, again, he staggered back a step, his hands dropping to his sides like he was keeping himself from reaching for you.
“God, I deserve this,” he mumbled, more to himself. His eyes glistened, fixated on some mark on the floor. “Six years. I–” His throat closed, he had to force his voice out. “Six fucking years, and you won’t even say my name.”
No. You couldn’t.
“I would’ve died to hear those words back then.”
His head snapped up. The sound of your voice, steady but laced with ache, tore through him like fire.
You shook your head, a bitter laugh made its way out. “I waited…God, I waited. For you to reach out, for any of you to show up at my door and say you didn’t believe it, that you hadn’t given up on me. But nothing came.”
Johnny’s lips parted, eyes wide, but this time it was him reeling in silence.
“I wrote letters,” you whispered, arms still crossed. “Letters addressed to no one. Words I knew you’d never read…just so I could breathe. Just so I could put the pain somewhere.”
Tears clouded Johnny’s eyes, he could almost feel the papers in your hands, the ghost of your handwriting spelling his name. My Johnny. Dear Johnny. For him.
The last one when you couldn’t even withstand the thought of his name anymore.
“And still…I couldn’t make it go away by making you the villain. I tried–believe me I did, because out of all of them I expected you to be the one to stand by me. But you just–” Your voice faltered when tears finally found their way out of your eyes. “You didn’t believe me.”
The little sobs you tried to muffle with your hand were unbearable for him. For a moment, he looked like he might collapse under the weight of your words, but he pushed through. He had to make you understand his side of the story.
“I didn’t give up on you, not at first.” He said, words coming out desperate. “I studied it…in secret. Every night, I went over the reports, the logs, everything I could get my hands on. I couldn’t–God, I wouldn’t believe it. Not you. Not the girl who lived in the tower with us, who was family, who was…who was everything to me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, pacing once before turning back toward you. “But the evidence was there, every file, every trace led back to things only you would know, and I was too blind to see past that. But all this time–” He reached into his jacket, fingers brushing the broken edges of your old watch. “It was sitting on my nightstand…the proof–that fucking chip inside your watch. It was right there all along…and I didn’t see it until six years too late.”
The revelation that he kept your watch on his nightstand shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. He’d kept a piece of you close to him…next to him. Yet still, he decided you weren’t worth the benefit of the doubt.
“The problem,” you said dryly, “is that you needed the evidence at all. If you’d just listened to me–” Your voice cracked, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “If you’d just trusted me back then, everything would be different today.”
“I wanted to,” he rasped, too unsteady, too quickly. “God, I wanted to believe you more than anything. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to choose my heart over proof and I hate myself for that…I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”
You stared at him for a moment, then shook your head. “You’re asking for something I can’t give you now,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I ever can.”
“I’ll take it.” He whispered back, wiping the tears away with the back of his sleeve. “Whatever you’ll give me, I’ll take it. I just needed you to know I was sorry. That I was wrong.”
Silence stretched, until you finally forced yourself to ask what you’ve been dying to know since you saw him at your doorstep, your arms tightening across your chest.
“How did…how did you even find me?”
Your stomach twisted, braced for the answer you feared most. That he wasn’t here for you at all. That the apology was just some excuse. That he was here to rip Leo from your arms, to take the only piece of safety you had left.
“Through one of your students…Kate. She showed a photo at a presentation. You were there…next to her.” He explained. “I thought I’d gone insane. I thought I was seeing ghosts. But it was you.”
Kate.
Shit.
You swallowed hard. It had been you who’d told her to apply, who’d guided her steps closer to the program you should’ve kept far away from. You had been so careful with her application, keeping your name out of it, yet it was a variable you couldn't control that made your face find its way back to him.
It still felt like your fault.
The walls of the house suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier, warmer but not in a good way. Suffocating. For six years you’d kept yourself invisible, careful to erase every trace, and now you’d been found…because of your own slip.
Johnny saw the realization hit your features. Your frantic eyes told him how much you didn’t want to be found, how he was considered a danger to the little world you lived in now, and it ripped his heart more. He took a shaky step back, his hands half raised like he needed to show he wasn’t a threat.
“God, I knew it. After everything I did, after what we put you through, of course you don’t want me here…and you don’t owe me anything, but I’ll take whatever scraps you’ll give me. Just–” He ran his hands through his already messy hair. “…Just don’t be afraid of me.”
You just stood there, letting your gaze drift over him. His posture a little heavier, his face more lined, but still so unmistakably Johnny Storm. Still handsome in that way that made your stomach twist…like seeing an ex.
And the resemblance…God. It was astounding.
Your throat tightened as your eyes flicked from his face to the memory of your son’s. The same blond hair, the same damn smile when he was feeling mischievous. Leo was a mirror of him, down to quirks he didn’t even know he shared.
You knew if Johnny looked too long into your eyes, he might see the fear was not for you, but for Leo. So you forced yourself to blink, to pull the thought back into the cage where it belonged. Johnny didn’t know. Couldn’t know.
“I’m not afraid of you,” you said at last, steadying your voice. “It’s just…shocking. Seeing you after all these years.”
“Yeah…feels the same way for me.”
For a moment, Johnny let himself breathe, let himself believe just being there with you was enough, that he’d gotten farther than he thought he would. He sat back down on the couch, trying to steady himself from the weight of it all, but the silence stretched, and something gnawed at him. A pang in his chest, a whisper at the back of his mind.
Something was missing.
He tore his gaze from you, eyes drifting quickly across the place like answers might be hiding in the corners. It wasn’t like the tower, not polished, not curated. This house showed it was lived in. The open small kitchen was the room that first caught his eye. On the breakfast counter that faced the living room, three different kinds of cereal sat half open. A small wooden stool sat beneath the sink on the counter by the window, and in the drying rack, a mug and an orange plastic cup with a built-in straw sat side by side. A metal lunchbox was nearby, plain, blue, nothing flashy, but it didn’t quite fit as yours alone.
That’s when he remembered the tiny boots at the entrance. Everything lined up too perfectly, too unmistakable. Johnny came to the conclusion that someone else shared this space with you. Someone with smaller steps, different routines than a normal person…it was a family’s home, without a doubt. Johnny’s chest tightened, and his eyes darted again, searching for just one more clue…
And then he saw it.
By the small tv center, half hidden in the corner, a toy box. Brightly painted, clearly well loved by the scratches on it. From the top poked the unmistakable shape of a toy car, the front wheels worn from too many races across the floor. His eyes widened, locked on the toy poking out, his entire body going still.
You followed his line of sight, dread flooding through your body. He’d seen it.
The toy. The truth. And you knew in that second there was no taking it back.
Johnny’s gaze stayed fixed on the little car. He didn’t say it right away…he couldn’t. The truth pressed the back of his throat, suffocating, but if he spoke it aloud, it would be real. So instead, he gaslighted himself for a little longer, forcing his voice to come out.
“Didn’t know you had a nephew,” he said, nodding faintly toward the corner. “Guess I missed a lot.”
It was subtle, almost casual, not accusatory. But you could hear the crack beneath the words, the real intention under his tone. He was pretending not to know. Pretending, maybe for both your sakes.
You hesitated, lips parting before closing again, thinking you could lie. You could nod and let him believe it, let the moment slip away. But his eyes…God, his eyes were already on you, glistening, waiting for you to tell the truth he couldn't.
“It’s not a nephew.” Was all you said.
No lie. Not the full truth either.
And what once was a forgotten night of too many drinks between two idiots in love, turned into two strangers, standing inches apart, knowing damn well what that child was.
Johnny pushed up from the couch, his legs unsteady but determined. He couldn’t sit any longer, he needed to be closer. To force that truth face to face. But when he stepped closer to you, his eyes caught on something on the corner of his eye.
A wall that led to a hallway, covered in frames. He drifted toward it instinctively, drawn like a moth to flame.
You moved quickly, your hand half reaching for his arm to stop him, his name tumbling out of your lips in desperation. “Johnny–”
But he pushed past you, and soon was standing there. Right in front of the wall of photographs. Dozens of them. A curated display of moments of a little kid.
A newborn in a hospital blanket, tiny fists curled tight. A toddler, grinning wide as frosting smeared his cheeks at a birthday table, a number two on the cake. A four year old, probably, holding up a plant with proud little hands. And the one where he looked the oldest, standing proudly next to an experiment with a “winner” badge at a science fair. It could’ve been that same week for all he knew. And multiple more, across all stages of his little life.
The kid’s face looked back at him like a mirror from the past. His past. Just younger, innocent. Same hair, same smile, same spark. He reached out, fingertips shaking as they hovered over the glass.
All the paths led there. To that house. To that wall. To that smile.
To you.
Johnny’s mind went to that gala night. That one damn night. Too much champagne, too much fire, laughter and kisses that blurred into a night he could never forget. But it had been just one. One night you'd both decided it was a mistake, an impulse, a result of recklessness.
And yet here, before his eyes, was proof of everything that night had left behind.
“God…” he whispered, barely audible.
An entire childhood he had missed.
Your son.
His–?
Johnny’s hand lingered on the frame. His own reflection in the glass, overlapping with the kid’s smile, and it felt like a cruel trick. His chest heaved, his head spinning.
“No,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. “No, it was…it was just one night.” His voice cracked in denial. “That gala, that was all it was. Just one night.”
His eyes darted across the wall again. Newborn, toddler, child, and every photo twisted the knife deeper. He staggered back a step, and finally, he forced himself to turn to you, his gaze pinning you to the spot.
“Tell me he’s not who I think he is.” He begged. “Please. Tell me I didn’t miss it–tell me I didn’t miss the most important part of your life–” His voice cracked, devastated, “–of mine.”
The plea rattled the air between you, thick with panic, with grief, with the sharp edge of a truth he couldn’t bear to face. His eyes glassy and desperate, burning with fire he couldn’t control, the heat searing just beneath his skin. And you couldn't, for the life of you, say anything.
“God, please,” he whispered, his throat closing around the words. “Don’t let it be true. Don’t tell me I’ve lost all those years I'll never get back. Don’t tell me he’s–”
He cut himself off, choking on the last word.
And you knew. You knew the cat was out of the bag. No turning back, no denying it, no hiding Leo in the corners of your little world anymore. His father stood right here, breaking, begging you to undo what couldn’t be undone.
Johnny stared at you. He’d begged, he’d pleaded, he’d prayed you’d deny it. That you’d laugh, shake your head, shove him out the door and tell him he was insane. That you went out and had a child with someone who looked exactly like him as revenge.
But you didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Johnny.” Was all you could say.
He blinked the tears away, and with a shaky exhale he finally claimed what was undoubtedly his. “He’s mine.”
You couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t force the words out. All you could do was nod, slow, aching, like it was tearing you apart to admit it.
“He’s my son,” he said, voice breaking again.
His eyes darted back to the wall of photos, all the years he’d missed staring back at him. Six years of a life he should’ve known. Six years of first steps, first words, laughter, birthdays. Johnny looked like the ground had opened beneath him. Face pale, stunned, his lips parted but no sound came out. Your instincts told you to grab Leo, to run, to keep him safe. But Johnny’s face…it was wrecked. It wasn’t fair for him.
So instead, you grabbed his arm lightly, steadying him, and guided him back toward the couch. He sank into the cushions without resistance, his hands shaking on his knees.
“I’ll get you some water,” you whispered.
You set the glass down in front of him, but he didn’t touch it, just stared through it like it wasn’t there. The shock ran like a chill through his body.
Johnny was part of a family that had been torn apart when his mother passed. Every time he thought about having his own, he prayed for something complete. Not broken, not tarnished, not…this. Not a son who didn’t know he existed.
Of course he remembered the name from the application. Leo Spencer. Still, he had to ask, he needed one more confirmation.
“What’s his name?”
You took a deep breath, and said that same name he was dreading. “Leo.” Your voice cracked, so you cleared your throat. “…Spencer.”
There it was. Spencer.
“When was he born?”
“February 18th," you said quietly.
Johnny’s head snapped up. His head doing the math quicker than he ever thought he could. You must've been around three months when everything went down.
“You knew,” he said, voice accusing now. “You already knew. Before–before we…” He trailed off, gathering the strength to continue.“Why?” He blurted. “Why didn’t you tell us? Tell me?” He shook his head. “It could’ve changed everything. God, you should’ve told me.”
You couldn't even look at him, because you had asked yourself that same question a thousand times in the dark. Your hands twisted together, nails biting into your palms as you forced yourself to meet his eyes.
“I didn’t tell you because…because before that night, we were nothing,” you said. “Just two idiots who got too drunk and crossed a line. You said it yourself, it was just one night. You joked about it.”
The words tasted like lies, because you knew damn well you were in love with him. Still were, no matter how hard you tried to burn it out of yourself. But it was easier to paint it as nothing than to admit how much of you had always been his.
“And after what happened? After Reed found that so called evidence, after he told me I had to be gone, after you–” Your voice broke, eyes burning. “After you didn't fight for me? I wasn’t going to raise my child in a house that didn’t hesitate to throw me out like I was nothing. I wasn’t going to let my baby live in a place where family turned on me without blinking.”
Johnny just listened, because he didn’t have an argument for that.
“I wanted him safe,” you mumbled. “Safe in a way I wasn’t. And I tried–I swear to God, Johnny, I tried to tell you when I asked to speak to you. But you wrecked me before I ever got the chance. You wouldn’t even look at me without that look…like I’d betrayed you.”
Your throat closed, but you forced the last words out.
“So I didn’t say anything. Because you didn’t deserve it.”
He realized just how much he’d really lost. Not just six years, not just the kid on the wall, but the pieces of you that he never had the courage to claim as his, long before that night. For a heartbeat he sat frozen, but when his hands went to cover his face, he broke.
The sound just ripped out of him, raw, sobbing. His shoulders hunched forward, his body folding in on itself as if he could hide from the truth but he couldn’t. Not from this. Not from you.
“God, I’m sorry,” he choked. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve–” He cut himself off, a sob tearing free. “You were right there, and I–I didn’t listen. I didn’t believe–I should’ve fought for you.” Tears streamed hot down his face, his chest heaving. “You tried. And I–” His hands dropped uselessly to his lap.“I destroyed you. I destroyed everything.”
Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out to your figure in front of him. His hand hovered in the air, hesitant, fingers almost brushing yours, asking for something he knew he had no right to.
Still, he asked. “Please. Just let me hold your hand. Just–just for a second. I don’t care if it’s the last time.”
The man who always stood cocky and unshakable in front of the world was reduced to this. Broken, sobbing, begging at your feet for the smallest piece of forgiveness. And in his blue eyes, through the tears, you could see the guy you had loved with all your soul. The guy who had been yours…kind of.
So you let him hold you, just for a moment. Johnny’s warm hand shook against yours, his fingers curling carefully, like he was afraid you’d pull it back if he held too tight. His breathing evened out, his sobs softening until the room fell heavy again with silence. But then his lashes lifted, his eyes still wet as they flicked toward the hallway.
“…Is he here? In his room?”
Your whole body stiffened, and he felt it with the way your hand tensed against him.
Johnny took a deep breath, thumb brushing your knuckles as though he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I just…I need to see him. Please.”
That was when you yanked your hand back, shaking your head profusely. “That’s not happening.”
Johnny froze, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“You can’t see him,” you said firmly. “You can’t take him away. He’s all I have, Johnny. The only thing I have.”
And Johnny sat there stunned, gutted that you’d think that, realizing he wasn’t just fighting for your forgiveness anymore, but fighting for the right to see a son he hadn’t even touched.
“No. God–no. I would never take him from you.” He shook his head, pleading for you to believe him. “I swear on everything I am, I would never do that.” He reassured, pressing a hand to his chest. “But I need to see him, please. I have to. He’s mine. He’s my son.”
“But he’s my whole world, Johnny. And I can’t let anyone risk that.” You shook your head, stepping farther away from him.
Johnny couldn’t exactly blame you. He understood where the fear came from, but he’d be damned if he managed to find you and his son only to be told to go back to his life.
This was his life now.
“I have a right to see him. To know him. To look at his face and not just through pictures on a wall.” He pressed, his eyes searched yours as you forced distance between you. “I’m his father.”
You had spent years building a wall around you and Leo, years convincing yourself you could keep him safe by keeping the world out, by moving to a small town where the Fantastic Four were nothing but big city superheroes. But now Johnny was sitting here, away from his big city, claiming that word like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Father.
Johnny’s lips parted, trying one more time. “I…I don’t want to take him from you. I just want to see him. Please, I’m begging you.”
You wiped at your cheeks quickly, forcing yourself to stand taller even as the word father rang in your ears. You drew in a shaky breath, keeping your tone as steady as you could.
“He’s not here,” you confessed. “My neighbor takes care of him when I’m working late shifts at the bar.”
Johnny blinked. The bar. The image of you, the woman who once lived and laughed in the tower, now pouring beer for drunk men on a Sunday, broke him.
You glanced at the clock on the wall, your face scowling. “Shit.” You reached to grab your jacket from a chair. “I’m so late. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow if you want to see him.”
You stepped past him, toward the door, until his hand closed around your wrist. The warmth of his touch froze you in place.
“I can’t wait anymore.” His grip on your wrist was not tight, not forceful, just begging. “I’ve already lost so much. Please don’t make me lose another day.”
“Johnny–”
“Don’t go.” His voice cracked as his eyes searched yours. “Please. Don’t go.”
“I can’t just ditch work,” you snapped, panic rising in your throat. “I need it.”
“I’ll figure something out,” he said quickly, desperate. “Whatever it takes, I’ll fix it–I’ll cover it. But please. Not tonight. Not when I just found you again.”
The plea broke something in you. His hand on your wrist, his voice hesitant, the way his eyes begged. Your pride told you to yank your wrist back like you’d done before and tell him no, but the whole encounter had taken a toll on you, and you weren’t sure you could withstand a shift like that. So you exhaled, then finally gave the smallest nod. You pulled your wrist gently from his hand, not harsh, just needing space to breathe.
“I uh–I need to make a call first,” you announced, and he nodded, stepping back so you could walk to the telephone on the wall.
Johnny watched as you gave him your back, and dialed the number with shaky fingers, the line ringing a few times before someone picked up. By the looks of it, it was your boss most likely, from the way you stumbled over a lie about Leo being sick. Johnny flinched when he heard the scolding from the other side of the line as you mumbled apologies for the short time notice.
God, he needed to fix all this mess.
You set the phone back with a sigh, and turned to him. “I’ll bring him home,” you said, then walked closer to him to plead just like he’d done before. “But you have to promise me you won’t take him away, Johnny…please. Don’t make me regret this.”
He stepped closer, hands raised in surrender. “You won’t,” he assured. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone to do this by yourself. I’ll never stop being sorry. But I can promise you this, I won’t take him away. Not from his mom. Not from you.”
You nodded, choosing to believe, slipping your jacket on to walk into the cold of the night. “Wait here,” you said. “I’ll go pick him up from my neighbor’s.”
Johnny only nodded, shoulders hunched, his hands lowered and clasped together like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for you again. His eyes followed you to the door, until you slipped away.
You’d forgotten how warm a room became when Johnny was in it. The night air hit you as you stepped outside, crisp and cool, making you shiver. The street was dim, only the soft glow of porch lights guiding your path as you walked to the house across from yours. Your eyes went to the huge fancy pickup truck parked just a few houses down, which had to be Johnny’s, for sure. You rolled your eyes, of course. Rubbing your arms as you walked, legs moving on autopilot, every voice in your head screaming to scoop Leo up and vanish before it was too late. But it was already too late. Johnny was inside your house. His ridiculous truck outside. Johnny had seen the photos. Johnny knew.
Back at your place, behind the curtains, Johnny couldn’t sit still. He’d told himself he wouldn’t move, wouldn’t intrude, but his chest was on fire with longing. So he drifted closer to the window, pushing the curtains just enough to peek past the glass.
There you were, on your neighbor’s porch, exchanging a few words with a lovely old lady who looked at you worriedly. Johnny’s breath fogged the glass as he watched you. His heart ached at the sight. You looked so small, so breakable, carrying all of this alone.
You went inside only for a moment, and then you stepped out, cradling a bundle against your chest. The porchlight painted your silhouette in gold, and just beneath it, faint but unmistakable, was the glow of that blonde hair.
Johnny stopped breathing.
My God.
He scrambled back from the window, clutching the pearls he didn’t have, and set the curtains back in place hoping you hadn't noticed him. By the time you reached your porch, he had forced himself back onto the couch, his hands braced on his knees, trying to look like he hadn’t just witnessed his entire world change in an instant.
The door opened with a quiet creak, and there you were. Your arms wrapped protectively around your son–his son, head resting on your shoulder, lips parted in soft sleep. Johnny shot to his feet immediately. His eyes, glassy and wide, locked on the child in your arms. You nudged Leo’s body only slightly, to see if he realized he was home, but Johnny’s hand twitched forward before he pulled it back, hesitant.
“Don’t wake him,” he whispered quickly, his voice breaking. “Please–don’t. He looks…peaceful.”
You nodded, shifting only to hold Leo tighter. Johnny stepped closer, just enough to see. His eyes fell on the little face pressed into your shoulder, cheek squished, small eyebrows relaxed. Johnny’s hands stuck at his sides, aching to reach out, but terrified to cross that line.
“He’s… perfect,” he breathed. His knees nearly gave out, but he clung to the sight, drinking it in as if he could catch up on six years in a single heartbeat.
Your son–his son.
Perfect.
“C–can I…?” He mumbled, the words barely making it past his lips, more a plea than a question. His hand lifted a little, hovering helplessly over Leo’s little back, asking for permission to touch the sun.
He wasn’t Johnny Storm, the cocky Human Torch, not here, not now. He was just a man staring at his son for the first time.
“Careful. He’s a heavy sleeper, but…”
Johnny nodded frantically, like he’d do anything, anything, not to ruin this chance. His hands shook as you carefully, reluctantly shifted Leo into his arms. The kid’s head fell against Johnny’s shoulder, his little hand curling unconsciously into the fabric of Johnny’s shirt.
And Johnny’s whole world stopped.
His arms tightened instinctively, protectively, as his body nearly buckled beneath the weight– not because six year old Leo was heavy, but because he was real, warm, breathing. Not an application form, not a picture…his son.
Johnny’s lips quivered as he pressed his cheek lightly against the crown of his son’s head, his tears falling into soft blonde hair. “Hi, buddy,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “God, you’re perfect.”
He rocked a little without realizing, clutching him as if he’d disappear. Six years of missed moments collided in his chest all at once. And for the first time since that night at the gala, Johnny felt whole and broken in the same breath. Johnny swayed gently, cradling Leo like he’d done with Franklin a thousand times before. His lips brushed Leo’s hair, a soft kiss he couldn’t stop himself from giving. His chest ached with every quiet breath the child took against him.
You stood frozen, watching them. The sight was enough to undo you. There he was, Johnny Storm, holding his son on a random Tuesday, right in that small town you called home. And the sight unlocked a longing on you that had been buried a long time ago. So you spoke, softly, because the silence was too heavy.
“He wonders about you, you know.”
Johnny’s head jerked up, his glassy eyes wide. “What?” His voice caught between awe and disbelief.
“Leo…he’s brilliant, I think the word smart is too small for him. He’s a little wonder,” you said proudly, trying to smile. “And he asks a lot of questions, about everything, about his dad…about you.”
Johnny’s eyes went wide. “What kinds of questions?” He asked, shifting Leo in his arms just slightly, like he was grounding himself his warmth. “Please, tell me what he wanted to know about me.”
“Everything.” You exhaled, shrugging, eyes dropping to the floor. “If you had the same hair as him. If you liked the same foods. If you could build things the way he does. If you were…funny.” A chuckle slipped out of you. “He even asked once if you were a superhero, I’m not sure why. I told him no, of course, because, well…obvious reasons. Guess I just wanted him to know you’re human. Just human.”
Johnny’s chest caved in, he pressed his lips against Leo’s hair, whispering. “Oh, buddy…”
Your eyes went to the floor, clearing your throat before confessing the last part. “And then he…he asked why you weren’t here. And I–I didn’t know what to say…so I just told him you live far away, and had a very demanding job. That your life is there. And his is here…with me.”
The hesitation in your voice made Johnny’s arms tighten around Leo instinctively. You still looked away, biting down on your lip, but you kept talking, because it was the truth.
“I couldn’t lie to him. But I couldn’t tell him, either. So I just…I kept you as a distance. An idea. Someone too far away to reach, because that’s what you were to me.”
Johnny, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring at you. But once again, he didn’t have an argument against that. He shifted, his eyes roaming over Leo’s little face like he was trying to memorize every curve, every eyelash. And then he finally whispered the question that had been clawing at him.
“Does he…?” His throat bobbed, his voice hesitant, almost afraid. “Does he have it? My–my powers?”
You shook your head quickly. “God, no.” Your hand pressed protectively to your chest. “No fire, nothing like that. I watched him like a hawk for years.” You let out a small, nervous laugh, one that carried your relief. “His only superpower is being too smart for his own good.”
Johnny smiled at that, oh he knew.
“He’s a genius, Johnny. Top of his class. Public school said he needed advanced courses. So I–I work myself to the bone to pay for that private school because he deserves it. Every single opportunity I can give him, I’ll give him.”
Johnny’s arms curled tighter around Leo. “I could've given him so many more opportunities. I could've helped you, he’d have the best teachers in the world right in his own house. But you decided to keep him from me.”
You flinched, clutching your arms tighter around yourself.
“I get it–you didn’t trust my family. Fine. You didn't have to. But me?” His voice cracked, his chest heaving. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You didn’t let me know I had a son. You didn’t let me decide if I could protect him. You just–” He looked down at Leo in his arms, “–you just shut me out.”
“Well, you shut me out first, Johnny!” You whisper shouted, doing your best to not let your anger disturb Leo’s sleep.
“I know,” he whispered, broken. “God, I know I did. But six years–” He shook his head. “Six years I could’ve been here. Six years I could’ve loved him…and you didn’t let me.”
For the first time, it wasn’t just guilt suffocating Johnny. It was grief for the life he’d been denied, the life he might never get back. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, the words came tumbling out, because you couldn’t hold them anymore.
“You really want to know why I didn’t tell you about him?”
Johnny’s lips parted, but no sound came.
“Because I was terrified,” you admitted. “Terrified that if you knew, you’d take him away the second you held him. Because you didn’t trust me. Because you already proved I was disposable.”
“You weren’t–God you weren’t…” He shook his head. “And I would’ve never taken him– but you thought I would. And that’s on me.”
Leo stirred in Johnny’s arms, a soft little whine slipping from his lips as he shifted against his chest. You straightened immediately, your arms twitching as if to take him back.
“He needs to go to bed,” you whispered.
Johnny’s eyes shot to yours, desperate but gentle. “Let me. Please.”
For a long, taut moment you hesitated, torn between instinct and the look on his face. You had already allowed him so much today. But you had also denied him so much already during those years, so you could let him have this at least.
Together, the three of you walked down the hallway, guiding Johnny, who moved slowly like he was carrying glass. You pushed the door open, and Johnny froze on the threshold.
You turned on a little lamp, the room glowing soft in the warm light, painted in baby blue, with tiny white stars scattered across the ceiling like a sky waiting for wishes. A low bookcase ran along one wall, stacked neatly but already overflowing. It reminded Johnny of Franklin’s back home, except his nephew’s was bigger, neater. This one was fit to Leo’s size.
He saw multiple posters on the walls. Beautifully illustrated and educational, with names of insects, dinosaurs and galaxies. A half solved massive puzzle was scattered across the carpet, the edge pieces already put together, and in the middle a scattered constellation of tiny hopeful starts. He could tell it was a rocketship mid launch. Next to it was a tower of lego blocks mid construction, like Leo couldn't decide which one would be more fulfilling to finish. In a corner of the room, boxes stored little cars, stuffed animals, and more books.
His son's little kingdom.
Johnny stepped inside, dodging the puzzle on the floor. He bent carefully, guiding Leo down onto the small bed with its soft, solar system patterned covers. He eased Leo onto his back, smoothing his hair gently, brushing a stray lock off his forehead. The child sighed in sleep, lips parting, lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
Johnny’s chest crumbled.
He leaned down and pressed a small kiss to his son’s forehead, lingering there, his lips hot with tears he couldn’t stop. When he pulled back, his eyes drank in the little face now tilted upwards in the glow of the night light.
So small. So peaceful. So perfect. So his.
And he couldn’t look away. Not from the child he’d just tucked into bed for the very first time, six years too late. You stayed in the doorway at first, leaning against the frame, your arms wrapped around yourself as you watched Johnny kneel by the bed. He was so careful, so gentle, nothing like the energetic golden retriever you once knew.
As Leo shifted in his sleep, a soft sigh slipping from his lips, you finally stepped into the room. Without a word, you reached past Johnny to pull the little blanket up over your son, tucking it around his shoulders the way you always did. Your fingers brushed Johnny’s hand for the briefest moment.
And for just that moment, just a delusional, fragile second…Johnny let himself picture it.
You, beside him at bedtime. This little room, these blue walls, these stars on the ceiling. A ritual of small hands reaching for him, bedtime stories, goodnight kisses. Not a stolen moment after six years, but your life. The life he should’ve been here for. The life you should’ve had together.
In another universe, it was probably like that. In another universe, he didn't doubt you. In another universe, you didn't have to run. Johnny’s throat ached, trying to keep the dream from spilling out. For one heartbeat, he let himself believe it.
You adjusted the blanket one last time, smoothing it over Leo’s chest until he let out a tiny snore, and you almost smiled. Johnny’s hand still hovered near the edge of the bed, his eyes glued to the child’s face like he couldn’t believe he was real.
“I’ll never get tired of saying it…I’m sorry,” he whispered, so low it almost vanished in the air. His eyes flicked to you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for him. I should’ve been here. For the first step, the first word… all of it. I missed everything, and he doesn’t even know I exist.”
“I’m sorry you missed that too,” you whispered back.
His gaze lifted to you, and he decided not to speak as the man who betrayed you, but as a father. “I promise you…I’ll never let him feel like how I let you feel…alone. I swear it.”
You gave him a nod. That promise wasn't just to you, but to his son.
You flicked off the little lamp by Leo’s bed and the two of you stepped out, leaving the door cracked just a bit. When you reached the living room again, Johnny stopped in his tracks. The room wasn’t just yours anymore. Now that he knew the truth, every detail shifted, every corner sang a different story.
The boxes of cereal on the counter? Leo’s. Not the quick snack of a busy professor, but his kid’s favorite breakfast. The fridge, though he hadn’t really looked at it before, had drawings pinned there with mismatched magnets. Crayon rockets, wobbly stick figure heroes, a very accurate representation of a T-rex. His son’s talent staring him in the face.
The blanket on the couch, the one he’d first seen, wasn’t just yours. It was small, soft, patterned with stars and comets, clearly a child’s. He pictured Leo curled up there, dozing while you graded papers late into the night. Even the stack of books by the TV wasn’t just random clutter. Johnny crouched a little, his breath hitching at the sight of colorful hardcovers. Stories picked by little hands, read again and again. And a huge detail he'd missed, an unmistakable pair of tiny sneakers under the coffee table.
This was his son’s world. A kingdom built out of your sacrifices, your sleepless nights, your stubborn refusal to let him grow up with less than he deserved.
As Johnny explored, you lingered by the edge of the living room, your arms crossed, eyes flicking uneasily toward the door like you expected it to burst open at any second. What now? The question pressed heavy in your chest. You could almost see it, the rest of the family arriving in the morning, wanting answers, deciding Leo’s fate. The thought made your stomach knot.
You rubbed at your temple, fighting to stay upright, but the weight of the day dragged at you. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only bone deep fatigue. You yawned before you could stop yourself, covering it quickly with the back of your hand.
Johnny caught it. His brows furrowed, his eyes softening in that way you hated because it made you feel seen. His gaze lingered on your tired shoulders, on the dark circles you’d tried to hide, on the way you still stood like you’d go work another eight hours if you had to.
“You were really gonna work like this?” He asked softly, borderline accusatory. “Dead on your feet. With class tomorrow, too?”
You shrugged, too tired to build your walls back up. “I don’t have a choice.”
Johnny’s stomach twisted. He wanted to scoop you up, tell you you’d never have to push yourself like this again, and tuck you under the covers of your bed. But he knew he didn’t have the right…not yet. So instead, he swallowed the words down, forcing the fire back down.
“I better get going.”
You blinked at him, surprised.
“Yeah, you uhm–” Johnny started quietly, glancing at the hallway that led to Leo’s room. His voice softened even more. “You need to sleep. And…we’ve got a conversation pending. A big one…but not tonight.”
You were too tired to argue, so you nodded.
“Thank you, for letting me…for letting me see him.” He forced a smile, not cocky, just soft. “It’s more than I thought I could.” He chuckled nervously. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Not in the morning,” you blurted, before you could stop yourself. “It’s always chaos,” you explained quickly. “Getting Leo ready for school. Breakfast, answering his questions, all of it. Just–don’t. Please.”
His eyes softened, his shoulders easing a fraction.
You exhaled and added, “If you want… you can come by the college, after classes…there’s this coffee shop right outside campus.”
Johnny nodded slowly, like he’d been given more than he expected “College…coffee,” he repeated, committing it to memory. “Alright.”
For a moment he just stood by the door, drinking in the sight of you in this beautiful, lived in space that was never meant to carry all this history.
“Tomorrow after classes,” he whispered again, like a vow, before finally stepping out into the night. The door closed softly behind him, leaving you in silence.
You didn’t know if you were more terrified or relieved that Johnny Storm had found his way back to you.
Did I close my fist around something delicate?
Did I shatter you?
Johnny drove to the hotel on autopilot, barely remembering the turns he took, barely noticing the glow of passing streetlights. His mind was still spinning like the world had been knocked off its axis.
Because it had.
Leo’s weight had been in his arms. He looked at peace sleeping on Johnny’s shoulder, as if it had been the most natural thing in the world. Now, in the dim silence of his hotel room, Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows braced to his knees, his face buried in his hands, caught somewhere between joy and grief.
He pressed his hand hard to his eyes, but the images came anyway…Leo, smaller, toddling through the tower halls, Sue fussing over him, Ben sneaking him cookies, Franklin pulling him into games, Reed insisting on checkups. His family.
It should’ve been like that.
Instead, Leo’s bookcase was small because Johnny hadn’t been there to build it bigger. His shoes by the door were scuffed because Johnny hadn’t been there to buy him new ones. His mom worked extra shifts on a damn Sunday because Johnny hadn’t been there to shoulder half the weight.
His son. His brilliant, perfect, wonder of a kid. The one he should’ve known since the very beginning.
He thought about calling Sue. His fingers even hovered over his repaired watch, her name right there. She’d been waiting for him to call and tell her everything. And he knew she’d tear it out of him the second she heard his voice.
But the thought alone made his heart sink.
Telling Sue meant telling everyone. Meant deciding what came next. Meant pulling you into a storm you clearly weren’t ready for. And after tonight, after the way you begged him not to take Leo away, after you let him tuck his son into bed…he couldn’t betray that fragile thread of trust. Not yet. Not when you hadn’t even talked about Leo’s future. Not when you still looked at him like you were half a breath away from running all over again.
So he swallowed the urge, locked it down, and typed out a simple message instead.
Didn’t find her today. I’ll try again tomorrow.
A lie. But one he could live with.
He leaned back against the headboard, and stared at the ceiling for a while, until he decided it was better to rest if he wanted to be ready to face whatever came the next day. He got up to shrug out of his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the hotel chair, but it landed heavier than it should have.
The letters.
He turned back, snatching the jacket up, shaking the inner pocket until the stolen envelopes spilled onto the bedspread. He sank down beside them, remembering he hadn’t had the chance to read them in your office before “Captain Walker” barged in.
He reached for the first envelope, the oldest. The one dated just weeks after you’d been cast out. He unfolded the page with care, your handwriting staring back at him.
My Johnny
I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe to remind myself I’m not crazy. Maybe to hold onto some piece of what I thought we had. I want to hate you. God, I should. But all I can think about is the way you looked at me before it all went wrong. The way you smiled at me that night at the gala. The way you made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t alone in that big building. And now I am. Completely alone.
I wanted to tell you. About our little miracle. But you couldn’t even look at me without that fire in your eyes, and not the kind that warmed me. The kind that burned. You hurt me, Johnny, before I even had the chance to say it out loud.
That was the moment I chose to leave, instead of asking for something that you had already decided I didn't deserve. I can’t pretend I understand how everything ended, but it did, and now your life is there, and mine is wherever you aren’t.
You had tried. You had reached for him. But he had turned away.
‘You hurt me, Johnny.’
“Fuck,” he cursed, shaking his head violently. “Fucking hell.”
Johnny’s hands shook as he set the first letter down, his breath ragged. He wiped his eyes, but the tears kept coming, unstoppable. His chest hurt, but still he reached for the next.
He unfolded it with trembling fingers, the paper softer, the ink smudged like it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times before.
Dear Johnny.
Today he turned four. He asked me if his dad would come to his birthday. I told him no, because you live far away. He didn’t cry, but he looked at the door all afternoon like he was hoping you’d walk in, even if he doesn’t know what you look like. I don’t know how to explain to him that you don’t know what he looks like either.
But he is so much like you. When he smiles, when he makes his silly faces, when he figures something out quicker than anyone else. It’s you. Every day I see you in him, and every day I tell myself I’m doing the right thing keeping him away. That I’m protecting him. But it feels like a lie, because sometimes I think I’m just protecting myself. Protecting myself from you breaking me again.
The worst part is you were never really mine, and it embarrasses me that sometimes I can’t get out of bed because I miss something I never had.
I guess that hurts more on days like these.
For what felt like the millionth time that day, Johnny found himself crying. Leo’s fourth birthday. The one he should’ve been front and center at, not a ghost in the background of his mother’s fears.
Not even a curse left his lips this time, just his ragged breathing. But his eyes flicked to the pile again, as his trembling fingers reached for the last envelope. The one dated five years after you’d been cast out. A year before tonight.
For him.
I’ve realized something I should have long ago. You’re not coming. I waited too long, hoping you’d find something. But the silence has been louder than any answer. It’s eaten me alive, night after night, I fight with you even in my dreams.
I keep asking myself, if clarity is in death, then why won’t this die? Why can’t I let it go?
I wish you would give me back my peace. It was mine first.
I miss who once was my best friend. But more than anything, I miss who I used to be. So I can’t be like this anymore. I can’t keep writing letters to a ghost. Five years, Johnny. Five years of wondering if you ever saw me in a different light. But I have to stop for my sake, for his sake.
This is the last time I’ll write to you.This is goodbye. There was happiness in my life because of you, and I can only hope there’ll be happiness after you. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re happy too. I hope you’ve forgotten me, because I need to forget you. I need to let you go before I lose myself completely. I need to live without waiting for a door that will never open.
So I’m closing it myself.
Yours once, never again.
Fuck.
Of course he hadn’t forgotten. He had never stopped thinking about you. He had tried to find proof, investigated, and spiraled in dark nights in his room with papers stuck to his windows. And all the while, you had written this, your goodbye, your surrender, your heart breaking onto the page while he was too blind.
You had given up on him. And now, a year later, he was here, only to realize he’d arrived far too late to be the man you’d once waited for.
Johnny barely slept. Every time he shut his eyes, the words of those letters screamed at him. The thought of you sitting alone, hiding from Leo to write that with shaking hands, giving up on him. It hollowed him out until there was nothing left but determination to make things right.
To give you back your peace.
So before dawn even touched the sky, he was already moving. He slipped into the college campus while the halls were still dim and quiet. Not that easy now, since it was Monday. Students, staff, early professors buzzing everywhere, far different than the hushed emptiness of the day before. It was a risk, and his chest pounded with every step, but he had to do it.
He couldn’t have you finding out the letters in your desk had gone missing the same weekend he showed up at your doorstep.
Your office door creaked faintly under his hand. He moved quickly, carefully, as he slid the papers back into the drawer, tucking them in place exactly where he’d found them and locking it again.
By the time he slipped out into the hallway, the building was alive with movement. He kept his head down, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, wearing that same sunglasses and baseball cap combo to make himself look like just another visitor until he made it outside.
And then…he waited.
Will you forgive my soul
When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?
The hours until your little meeting felt like years. He wandered the campus for a while before he realized some people were looking too suspiciously at him. He then drove around the college block more times than he could count, and since he was inside a window tinted black Ford truck, he was sure some student must’ve thought some mafia members had come to kidnap them.
Now, he’d been waiting outside the cafe for exactly fifty four minutes. He tried to stay inside the truck to avoid getting seen, but his nerves and inner spiral didn't let him sit still. So he stood by the truck, cap still on and head ducked low, his eyes glued down the street so he wouldn't miss the moment you showed up.
As your unmistakable figure appeared around the corner of the cafe, Johnny’s breath hitched at the sight of you finally emerging, walking slowly with a folder hugged against your chest.
The autumn air was crisp, brushing against your skin, but the moment your eyes found him leaning by that ridiculous, shiny rental truck, you suddenly felt like sweating.
Johnny straightened the second he saw you, his whole face lighting up like he’d been waiting for this all day…which he had. But the closer you got, the more his confidence faltered. He shoved his hands deep into his jean’s pockets, suddenly awkward.
“Hi…Johnny.” You said, standing a few feet away from him, chin lifted, your voice steady. “Leo’s not out of school for another hour.”
Johnny nodded, quick, like he’d been expecting the wall. “...Hi.” He greeted, and you gave him the slightest curve of a smile.
“I know you want to see him again,” you went on, the folder pressed tighter against your chest, “but we need to talk first.”
He nodded again, softer this time. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. You’re right.”
There was an uneasy pause, until Johnny cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I–uh…can I get you a coffee?”
This type of nervous awkward interaction was so strange to Johnny. He was so used to smooth words just flowing out of his mouth, making a joke out of everything. But his life had changed so drastically in just a matter of days, that he wasn't sure he could go back to his default ‘Chill Johnny’ setting.
You studied him a moment, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”
His shoulders loosened instantly, and he finally allowed himself to smile, then gestured toward the little café’s glass door with a red frame. He held the door open for you, and you muttered a thank you as warm light and the hiss of an espresso machine welcomed you. The bell above the door jingled when you stepped in, Johnny following carefully behind.
You chose a booth by the window, close enough to the door if you needed an exit, far enough from others to keep voices low. Johnny slid into the seat across from you, the baseball cap finally coming off. His knees bounced under the table, his hands fidgeting with the paper menu though he didn’t read a word.
For a moment, it was just silence. Awkward, heavy. You stared down at your folder on the table, and he stared at you, neither of you knowing where to start. A waitress came by, and Johnny ordered two coffees, remembering your exact order from all those years ago.
That made your heart skip a bit.
The silence stretched again until Johnny cleared his throat, his voice softer than you remembered. “So…Leo.”
Your eyes flicked to his, nodding slightly. “Leo.”
The clatter of cups and the murmur of conversation around the cafe made the tension between you feel sharper. The drinks arrived but Johnny’s coffee sat untouched, steam curling up between you as his eyes finally lifted to yours.
“What’s his favorite cereal?”
You blinked, caught off guard. Of all the questions he could have asked…’Why this, why that?’ that was not the one you expected.
“Cereal?”
“Yeah…you’ve got, like, three boxes on the counter. He has to have a favorite.” Johnny shrugged.
Your chest ached at the innocence of it, the way his voice cracked with soft curiosity.
“Lucky charms,” you said.
Johnny’s eyes softened instantly. He nodded, filing it away like it was the most important piece of information in the world. Then, an idea lit up his face.
“Did he get the human torch figur–?”
“They don’t have the one with your face on it here,” you cut him off, almost apologetic.
The truth is, one of the many reasons you’d picked that town was the lack of the Fantastic Four’s influence. Johnny understood that.
“Right.” He nodded, not exactly sure how to feel about it. “And his favorite color?” he asked quickly, before you could redirect.
“Blue…” you answered, ‘like your eyes’ your mind whispered. “Like the summer sky,” you said instead.
Johnny smiled. He wanted to ask a thousand things at once. About his laugh, his quirks, the bedtime stories he loved, the little words he mispronounced when he was smaller. But each answer cut and healed him in equal measure, so he asked them slowly.
“What makes him laugh the most?”
“Who’s his best friend?”
“What does he want to be when he grows up?”
You sipped your drink, watching Johnny soak in every answer like he’d been starving for it. He wanted to know everything, like each detail was a thread stitching him closer to the the kid he’d missed for so long. And for a moment, you let him have it. For a moment, it almost felt right.
“I could talk about Leo’s favorite things all day,” you admitted softly, tracing the rim of your mug with your fingertip.
Johnny smiled faintly, but when he looked up, your eyes had shifted.
“But there’s something else,” you said, daring to look up. “A question that’s been eating me alive. One I can’t keep inside anymore.”
His brow furrowed, the smile gone instantly.
“What exactly do you plan for him now, Johnny?” You sighed. “Now that you know he exists–what happens to Leo? Because last night…last night I slept with him safe beside me. I couldn’t close my eyes without imagining someone walking through that door to take him away.”
Johnny froze, the color draining from his face. You didn't think he was safe. He reached for the mug he hadn’t touched, gripping it just to anchor his hands, but he didn’t drink.
“I need to know,” you pushed on, your stare burning into him. “What do you plan to do with my–with our son?”
For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His mouth opened, then closed, like the words weren’t ready, like nothing he could say would be enough.
“I don’t know,” he said, honest.“I don’t know what the right move is,” he went on, his eyes flicking up to yours. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do, or how to fix six years I’ll never get back. But…the only thing I do know is that I want to be part of his life. However you’ll let me. I can’t…I can’t pretend I don’t know him now.”
The conviction in his words fought with hesitation. He wasn’t demanding, wasn’t trying to take. He was still begging for a chance, clumsy and terrified, but utterly certain of one thing.
“I want to know him,” Johnny added, more firmly now. “And I want him to know me.”
You leaned back against the booth, your chest tight, but his words lingered. I want to be part of his life. The way he said it…shaking, terrified, but sure, chipped at the walls you’d built so carefully.
“Do you think he’d…want me in his life? I mean, if we told him who I am. Would he hate me for not being there?” He asked, hesitant, tracing the rim of his mug.
The question knocked the air out of you more than you expected. Not because you hadn’t thought about it, God knows you’d lost sleep over it, but because of how honest he sounded asking it.
“He’s a smart kid. He sees things. Asks questions I can’t always answer…I don’t think he’d hate you, but…he’d have more questions. And I’d like to give him answers that don’t hurt.”
Johnny nodded slowly. “I just…I want to do right by him. Even if it’s late.”
You looked at him in silence for a few seconds, before humming. “You can start,” you said softly, “by meeting him…like really meeting him”
Johnny blinked, startled. “Like–now?”
The look on his face of wide eyed disbelief, made you huff out a laugh you didn’t expect.
“Yes, Johnny. Now.” You tilted your head to check the time on the clock by the barista. “It’s just in time to pick him up from school.”
For a second he just sat there, frozen, like he hadn’t prepared himself for the possibility that you’d actually let him do that today. His hands gripped the edge of the table like he needed to hold on to something solid before the floor crumbled under his feet.
“God,” he whispered. “I don’t even know if I can breathe right now.”
You chuckled and shook your head, standing up from the booth. “You’ll manage, come on. I promised him yogurt ice cream after school. He aced a test on Friday.”
“Doesn’t he, you know…always ace them?” Johnny asked, the doubt in his voice almost made you laugh again.
“He does. But I don’t want him to think it’s his duty to excel every single time. I want him to know that little victories matter too even if I didn't take him much effort. He deserves to feel celebrated, not pressured because he thinks he has to fulfill other people’s expectations."
Johnny stared at you, floored. He thought of his own childhood, of expectations that had weighed on him since the day Sue took over his raising, when his mother passed away. It wasn’t because his sister pressured him directly, but because he always felt like he owed her excellency. Things that took all his effort, sweat and tears. But to this day, Johnny felt like he'd failed her on that, because the bar had always been set too high for his little hands to reach. So in his head, that kid inside him didn't deserve yogurt ice cream, because little victories had never mattered in his big world.
But his son’s did. Because you made sure of that.
So he just glanced toward the window to blink away the tears threatening to come out of his eyes. All he could think was his son had the best mom he could've had.
Once you walked outside, the late afternoon sun shone across the street. Johnny headed toward that absurdly shiny rental truck, but when he glanced back, you were unlocking your modest sedan.
“I’ll pick him up from school. You can meet us at the yogurt place.”
Johnny nodded, though something in him ached at the distance between your cars, your lives. But he didn’t fight it, just asked for some directions on how to find said yogurt place.
“Alright,” he said softly, eyes lingering on you as you slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll be there.”
The yogurt shop was painted in cheerful colors, with a bell jingling as Johnny stepped in. He scanned the room, with only a couple of tables occupied by groups of high school students. His chest rose and fell too fast, his palms getting ridiculously damp. Since when did he sweat?
Calm down, Storm, it's just ice cream…oh right, and you are also meeting the most important person in your life.
“Welcome in!” The teenage girl behind the counter gave him a friendly wave.
Johnny nodded too quickly. “Yeah, hi, thanks, just–uh, table for three? I’m waiting for someone.” He said, then immediately panicked.
Did he really just ask for a table for three? In front of a bunch of teenagers that were totally giving him a side eye? He couldn't exactly blame them, what was this, some fancy dinner restaurant from New York? Was he really so out of touch that he didn’t even know how to be a normal person anymore?
Before he could keep overthinking over that single interaction, he cleared his throat, then pointed around the place. “I’ll just find one myself…yeah.” He smiled nervously, darting toward the empty tables, away from the groups.
It didn’t matter though, because they were still watching him over their shoulders, because Johnny tested each empty table like a maniac. Too wobbly. Too close to the trash can. Too far from the door. Until he finally landed on one by the window where the afternoon sun spilled in. Steady, perfect lighting, perfect line of sight to the door.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself, yanking the chairs out and back in again to make sure they weren’t squeaky. “Aaaand we got a winner! This is the table.”
Then, he went toward the counter where he could see the list of flavors on the wall, because he couldn’t look like a fool not knowing what to order in front of his family. He scanned the labels, as the girl behind the counter stared at him curiously.
“What’s the most popular?” He asked, placing a finger on his chin as he tilted his head. “No, wait–what’s the healthiest? Do you guys do like…sugar free? No, kids don’t care about that. Uh…”
“Sir…would you like a sample?” The girl offered, lifting tiny spoons in the air.
Johnny nodded so quickly, that the girl let out a chuckle, before turning to the yogurt machines to get a sample of the most popular flavors for this weird guy to try. He was handsome though, she was totally telling her friends about him.
By the time the judgy teenagers had left the establishment, Johnny Storm, Human Torch, beloved public figure that no one seemed to recognize in this small town, was sitting on the table he’d meticulously picked with five pink sample spoons sticking out of his jacket pocket.
Okay, so if he likes chocolate, I’m set. But if he’s a fruit kid? I’m screwed.
The bell above the yogurt shop door jingled, snapping him out of his thoughts, and that’s when the golden light of late afternoon poured in behind you. Johnny looked up, and the world stopped.
There he was.
His son. Your son.
Leo stood beside you, his small hand clasped in yours, his little uniform neat. A navy pullover stretched just slightly at the sleeves, crisp white polo peeking out at the collar, khaki shorts, and the cutest polished shoes that Johnny knew you’d spent extra to make sure he looked perfect in.
He looked like a polite kid, yes, but his energy buzzed right through the surface, his body practically bouncing at your side like he couldn’t decide whether to walk or skip into the shop. His hair glowed blonde in the light, catching that same golden halo Johnny had seen in the mirror his whole life. The shape of his smile,as he was tugging at your hand, was his. Unmistakable. The resemblance knocked the air straight from Johnny’s chest.
It was a mini him, except better, softer…pure.
By the door, you crouched slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you spoke gently to Leo. Your voice was steady, but Johnny could see the way your hands twitched with nerves.
“Leo,” you said softly, brushing a hand over his sleeve, “I want to introduce you to someone.”
Johnny’s heart hammered so loud he thought the whole shop could hear it. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. And Leo, with wide curious eyes, looked up at you, then followed your gaze toward the man waiting by the window.
“Baby,” you squeezed his hand, getting his attention back. “I want you to meet a…friend.”
His eyes flicked from you to Johnny again, studying him with all the seriousness a curious five year old could muster. Leo tilted his head, eyebrows knitting.
“A friend?” he said, and Johnny almost fainted from how cute his little voice was. “From where?”
“From a long time ago,” you replied.
Leo squinted at Johnny, the way only a child could, unfiltered, curious to the bone. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he let go of your hand and marched right toward the table. You followed anxiously.
And Johnny? Johnny was toast. He forgot how to move. His heart jackhammered as the kid–his kid–stopped in front of him and just stared, unblinking, like he was scanning him for answers.
“You look like me, mommy’s friend.” Leo said matter of factly. “We have the same hair.”
Johnny panicked, and for a terrifying second he thought his legs were going to give out when he stood up from the table. He managed a shaky disbelieving laugh, crouching to meet him at eye level.
“Yeah, buddy,” he exhaled. “I guess we do.”
Leo grinned, quick and bright, satisfied with his own observation. “Cool.” Then, as if that settled everything, he spun around and tugged at your sleeve. “Can we get ice cream now, Mom?”
“Yes, baby. Let’s do that.” You nodded quickly, letting yourself be guided by his little hand to the counter.
But Johnny was frozen in his crouching position for a few seconds, blinking fast, the word Mom echoing in his head as he stared at Leo, who was already more like him than he’d ever dared to imagine.
He took a deep breath.
There was no way back from this. Only forward, into the storm.
To be continued...
Part Two will be posted these days!
Thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated and it helps a lot, so don't be shy to share your fav moments 🫶🏼
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
dededos
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
