"Bring Me to Life" is the debut single by American rockband Evanescence from their debut studio album, Fallen (2003). It was released as the album's lead single on January 13, 2003, following its inclusion in the soundtrack of the 2003 Marvel film Daredevil. Amy Lee wrote "Bring Me to Life" at age 19, after a then-acquaintance (who later became her husband) asked her if she was happy; Lee was in an abusive relationship and in turmoil, and was shocked the person saw through her facade as she felt she "was completely outwardly acting normal". "I felt like he could just see straight into my soul. That inspired the whole song", she explained. The song is about "open-mindedness" and "waking up to all the things you've been missing for so long". After the moment that inspired her to write it, she "realized that for months I'd been numb, just going through the motions of life." Guitarist Ben Moody and David Hodges share songwriting credits on the song, which includes guest vocals from Paul McCoy of the band 12 Stones.
It is stylistically a nu metal and rap rock song. In order to market it, the label forced them to add the male rapping vocal, which Lee did not want, or the song and album would not be released. The male vocal was a compromise after the label originally demanded they include a rap on eight of the songs on the album. During an interview, Lee stated: "It was presented to me as, 'You're a girl singing in a rockband, there's nothing else like that out there, nobody's going to listen to you. You need a guy to come in and sing back-up for it to be successful.'"
"Bring Me to Life" peaked within the top 10 of more than 15 countries, and within the top 20 of several other countries, making it the band's most successful single to date. It was certified triple-platinum in 2019 for selling more than three million copies in the US. It won the Grammy Award for Best Hard Rock Performance and was also nominated for Best Rock Song. At the 14th annual Billboard Music Awards, it won the award for Soundtrack Single of the Year. In 2023, Rolling Stone ranked the song at number 43 on their "100 Greatest Heavy Metal Songs of All Time" list. The song was re-worked and re-recorded on Evanescence's orchestral-electronic fourth studio album, Synthesis (2017).
"Bring Me to Life" received a total of 92,8% yes votes!
Previous Evanescence polls: #44 "Imaginary", #513 "Whisper".
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.
“From a long time ago,” you replied.
“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?”
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 skipped 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 their 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 on the box. 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 an 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.
Little extras.
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
Doxxing myself a tiny bit here‚ but… I have to share this story‚ man.
Apparently, there is a TOS museum in upstate NY, less than an hour from where I live. They had a special event weekend where Shatner was showing up, so of course I bought a ticket. I didn’t cash out for the more expensive stuff, like an autograph, a chat with him on the bridge, or the Admiral’s package that included dinner or what have you. (Partially because I’m already throwing away a lot of money for a once in a life time trip— a Star Trek cruise in February celebrating the 60th anniversary of TOS! In which Shatner will also be aboard, incidentally. And I may or may not have bought an expensive perk pass that might grant me a small gathering type event with him? The actors chosen for that aren’t determined until the week before… but anyway. Side tangent.)
Nope, I just paid for a general tour and an opportunity for a photo op. Which, as one may expect, was very quick and clinical like: alright, we gotta keep people moving, no interaction with the man beyond a quick “hello” or “thank you.” He also took the stage for an hour at a local school to essentially do some comedy and take some questions.
First of all‚ the tour? Amazing. They have a full on replica of key settings in the Enterprise. The warp room‚ sick bay, engineering‚ Captain’s quarters‚ and of course the bridge. Almost all of this was painstakingly built from scratch as most of the original set was destroyed after production stopped. Although there are a few original pieces‚ like the Medusan Ambassador and a random treasure chest that was in Kirk’s room? But it was all so legit and impressive.
And yes, I got to sit in The Chair. Could not touch any of the consoles or buttons on anything though, because the staff said they were rather fragile :(
Yet the highlight‚ for me‚ was the show. Not only because Shatner did this bit where he had audience members come up to try and explain/show what heavy metal music is‚ because I guess he got asked to do a heavy metal album recently?? And it got a little wild with the men trying (and failing) to do a good job at it. They literally tried to explain the difference between “soft” and “hard” music by saying “I love you~” to Bill before proceeding to scream it at him?! It was hilarious. The whole situation was a story in itself honestly skdjdhd.
But then, at the halfway mark, he took questions. It’s a full house‚ but I’m in the first two rows. I have a decent shot at being seen. And ultimately, I did get a chance at the mic. Bill had pointed to a guy two rows behind me, although I mistakenly thought he was pointing at me for a second. But, because the guy two rows back did get the mic‚ everyone around me was then like‚ “give the young lady the mic next!” (Which‚ ty‚ ty.)
As it turns out‚ I ended up being the last question‚ which only made what happened next all the more poignant.
Unfortunately‚ I have a habit of speaking way too goddamn fast by default‚ which manifested here‚ and I had to start over three or four times while he patiently and low key roasted me for it. But honestly? Fair.
Everyone up to this point has asked questions like: How was it like working with so and so? What was the hardest thing you had to do in your career? Standard stuff like that. Valid questions‚ but kind of typical‚ you know? So‚ May‚ you may be wondering: what exactly was your question‚ then? Well…
“Star Trek is well known for being Gene Roddenberry's vision of hope for humanity. This was a particularly poignant message during the Cold War, when nuclear war hung over everyone's head as an ever persistent possibility. Sixty years later, as a young adult in 2025, I find myself in a world where, unlike a theoretical nuclear war, the climate crisis is dawning as an inevitable and terrifying certainty. What words of wisdom do you have, either as Captain Kirk or as Bill Shatner, for younger people like me who are finding it hard to hold on to hope for a future during these times?"
And you can feel the energy in the room just. Shift. Instantly.
Bill goes on a long, sprawling answer I couldn't possibly recite here. But ultimately, it's something along the lines of, "the Earth is incredible in its ability to heal itself. It's a priceless planet. And we need to help her along.”
(I will say he kind of got off topic about like‚ microplastics and the garbage patch in the Pacific‚ which isn’t exactly what I had asked about? But eh, close enough. They’re ultimately in the same ballpark. I was just siked enough to get a chance to speak.)
My point is‚ he got really into it. Got a tad emotional, even. Not in an obvious way; it was more of a vibes kind of thing. But you could sense it.
And then at the end, as everyone clapped and just before he got off stage? He gave me a look. It said something like “I see you.”
I then had multiple people come up to me and thank me for asking such an important question and wow‚ what a powerful moment to end the show on. I couldn’t agree more. I felt so goddamn humble that I was in a sort of daze the whole trip home.
~~~
As I mentioned earlier, I just bought a photo op with Shatner. So, going into this‚ I had this funny idea, which was to:
Get the photograph from the museum photo op
Wait a few months‚ then board the cruise and sign up for an autograph session
And then cheekily hand him the photo and be like, “haha remember this?”
Which, of course he wouldn’t. I’m just a nameless face from yet another event with the fans over the past six decades. But I thought it would be funny regardless.
But now? I feel like there’s at least a chance I made an impact. At least, the moment certainly made an impact on myself, and maybe some of the other people in the room. I'm trying not to be naive enough to think I made a lasting one on Bill... but it's an enticing thought, I must admit.
I still don't think he'll really remember me when I approach him a few months from now on the cruise, but if he does... I hope it's for that. It would be pretty damn cool, anyway.
So, let it be known that on November 22, 2025, in some random town in New York… I had Bill Shatner, if not the spirit of Kirk himself, directly speaking to me about hope. And it was the most goddamn incredible experience I’ve ever had.
EDIT: Since people keep pointing it out: the town is Ticonderoga.
a fan hands rumira copies of their rpf (which they brag about being the best fanfic ever written) they wrote of them at a meet and greet and theyre understandably disturbed by it. zoey sees her girls upset and rumi having to put on a pr appropriate face while mira is holding herself back from decking the guy and says “well ill take the pr hit for this one” and straight up grabs the fan by the shoulders and says “hey :) dont fucking do that ever again :) its creepy and invasive” and then basically threatens them to not come back
she doesnt get too much of a hit bc most people agree it was weird and creepy to do that
but see, the thing is, while zoey was angry about her girlfriends being creeped on like that, shes also mildly offended that anyone could ever write the best rumira fanfic besides HER.
and she proceeds to spend WEEKS slaving over the most beautiful, most intricate, most incredible rumira fanfic ever, and posts it online anonymously. it makes the rounds, at first by people who say that its insane to write it after RPF-gate, as theyre calling it, but then by people who start to realize how genuinely amazing it is.
eventually it even catches the huntrix teams attention, and a few people on their team who read it out of curiosity go “…huh. some of those details are a little too on the nose.”
even rumi and mira themselves get alerted to it. they start to question how such a fanfic could really “capture their souls in such a way that no other writer has before”, like some people are saying, when zoey approaches them.
“ive got something to show you guys,” she says, holding something behind her back
they share a look. “what is it, zo?” rumi asks her
zoey pulls it out. its a book. its beautiful. the hardback cover is lined in gold, the design on the front breathtakingly beautiful and detailed, and the title embossed in metallic purple and pink
“what is this?” mira asks, “another one of rumis romance novels?” rumi glares at her, offended.
“in a way, yes,” zoey replies.
“wait,” rumi says, realization dawning on her, “this isnt that fanfic thats making the rounds, is it?”
mira groans. “zo, i know you like to read fanfic of us sometimes, but didnt we just have a whole thing about this? why would we want a physical print of a fanfic about us?”
zoey pouts. “i worked hard on it.”
it takes them a moment to understand her meaning, but when they do, everything makes sense.
of course this fanfic that supposedly understands them and their love for each other better than any other fanfic ever written before would be written by the one person whos borne witness to said love firsthand, whos been a part of that love herself since the beginning
who better to “capture the essence of their souls” than their literal soulmate?
they read it, and realize that people werent lying, it truly is extremely beautiful. “maybe we should have zoey make that love song album she says shes been thinking about doing,” rumi thinks.
but they can’t help but notice something that makes the whole thing…not work for them
theyre crying by the end, but it’s not just because of the ending itself being wonderful, and zoey can tell.
“whats wrong?” she asks nervously, “did you not like it? i swear i can-“
“it was amazing,” rumi sobs
“wonderful work, you wrote so wonderfully, baby,” mira’s lips and shoulders tremble.
“then why are you crying?” she asks in distress.
“because it’s missing something,” rumi says
“what?”
“you,” mira looks up at her with wet eyes. “youre not in this at all. why didnt you include yourself?”
zoey shuffles uncomfortably. “well, its a rumira story. just you two, yknow? also its weird to write about myself like that. it feels a little y/n-esque.”
rumi drags her down onto the couch between them, and mira immediately wraps herself around zoey. “well we want you in it too. you wrote an ending that seems like its supposed to be happy.”
“well, i mean, yeah you two are together at the end, of course its happy-“
mira cuts her off, grabbing her face. “how are we supposed to have a happy ending without you?”
zoey cant breathe after that. “oh.”
(cut to zoey getting her happy ending 😏 writing a sequel to her fanfic that includes herself while rumira stand over her shoulder and direct her what to put into it.
it isnt until people are singing the praises of the best rumira fanfic ever-turned-best polytrix fanfic ever that rumi and mira realize theyve just written rpf of themselves.
when the internet somehow finds out, every social media website crashes for multiple days. ao3 also crashes for several days.)
summary: tasked with watching over the late king’s daughter, joel miller finds himself confronted with feelings he believed had long since died with the rest of his past.
|| MDNI 18+ smut, angst, knight au, knight!joel miller x princess!reader, no outbreak, sarah death, grief, loss, mourning, power imbalance, this is as close to dbf i'll ever get lol, medieval au, no historical accuracy we're just having fun, f!masturbation, 'watch it grow' miller, f!receiving oral, kinda dirty talk more like praise, pinv, prone bone, spooning, no physical descriptions of reader, yes of course its corny its a knight au what do you want from me, bush lovers unite, forbidden love, possessive behavior & jealousy, kinda forced proximity, heavy drinking, drinking to cope, ptsd, joel doesnt really have a twang since ya know olde english vibes, bodyguard!joel kinda, slow burn, the smut is more like intimacy sorry I got too in my feels, virginity, tw: death by trampling (not joel or reader) ||
a/n: this is my submission for @fuzzy's knight au writing challenge with the namesake Ser Joel of the Dawn (tysm dulse!)
a/n II: a humungous thank you to @pearlessance my angel court for keeping me off the ledge throughout this entire writing process. for reading over some scenes and your reassurance, for loving me and letting me shout into the abyss over this fic. I love you down bad!!!!!
Inspiration & References: Meeting on the Turret Stairs by Frederic William Burton, Pride & Prejudice hand scene & proposal scene, Unlovely Bride by Alice Coldbreath, I listened to a lot of Charlie XCX's album for Wuthering Heights while I wrote this, title from this poem, dividers by @priestboy
wc: 23k....I am so sorry....
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
-Francis William Bourdillion
𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓃
𝓙oel wondered if he was always meant to be lonely.
Of all the things he could remember, there had always been a thread of loneliness running through him, no matter who he shared a bed with, a meal with, a child with. Even when his daughter was born—and she had been the most precious, most wondrous thing ever given to him—there had always been a churning certainty in his stomach that one day he would end up like this again. Alone.
Those among him told him he was paranoid, that he should pray and God would answer him, that He would keep her from harm. But Joel…he knew. He just knew. But he tried anyway. He prayed and prayed until his knees would ache on the stone floors of the chapel. He went to church more days than he missed back then. And yet, God had received him with nothing but pain and suffering. For his child died on his birthday, a cruel sort of curse to lay upon a man. What sin he had committed to deserve it, he could never quite say, as there had been many. He had been born a bastard, worked as a bastard, and fathered a child out of wedlock besides. What sympathy could any God bear for a man like him?
And so, he joined The Guild.
His brother had joined long before him, even though he was far younger and much more loved than Joel had ever been. Tommy had a mother and father that were wed before the Lord, had been raised by his mother's own breast and not by some wet nurse in a barn as Joel had. And yet, the brothers loved one another as if nothing of the sort ever mattered.
Tommy had always known what he wanted. It was as if he had come into the world already in pursuit of duty, reaching for his destiny of becoming a knight. From the moment he could walk and speak the boy had been possessed by talk of steel armor and winning battles. He believed, with a certainty Joel had never possessed about anything in his life, that the truest honor a man could claim in their world was to serve The Crown, to stand as a soldier of the king and fight in his name. And so the moment Tommy turned seven he began the long road toward it: first as a page, then years later as a squire, until at last, when he was one and twenty, he was made a knight of the kingdom.
Joel, on the other hand, came to it another way entirely.
Their king had always hungered for things that were not glamour or gold, but blood and power. War was his vice, and it made him cruel and demanding, a man who chased battle even when peace would have served the kingdom just as well. Campaign after campaign men were pulled from farms and workshops alike to fight his wars, to take lands that once belonged to others and plant his banner there instead, spreading the name of their kingdom across rivers and mountains and oceans.
Joel had joined when he was at his worst, his lowest, not long after Sarah had died.
Because he had became hungry too. Not for dreams of honor, nor because of anything noble— but because there was a cold, ugly pit growing inside him that was bitter and starved for a place to feed it.
At first he was nothing but another man with a sword in a line of many others. He slept on wet earth beside his comrades, ate hard bread that cracked through his molar once, shared rations of cheese with them, marched when he was told to march and killed when he was told to kill. He felt himself becoming cold and uncaring, but he did not linger on these thoughts. Some days when he caught his reflection in a stream or upon his comrades armor, warped in the curve of it, he would only see a man in silver plated steel. He never had to look himself in the eye under his visor or make sense of it before his eyes would close from exhaustion.
It was not long before he was noticed for it. Not for skill—though he had that, too—but for his willingness. He did not hesitate when orders were given, did not balk when others slowed. He stood where he was placed and saw things through to their end. That was enough.
One day, before another march upon a northern land, the king’s legion summoned him, and Joel found himself stationed not only among the king’s protection but beside the king himself. He remembered the command tent was thick with the smell of cooked meat and spilled wine, maps pinned beneath daggers along the table. Nothing like the dried meat and old bread his comrades were given in rations. But he carried out his duties there nonetheless, sharing meats and sweet fruits and mead at the king’s table, listening to the fat man speak of his battles, his victories, and the lands he had claimed. Joel would watch the grease shining along the man's beard as he tore into roasted fowl, never once imagining the day would come when he would see the king dead before his very eyes.
Because not long after, on the morning after the Battle of Black Lake, when light was just beginning to break over the ridge behind him, catching along the edge of his armor where it had been scraped and dulled, turning the metal faintly gold where it struck. And when the fog still laid low to the fields and half his comrades had fallen, Joel Miller found the man with a sword through his stomach. That was all he was, after all. A man. Laid in the mud with the same red blood as his soldiers. It pooled into the earth beneath him, giving his life source back to whence it came.
The king stirred when he saw Joel approach. His breath was shallow, his jewel-crested armor dark with blood, yet his hand still found its strength enough to reach forward, gripping at the top of Joel’s breastplate.
The battle had been won, yet Joel felt neither victory nor grief as his eyes settled upon the pale king before him. What surprised him the most, were the man's last words to him. For they were not of a battle well won in honor, nor to conquer more lands and spill the blood of new enemies.
They were simply this:
Protect my daughter, Ser Joel of the Dawn — she is the only light left for men like us.
𝒩𝑜𝓌
𝓙oel had been standing outside the council chamber doors for the better part of the morning, hands folded over each other, the metal of his gauntlet gloves creaking when he'd clench and unclench his fingers upon the pommel of his sword, the leather beneath them pulling tight across his knuckles. Every inch of him was covered in steel—from the tip of his helm to the ends of his boots, the plates fixed close through his chest and shoulders, the weight of it held in place by the straps drawn tight beneath. He preferred it this way, this life. No one could see the weariness of his gaze nor study the change in his expression, not through the narrow slit of the helm, not with his face kept where no one could reach it.
He'd been watching the light crawl slowly across the stone floor while the voices inside rose and settled in an endless, grinding clamor. The noise felt like it was gathering beneath his helm as though his skull were swelling, every word and scrape and thud ringing not within the walls of the castle but against the steel of his helmet, driving a dull pulse between his eyes. Men talked over one another, a chair dragged across the floor, the blunt thud of someone’s bejeweled knuckles striking the council table was all felt between his eyes, echoing inside the metal until it throbbed through his head like a bruise.
It had been hurting since dawn, starting as a dull ache somewhere in his temple and had growing steadily worse the longer he stood there listening to the council of old men argue through the door. He did not know what they were arguing about, nor did he care. Those things belonged to The Crown and its advisors, and Joel had long ago learned that men like him were better served staying clear of such matters.
Still, the noise had a way of burrowing into a man’s skull.
He pressed his tongue against the back of his molar where the old break still ached when the weather turned, trying to distract himself from the pounding behind his temples. They said the creation of different pains sometimes helped with fresher ones, so he probed the throbbing tooth with his tongue, the wet muscle soothing the ache only for a moment.
Then there was a crash, and Joel nearly bit off his own tongue in surprise, though he made sure not to show it. Noises began growing sharply after that, men talking louder over one another now. Soon, the posturing and snapping had turned to shouting.
And then, through the din of it all, came a shrieking, angry raised voice. Younger, feminine, and cutting through the rumble of the council men.
"ENOUGH— GET OUT!"
Several voices answered at once.
“Your Highness—”
“Princess, we must—”
“Now wait a minute—”
“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU SCHEMING LEECHES!” you shrieked, throat cracking on the final word.
Joel shifted his weight, expecting the impressive wooden doors to burst open and them to come running out, that voice scary enough to send most people running. But the noise only grew worse, voices overlapping again as the councilmen scrambled to answer you.
Your Grace this. Princess that. Calm yourself. Let us be reasonable.
Joel pressed his tongue briefly against his molar again.
His head was splitting.
And then—
“GUARD!”
Joel pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
The storm in the room hit him all at once. Voices, movement, the soft scraping of leather shoes across the stone floor as men stood. The council chamber was wide and high-ceilinged, its tall windows looking down across the city that clung to the mountainside below. Joel had sometimes wondered if those windows were meant to show the people gathered here how high above the rest of the world they stood, or perhaps to remind them that the decisions made within these walls were meant for real people and not merely the handful of old men seated around that table.
Joel walked forward steadily, his presence alone enough to quiet the room a measure as the councilmen turned toward him. They were all pale and aging things up close, their fine robes hanging loose over narrow shoulders, some with long white beards, others with thin hair clinging to spotted scalps. Several of them looked angry to see him.
"Get these men out of my sight—" you seethed.
Through the narrow split of his visor, Joel looked upon your figure. You stood hunched over the council table at its far end, shoulders tight with fury, your hands braced hard on either side of the polished mahogany. The sleeves of your pale green gown fell long past your wrists and into perfectly sewn gloves, the delicate fabric drawn smooth over your fingers as they gripped the edge of the table. He thought your nails might carve straight into the finished wood if not for the modest gloves keeping that violent touch hidden.
The men knew better than to question a direct command given to the palace guard. Grumbling among themselves about insult and mistreatment, they shuffled toward the doors in a cluster, their robes brushing the stone as they passed. One by one they filed out into the hall, Joel following close behind them.
“Knight.”
Your voice cut across the chamber just as he reached the threshold.
He stopped.
“Stay a moment. I wish to speak with you.”
Joel paused, glancing back over his steel shoulder before stepping away from the door and returning to the center of the room. Uncertainty sat heavy in his mind, though he kept his posture rigid and proper.
“You may answer me freely,” you said, watching him carefully from the end of the table as you stood straight, “but only if what you say is the truth. Do you understand?”
Joel hesitated.
Knights were not meant to speak freely in royal chambers. They spoke when commanded and little else. But a direct question from The Crown left no room for refusal.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice muffled slightly beneath the metal of his helm.
You studied him for a moment before continuing.
“You see, ser knight, I am beginning to realize,” you said slowly, “that many of the men around me never wished to see me sit this throne. I believe they had hoped I might be sent north and married off to some distant Duke instead of taking my rightful place upon the throne someday.”
Joel said nothing. He remembered the day the princess had been born well enough. The whole city had celebrated it. Bells rang from the towers, wine poured generously through the streets, and bonfires burned long into the night while men shouted blessings for the king’s new daughter.
He had been there in the crowd like anyone else then, younger and half drunk already, with young Sarah perched on his shoulders so she could see above the press of bodies. She had been all smiles and excitement as her hands held onto him, fingers threaded under his chin. They'd watched the court funded celebrations and parades that day as if they'd been meant for her alone.
The memory passed through him, but he pushed it aside as quickly as it came.
"And so," you continued, "I must weed out those who lie and wish my downfall, and I ask you, tasked with whatever purpose you have over me, do you serve me, knight? Or do you serve my father?"
“Your father is dead, Your Majesty.”
He thought maybe he should have bitten his tongue. It had been out of turn, and perhaps too terse to say aloud to a princess, but God be damned his head hurt so badly he could barely keep a hold on his rising annoyance. All he wanted was to flee back into the hallway, or better yet to his bed, though he knew it would be hours yet before he found that feather-filled mattress, and hours more before sleep would ever take him. The thought alone only stoked his ire.
But you were smiling up at him from across the room. A sarcastic sort of grin, maybe, but a smile nonetheless. He thought you looked quite nice with it plastered across your face.
"Ah,” you said softly. “Finally. Someone who speaks truth instead of riddles.”
You stepped forward, away from the table and approached him.
Joel remained perfectly still. Even though you could not see his eyes behind the visor, he lowered his gaze out of respect.
“Yes,” you sighed, stopping before him. “My father is dead.”
Your voice softened slightly as you looked at him from under your lashes.
“And I will tell you something most daughters would not admit aloud, ser. I do not mourn him.”
You glanced briefly toward the council doors, and he looked up at you, surprised by your confession.
“He loved war more than people. Power more than peace. And now I must sit the throne he bled half the world to build.”
You looked back at Joel. If you could see him, you would know he was looking directly into your eyes. The thought made his skin rise in gooseflesh.
“So I will ask you again.”
You stood far closer than propriety allowed.
“Do you serve a dead man… or do you serve me?”
He swallowed dryly, another step and the pretty soft green of your gown would brush the steel of his armor.
He cleared his throat, and did not move an inch. "I serve you, Your Majesty."
Your eyes studied him as if you could see straight through the shining armor, as if you could see how the blood pounding in his head was beginning to surge at your closeness. He had not stood this close to a woman in ages.
"Very well." you said finally. "You are dismissed."
𝓑y the time he finally lowered himself onto his mattress hours later, the silence of the chamber should have been a mercy.
Instead, his headache remained.
His armor lay in pieces beside the narrow bed, neatly arranged upon the dresser by the single window in his chambers. He stared up at the beams overhead, trying to will his mind to shut off. He had always been like this, exhausted and begging for sleep, only to scrape together no more than a few miserable hours once his eyes fell closed. The bed rustled beneath him as he pulled the wool blanket higher over his shoulder, turning for what felt like the thousandth time. The chambers given to the castle knights were modest but comfortable enough, a small room with thick stone walls and a single window that looked down onto the gravel path leading to the back garden. Better than many places he had slept over the years, truth be told.
And still, sleep would not come easily.
He rolled again, pressing his face briefly into the pillow, his skull still throbbing faintly, though it was better now without the helm clanking around his head.
Joel exhaled through his nose and turned onto his back once more.
He wished you had not gotten so close to him today. He thought maybe that was what was wrong with him, that you were imprudent, rude in your closeness, much too bold for your own good. He wondered if you had always been like that with those who served you, crowding them, pressing into their space as if rank and armor meant nothing at all.
Finally, he let out a long, low breath and pushed himself upright.
He pressed his fists into his eyes as he leaned his elbows on his knees, grinding hard enough to burst sparks of color behind his lids. Galaxies. That's what Sarah had once called them when she was little. That she could see Heaven if she rubbed her eyes hard enough.
Joel dragged his hands down his face slowly, rubbing the exhaustion deeper into this thrumming head before letting his arms fall again.
And then he looked up, out into the moonlit garden, and saw the most peculiar thing.
You were there. In your night dress. Pale silk reflecting the full moon above, bathing you in a beautiful spotlight. Your hair flowed behind you, and with one look over your shoulder, Joel knew you were up to no good. Where was your night watch? Had you climbed out your window like a child, sneaking out on your own protection?
Joel rose himself from the bed and grabbed for his armor.
𝓘t was only a few minutes or so later that he was down the narrow steps and out into the back garden, your silhouette already slipping toward the edge of the woods before he could call for you. He worried he'd wake the whole castle if he did.
So, instead, he merely followed.
He could have sworn you were barefoot. Your steps across the grass were so soft they were almost lost in the whisper of the night air, the sort of careful grace that might have been impressive if it had not been undone by everything else you were doing. Every few strides there came the faint sound of a branch catching against your sleeve, or the quick intake of breath when something in the dark surprised you. Once your hand reached out toward a low limb only for the brittle thing to snap in your grip. Joel followed the sounds easily enough, even when the pale color of your dress hid from his view.
He found himself faintly amazed that you had not yet heard him, though the armor was never as quiet as a man hoped it would be. There was always some small complaint of metal when he moved, the faint shift of plates settling against one another as he stepped over the uneven ground. Yet you pressed on ahead of him without so much as glancing back, as though the woods belonged entirely to you and the castle behind you had already been forgotten.
When he reached a fallen log in the path he caught the trunk of a tree to steady himself, swinging one leg over it before realizing the bark was rough against his palm.
He had forgotten his gloves.
His hand stayed there for a moment against the damp wood before he moved on again, watching the pale drift of your gown further ahead as it slipped deeper into the trees.
And just when you'd reached the darkest part of the wood, where no moon could shine through the top canopy, he called out: "Your Majesty—".
Your gasp rented the air as you swiveled on the spot.
“Oh!” you startled, your hand flying to your chest. “It is… one of you.”
“My Lady,” he answered.
“Ah. My knight of truth.” You sighed, recognizing his voice. A small, embarrassed laugh escaped you. “And what would you have of me at this hour?”
Joel turned his head this way and that, faintly bemused by the question.
“Where are you going?” he asked instead of answering, and though knew well enough it was not his place to question a princess, nor any soul above his station, the words left him all the same. Perhaps the woods would keep the trespass between them.
You glanced up at him beneath your lashes, catching his misstep at once.
“I told you, good knight,” you said lightly, raising your chin, “I grow weary of those who lie to me within the walls of my own castle. Tell me the truth—did you overhear of what they wished of me today?”
Joel studied you for a moment. You were the strangest woman he had ever encountered. Noble ladies did not question knights, much less tease them as though they were companions in some private jest, yet you seemed to expect him to answer you all the same.
“I—Your Majesty—”
“You must not call me that, ser knight,” you interrupted. “I am no queen yet.”
“Yes, Your—” He cleared his throat, suddenly unsure how to finish.
You gave him your name.
“Your Grace,” he settled on instead. While your name rose easily enough to his mind, it did not feel like something meant to pass his lips. “I don't think—”
“You may call me that when we stand before others,” you said simply. “When it is only the two of us, you will use my name.”
Joel hesitated a moment, then inclined his head, and brought his hand up to hold the neck of his breastplate in amused wait.
The two of you stood there a moment while the crickets resumed their thin singing in the dark. Joel found himself grateful for the armor then, grateful for the way it hid the direction of his gaze as it wandered briefly down the line of your figure.
“I am going to town,” you said at last, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Joel spluttered, dropping his hand from its casual placement, "You jest!"
"I most certainly do not."
"Your Grace, you must at least wait until morning."
“Is that an order, ser?”
He paused.
“At least wait until first light,” he said carefully. “It will be safer then. And…” He stopped himself, knowing he ought not press further in case he deeply offended you.
“And?” you prompted.
“And perhaps… not in palace silks,” he finished. “If you mean to go unnoticed.”
You looked down upon your form, "What is wrong with my clothes?"
"Nothing, they're very fine, Your Grace," he hurried to say, and he could hear his voice echoing in the din of his helmet as he tried to correct himself. "Only—if you wish to not be spotted as I had so easily, silk draws the eye. If you wore something more common, we might pass through the town without notice. So you may see it in its true form.”
"So it is a we, now?" you teased.
"I would insist you must not go alone." he said very seriously.
You considered that for a moment.
“Very well.”
Joel gave a quiet grunt, his shoulders falling in relief.
“You shall take me at first light,” you declared. “We will walk to town together.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
You sighed, and the silence stretched too long between you, and finally you gestured faintly toward the castle rising dark above the trees.
“You may escort me back.”
Joel turned and opened his palm, motioning toward the narrow path that wound back up through to the garden.
You passed him as you stepped forward, so close he had to hold his breath.He could not bear to know the scent of you—whatever oils or soaps you might have used, whatever warmth lingered on skin after a bath taken late in the evening. He did not know why the thought troubled him so much, only that it did, and that it would be wiser not to learn it.
Joel followed a pace behind you the rest of the way, saying little more as the path carried the two of you back toward the looming shape of the castle. He was not sure what else to say to you, nor if he should say anything at all. You had asked him questions before as though he were meant to answer them, as though he were something other than a man set to guard your door, and the memory of it sat uneasy in him now. He thought, briefly, of asking what had set you off so, what had driven you from the castle and into the woods alone in the middle of the night, but the thought soured on his tongue before it could escape his lips. It was not his place. It would never be his place. In the end, he kept his silence, holding to it as a rule long learned and rarely broken.
When you reached the base of the stairs, you paused there, gathering the skirts of your night dress in one hand while the other lifted slightly for balance, though there was nothing for you to take hold of to steady you.
Without thinking, Joel reached out and took your hand.
It was such a simple thing, accompanying a woman such as yourself up a set of stairs, and yet… there was something immediately jarring to him. Your hand was so soft, so delicate and supple in his calloused and scarred palm. Your skin was unmarked by blade or labor, as though it had never known anything harsher than silk gowns and water warmed for you. His hold swallowed your fingers as he guided you up the stairs, standing beside the stone pathway up to your chambers.
And he watched as you looked down at your hand in his, surprise written across your face, for neither of you wore gloves.
“Sleep well, princess,” he said quietly , and you looked back up toward the steel of his helm, and he could have sworn, just for a moment, that you had found his gaze somewhere behind the narrow slit of the visor.
He let go and made his leave, scarcely aware of the passing sconces lighting his way, nor the turns he took to find his bed. His skin prickled as though brushed by nettles, and he flexed his hand to rid himself of the feeling, but failed.
𝓙oel had a terrible suspicion he might be in over his head.
His head, which, by God’s mercy, had finally ceased its throbbing.
By the time he stood in the courtyard, the sun had only just begun to crest over the distant hills, its light still pale and cold where it touched the stone. The castle was quieter at that hour, the usual movement of servants not yet in full swing. Only the stable boys were at work, a few housekeepers beginning their morning cooking that would go uneaten by the lady of the house. But the air still held that brief, suspended stillness before the day truly began.
He had thought, perhaps, that you would not come. That you might have changed your mind come morning. It would have made sense, and he would have understood if it had only been some passing craving of the night, your senses returned to you after a few hours’ rest.
But then, without warning, his attention was drawn to the edge of the courtyard.
You were making your way down the side steps into the garden, your gown no longer pale and clinging as it had been the night before, but changed now for something simpler. Still, it was finer than anything worn beyond those walls. It sat upon you too well, drawn in at your waist and looser at the hips, carefully made in a way that would draw the eye regardless of your intent. Though, he wondered if it was really the dress at all that was the problem.
And your hands were covered by gloves now, hiding whatever softness hid beneath. A more casual glove, leather and made for riding, he supposed, something a princess like you would be doing on a casual day out of her room.
You must've sensed him there, for when you looked up it was more out of instinct or habit than regard, but when your gaze fell onto him, he was surprised to see a smile spread across your face. You came toward him with measured steps, quieter now, tempered where you had been bold the night before, and yet there remained something in your expression—a glint?—as though the two of you shared some small, unspoken joke.
"My Lady," he greeted, and he was smiling, though glad you couldn't tell as his helmet covered everything from view.
“And how do you think I look today, ser?” you asked, dipping into a small curtsy.
He nodded once, clearing his throat. “You look… well.”
You gave a soft scoff, something amused in it. “You are not a man of many words, are you?”
He tilted his helmed head down at you, uncertain what answer you expected of him. You would have no shortage of men eager to praise you, he thought, men of better birth and smoother tongues, and whatever he might say would hardly measure beside them.
“How far is it into town?” you asked, turning as you began to walk.
"Not far, Your Grace," he said, gesturing to the path before them. "Only a half an hour's walk."
Your shoes, now leather laced and practical to protect your soles, found the gravel easily as you fell into step beside him.
He was aware of the space between you in a way he had not been before, aware of how easily you seemed to ignore it, how little regard you held for the careful boundaries others kept. He maintained it all the same as the two of you made your way toward the gates.
The guards straightened when you approached, though not quickly enough to hide the surprise that flickered across their faces. Joel gave the word before either of them could speak, and the gates were drawn open without question, the heavy wood groaning as it gave way.
Beyond it, the path sloped downward toward the town.
The morning had begun in earnest there. He could see the smoke curling from chimneys, the smell of bread and ash carried faintly on the air, and the slow stir of people already at their work spread through the narrow streets. It was not crowded yet, not the way it would be by midday, but there were enough bodies moving through it that a stranger might pass without much notice.
You stepped ahead of him without hesitation, and he let you lead the way. After all, he was very curious about what made you want to come to such a place. He was glad you had not expected him to speak to you as you meandered through the town thirty minutes later. Even dressed as you were, there was no mistaking you. It was not the gown, as he'd thought earlier, but the way you held yourself, how you clasped your hands gently at your navel and held your head high, as if balancing a pile of books atop it. You were not hunched over like the women selling her fish monger husband's catch as she picked the bones out of the filets, nor letting your hands drift over soft cloth as the younger women did. Many people glanced your way, a double take from one man, a woman letting her jaw fall open. Did they recognize you? Did they know who was in their midst? Joel thought he probably was no help, a knight in your wake, a hand on his sword as you walked in front of him. Though you did not seem to mind.
If anything, you seemed to lean into the surroundings, the town you would soon rule, slowing here and there to look at things that would be commonplace for others. You leaned down to inspect a cart of apples, still dusted with the fresh earth of morning harvest. You said good morning to a woman hanging linens from a line strung between two narrow buildings, watching them all as though each were something worth seeing. He wondered for a moment what his world looked like through your eyes. Or rather, the world he knew before the war.
He knew you'd been to town before, but never this part. Because he'd seen you at the tourneys seated beside your father, composed into something polite, but distant. You had been beautiful then, yes, any man with eyes could've seen you as such, but there had been nothing in your appearances that asked for more than a glance at your beauty. He thought you must be dull, fed on a spoon made of silver all your life.
He knew now that he'd been wrong. He knew it from that moment in the council room.
You came upon a small baker’s stall which was modest, though he had arranged it with care, rows of small pastries set out diligently, their tops glossed with cream or honey, fruit peeking through split seams of dough. The morning rays of sunlight glistening on the sticky glaze, making them shine indulgently next to the more fairly priced breads he sold.
“Good morning, sir,” you said, your voice bright as you gestured toward a cluster of the cream-topped pastries. “Might I ask what these are?”
The baker, a round man with flour still dusted along his sleeves, straightened a touch at the attention. “Sweet cakes, miss. Fruit within, icing on top. A rare treat, if I may say.”
Joel stood just behind your shoulder, saying nothing, though his gaze lingered over the display with a narrowing he could not quite help. Too much sugar for his tastes.
You nodded, already reaching for your coin.
“I will take one, please," you said as sweet as the sugary bakes.
Without meaning to, Joel clicked his teeth softly at the sight of it all, the sound slipping out under his breath before he could stop himself, and you turned toward him at once, catching it despite the busy noise of the street.
“Oh?” you said, and there was a note there now, curious, a little amused. “Have you a better thought, good knight? Or do you find fault with my choosing?”
He held still a moment, then shifted his weight, aware all at once of how close you stood, of how easily you had marked him. “You would break your fast on sugar alone, My Lady?”
You smiled at that, not offended in the least, if anything a touch more entertained. “And what would you have me take instead?”
He sighed, shaking his head.
“Go on,” you pressed lightly, tilting your head. “You have already judged me for it. You may as well finish the thought.”
He exhaled through his nose, faintly annoyed with himself for being pulled into it at all. “Gingerbread —if I wanted something sweet,” he said at last.
You turned back at once, as though that settled it entirely. “Then we shall have one of those as well.”
“No,” he started, sharper than he meant, “that is not—”
“Tis but thanks,” you said, easy as anything, waving him off as you pressed coin into the baker’s waiting hand. “For your guidance.”
He quieted the protest that sat on his lips as the baker passed the goods across the table, wrapping them in a scrap of paper binding.
You accepted both, then turned, holding the gingerbread out toward him without hesitation.
He did not take it.
You waited a beat, then another, your brows drawing just slightly. “What is it?”
“I cannot eat with this on,” he said, lifting a hand vaguely toward the helm.
“Then remove it.”
He nearly choked on the air he drew in. “My Lady—”
"Do not call me that," you said, flickering your eyes around, "you are terrible at following orders, like a stubborn old dog, you are."
He felt something like heat climb the back of his neck at that, irritation or something near it. “It's not so simple—”
“You are to call me by my name,” you went on, as though he had not spoken at all, as though the matter were already decided. "Say it now, so I know your memory is intact."
He whispered it. There was something that felt heavy on the tongue even as quiet as he said it. It sounded as if it echoed in the steel of his helmet. And yet you brightened at once, as though it was worthy of praise.
“Better,” you said, pleased. “Now take the gingerbread I have so kindly purchased for you, and eat.”
He looked at you a long moment through the narrow slit of his helm, measuring, perhaps, or simply trying to understand what manner of woman spoke so freely to a man she scarcely knew, or rather, what sort of princess wandered a market and bartered sweets like a common girl.
Bossy little thing, he thought, not without a trace of reluctant amusement.
Still, he took the cookie from you, and noticed how you did not look away as his opposite hand came to the front of his helmet.
“Come, then,” you said, lifting your own pastry. “We ought to share in it, should we not?”
Before he could answer, you tapped your sweet cream tart lightly against the edge of his gingerbread, the soft icing smearing against the darker surface, and took a bite with quiet satisfaction.
He hesitated only a moment longer before shifting the helm just enough to free his mouth, the movement careful and practiced over many hours within in the metal shell, revealing no more than necessary. He brought the gingerbread up and bit into it, the hearty spice hitting first, and then the sweetness of the cream from your tart that stuck to the side following after in a way he was surprised to enjoy.
He became aware, then, of your gaze fixed upon him, your eyes glued to the line of his jaw where it had been briefly revealed, catching what little they could before he settled the helm back into place as he chewed. He wondered what you thought about it as your eyes found his bearded face instead of the smooth, shaved skin that most men bore. It was not something he should be weighing—what you thought of him at all, that is— and he set his mind straight again as the moment passed.
You watched him for a heartbeat longer, something seemingly pleased in your expression, before you turned away as though nothing at all had passed between you, already stepping back into the current of the market.
Joel stayed close behind you for the next hour or so as you slowly ate away at the pastry in your hand, as if you meant to stretch it for as long as it would last, each bite taken with the same quiet attention, your steps wandering without aim through the streets while he remained fixed at your back, his gaze moving far less freely than yours ever did.
As you watched the people in their daily lives—a woman leaning from an upper window to shake out a rug so that dust lifted and drifted down in a fine, chalky cloud, a dog nosing at a heap of refuse in the gutter with ribs showing through its hide— Joel kept his eyes moving from face to face, from doorway to doorway, to the narrow breaks between buildings where a man might slip through unseen, his gloved fingers shifting rested steady at the pommel of his sword. Every now and then, he would reach his hand out to stop a passerby from brushing up against you too strongly, to course correct you before you stepped into a pile of horse manure in the road. Always gentle, brushing touches of his gloved hand against your soft silks at your arm.
And then you stopped so quickly he almost collided with you at the edge of the street where the cobbles beneath your feet gave way to a worn strip of packed dirt, your shoulders turning toward something low along the ground with a kind of quiet certainty that drew his attention just as quickly.
Joel followed the line of your sight and found a boy curled in against the base of a wall where the rough stone was marred with time and neglect. The child's were clothes little more than rags stitched together in patches, the hem of his shirt dress hanging past his knees and darkened with old dirt, his bare feet blackened from the road. He had his hands cupped loosely in his lap, not even holding a proper bowl, his eyes lowered as though he had learned already what it meant to be passed by without notice.
Joel had seen a hundred like him—children turned out into the streets while their families worked elsewhere in the city, sent to gather what coin they could from strangers. Most of their parents worked long hours in the fields, the riverbeds.
You stepped toward the boy then.
“My La—” Joel started, the warning there on his tongue, but you were already gathering your skirt in your hands so you might lower yourself, the fabric brushing the dirt as you knelt before the boy.
“Hello,” you said gently, and the boy’s head lifted, wide blue eyes flickering up at the first voice that had chosen to stop for him.
He said nothing, though his hands closed tighter in his lap, drawing closer to his chest as though unsure what to do with them now that he had been seen.
“Are you hungry?” you asked, your head tilting just slightly as you held out the partially-eaten pastry toward him.
The boy eyed it warily, but eventually, he nodded just the once.
"Where are your parents?" you asked.
His eyes flicked then, quickly moving between you and Joel, then widening at the sight of his steel-clad figure standing just behind you, and still he did not answer. When his gaze returned to you, it did not settle on your face, but on the pastry in your hand.
The boy reached out at last, small fingers darting forward to take what you offered, and then, quicker than Joel could blink, the boy was on his feet and running.
He nearly made a comment of typical beggar children, to not expect much of them, but you were back on your feet within a second and following the child.
"Wait—!" you called.
Joel felt a cold rush of panic strike through him at once as he lurched after you, his gaze catching the swing of your hair and the pull of your dress as you vanished around the stone corner. He made after you immediately, but you were quick footed and the boy even more so. He lost sight of you almost as soon as you whipped around the building.
The sound of his boots hitting the dirt path, the heavy breath within his helm, the sudden panic making his skin break out in a cold sweat— it all forced memories to flood him as fierce as the fear. Strong, cruel memories. It was as if he turned the corner and stepped into another world, into his own worst nightmares that came to him at night. Back to when the city had turned on itself with fear of sickness, people pouring into streets with carts and bundles of whatever they could carry to just get out and away.
His little girl's hand in his, running through the city as the residents feared for their lives and their loved ones, the sickness forcing people to decide to flee or stay, angry people and sicker ones, forming forceful packs around doctor's homes and bakeries and kitchens. Starvation, thirst, fear— it made people insane. He'd let go, or maybe she had. All he knew was her tiny, sweating fingers slid from his and she was lost in the crowd, and he was throwing himself between people, following the top of her little blonde head, until he couldn't see it anymore. She'd gotten caught in the crowd, pulled this way and that, and people shoved past without looking or stopping.
And he hadn't reached her in time when she went down. He didn't see her for what felt like hours but was only a few minutes… until he came upon her—blood blonde now, red, trampled—oh, god, the memories, the memories. Of screams and fear and—
It all pressed in on him as he ran after you, filling his chest until it hurt, dragging in shaky breath, his body moving harder through the alley as he took the next corner without slowing, his shoulder catching stone as he forced himself through. His eyes searched ahead for you and finding nothing but another stretch of passage where you had already disappeared.
But those weren’t the screams he was hearing now, though the fear of losing you in a crowd still stifled the breath in his lungs as he took yet another corner, his body braced for the same sight he had come upon once before.
Because the next corner he turned, his eyes didn’t descend onto a bloody blonde head in the dirt at his feet, but upon you in the center of a courtyard.
And the sound of the voices was not screaming or terrified or hungry, but of joy—laughter.
Children, all huddled around you, blushing and touching your pretty dress as you laughed with them.
As Joel caught his breath at the corner of the courtyard, you looked up at him with a beaming smile, though there was something else there, something he had not quite noticed before, a faint pull beneath it that did not match the brightness of the moment. He couldn't say exactly what it was, only that he saw a sadness behind your eyes, even as you turned back to the children, as though the fleeting glee of it all did not come without cost.
His mind struggled to settle, still caught between what had been and what was in front of him now, the memories clinging where they didn't belong, until the present forced itself back in with the sound of a door opening along the courtyard wall. A woman stepped out to greet you, older, thinning, with a worn apron tied around her narrow frame. The children gathered to her at once and clinging to her skirts with familiarity. She smiled as she took you in, her voice warm.
He caught pieces of the conversation as he approached.
“The coin does come every month, M’Lady, and we are grateful,” the woman assured, though her eyes stayed lowered, her hands wringing together at her waist.
So you’d told her who you were. Or maybe it was not something easily hidden, as he'd known from the start of the morning. Not when your silks were fine, your hair brushed, your skin untouched by labor.
Joel couldn't hear what you said, only that you murmured something gentle to her, your hand resting atop her knuckles. Coaxing, reassuring.
“It's just…" she hesitated, her eyes glancing between her hands and your face before she went on with a sigh, "Sometimes it is stretched thin before it even reaches the children. On rent for the house, for the water, ere we may even fetch loaves from the baker,” she said, her voice dipping with it, “There are many days we can scarcely get enough to feed them all. Often we are turning children away, for we cannot house nor feed them with what we are given.”
There was still a gratefulness in it as she went on, careful in her telling, as though she feared you might take even that from them. But you listened as though each word settled within you, your attention fixed on her in such a way Joel had not seen you give a single one of the men in the council chamber.
By the time he reached your side, his breathing had settled completely, only to catch again when your hand wrapped itself around his steel arm, and for a moment he wished he did not wear the armor at all.
He would tell you later how selfish it was to run off like that on him, how irresponsible. Though… he would not tell you how much it had frightened him, nor why, but he hoped you might come to understand that a woman such as you should not be so rash.
But for now, he would walk you back to your tower, your hand still wrapped around his arm, and know he would not stop you from doing it again.
𝓘t was the anniversary of Sarah's death the following day.
Joel had known he would not be able to forget it, not ever. And not when Tommy had come by his narrow barracks that morning to give him a slice of pie from the kitchens. Joel did not ask how he had gotten it, nor did he offer any thanks. He could not bear to blow out the little candle set atop it either. Tommy knew too, knew better after all, so he only set the dish down on Joel’s side table and let the man be.
"Happy birthday, brother," he said gently before shutting the door behind him.
𝓗is post that day was uneventful, and Joel was grateful for it. You had been kept in meetings with your closest secretary, a man with a beard that fell well past his chest, and the council chamber doors had remained shut for hours on end, your voice only ever reaching him in low murmurs through the wood. By the time his shift was over and the next guard came to take his place, he had not seen you once.
Joel could not bear to stand sober one moment longer.
He made for the town a few hours later.
No armor now, as it drew too much notice in the streets, though he felt the lack of it more keenly than he had in some time, his shoulders set without its weight, his hands left empty where steel might have steadied them. Most of The Guild knew his story, or enough of it, and he had no mind to spend the night among them either.
By dusk the stone lanes had quieted their usual clammer of life. Lantern light pooled on iron hooks, yeast and hearth smoke thickening the air while families huddled in their homes. Joel kept his head down as he moved through it all, not just for fear of being recognized or known, but for lack of wanting to be seen at all.
By the time he reached the tavern, night had settled in full and the place was crowded, the door swinging open and shut in turns as folk pushed through it, the inside warm with closeness of bodies, voices raised over one another, the scrape of stools and benches against the floor, the smell of ale and roasted meat and sweat worked deep into the room itself. A boy moved between the tables with a platter of trenchers stacked with coarse bread and slices of salt pork. Another man tore into a heel of cheese with his hands while coin clinked against the bar.
Joel pressed his tongue into his back molar again, making his jaw throb.
He didn't linger at the door, but made his way through the crowd and for the counter. As he sat on a free stool at the end, he set his coin down and took the ale as it was given in return without word, the tankard still damp where it had been rinsed, foam spilling over the rim as he lifted it to his lips. He drank it down in long swigs, hardly stopping for breath.
All he had done all day was be left to his thoughts, and they had not left him in kind. He planned to drink until they were gone from him.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dragging the foam from his lip, and as his hand fell away, his gaze lifted without thought, catching on a shape to his right that had not been there a moment before, or had been and he had not seen it. A hooded figure sat at the bar beside him.
This was not so unheard of, most of all after sundown, when families turned in and the street changed hands to those with coin to spend and reason to hide.
Joel lifted a hand to the barmaid for another ale, holding it there a moment, two, waiting for her to look his way, but she did not, slipping past him again and again with her tray tilted against her hip. She was laughing raucously at something one of the men shouted while she set down the emptied pints. Finally, with her cheeks pink and smile wide, she made her way back at last, her pace slowing as she reached him.
“Hungry for somethin’, dear?” she asked.
“Ale,” he said, pushing more coin across the wood.
“You sure? Ought to put somethin’ on your stomach.”
“Make it two ales, then,” he grumbled.
He did not miss the way the cloaked figure beside him nearly leapt out of their seat, nor the pair of eyes that peered out from beneath the hood’s hem.
He clenched his jaw hard as he turned to stare into that gaze.
The barmaid only looked between him and the figure, her hand still wrapped round the handles of the pints before took them to be refilled. She soon was back, setting them down with a dull knock against the counter. They sloshed as they hit the wood, and Joel watched her from the corner of his eye as she asked the figure a question.
"Anythin' for ya?"
They shook their head quickly before the barmaid turned away.
Only when he reached for the first ale did his eyes flit away, his hand closing around the tankard. He drank deep, set the empty pint back down, and took hold of his third pint at once, his head beginning to feel lighter now, his shoulders easing by an inch beneath his tunic.
Finally.
He tipped the ale back and swallowed hard, and when he set it down again with the heart of his palm, the seat beside him had emptied.
His feet almost slipping underneath him and his head full of that fuzzy cotton lightness, he rose from his stool and headed for the door.
As he breached the threshold and saw the tip of the cloak whipping around the corner, he moved quickly and caught it in his fist, hauling the figure back into his chest. He could smell lavender, and something else—clean and fresh like spring's first breath after a harsh winter.
"Who do I have to fucking throttle for the fact you're all alone here, My Lady?"
You twisted in his arms and pushed him back, throwing yourself away. The hood atop your head fell as your spine hit the stone wall, only the light of a sliver of moon reflecting in your eyes—your pretty eyes. He was crowding you in an instant. Your gaze flashed up at him with more temper than fear, and you twisted under him with sharp little huffs of breath until he drove into you harder, his pelvis knocking your left hipbone against the wall, your thigh caught between his legs and held there.
“Unhand me, you brute,” you hissed, voice low and conspiratorial.
But Joel could already see, if only his mind's eye, whichever bastard had let you slip by—with a face all black and blue beneath his fists, because this had happened once before and that had already been once too many. Whoever had let you slip out of the keep again wanted their teeth scattered in the dirt by his hand.
“Who have you been sneaking past, Your Majesty?”
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“And I told you not to go into town alone.”
Your chin tipped up another inch. “You knew me at once, did you?”
He looked down at you, his hand still bunched in your cloak, the other braced beside your head against the wall. “You nearly jumped out of your skin when I spoke.”
“You startled me.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“That must be why you were staring holes through the side of my face.”
Your mouth pressed tight, though he could see the answer in it before you gave it. A note of amusement made your lips curl, and it made his head even fuzzier.
“You are not so difficult to know, Ser." you said, false confidence making your voice clear, "You are my knight of Truth. I know your voice by now. I know your bearded face as well.”
His grip shifted at that, for he knew for a fact you had not seen more than a prickle of his beard the day prior. His knuckles brushed your shoulder beneath the cloak. “Now who tells lies?”
You gave him a look then, one that ought to have been cutting and yet lingered too long to do the work of it. “Would you have me say I mistook you for some other ill-tempered ox in the dark?”
Joel let out a breath through his nose. “Ill-tempered.”
“You have me cornered in an alley.”
“If I had not stopped you, I could not be sure you'd—.” he stopped himself. His tongue was made loose by ale. "You cannot be out in the dark alone, Your Grace."
“I am not alone, I am in an alley with you.”
His mouth twitched before he could stop it. There was scarcely any room between you now. The stone held you at the back and he held you at the front, and all at once the anger had begun to fray at the edges, turning into something less fit for shouting. It sat low in his belly, and had his blood boiling for entirely other reasons. He could feel your breath touch his mouth when you spoke again when he remained silent.
“You forget yourself.”
The words should have struck him. In his right mind, he'd pull away now. He'd never get this close to begin with. Instead the words landed between the two of you with that same false temper, because your eyes had changed as you said it, and your body gave a small shift against his that did nothing at all to get free. Rather, your back slid down the wall a few inches so you could sit yourself perfectly on his knee.
Joel leaned in close enough that the tip of his nose nearly brushed yours. “That would be easier if you looked half so offended as you sound.”
That silenced you for a beat as your fingers, which had been caught between your bodies, found the front of his tunic and closed.
“I am telling you,” you whispered, though your chin lifted, "that your manner is vile.”
“Aye,” he said, looking at your mouth now.
He heard the catch of your breath and hated that he knew he'd harvest that sweet sound in his mind for safe keeping. Hated more that the ale in his blood had made him bold enough to keep you there and stupid enough to enjoy it. Distantly, he felt your warm hand where it stayed twisted in his tunic pull him infinitesimally closer. His thumb had slipped beneath the edge of your cloak and found the warmer cloth beneath, the finer weave fit for a woman like you, and that alone felt like too much. It reminded him: a knight did not lay hands on his princess in some narrow alley behind a tavern. A knight did not crowd her with his mouth half parted and his head gone warm with drink. If anyone had seen, he would have been dragged to the square by dawn and hanged for it.
Then a tavern door slammed somewhere beyond the mouth of the alley, followed by the spill of drunken voices and rough laughter, and his thoughts snapped like a castle bolt locked back into place.
He uncurled his hand from your cloak, let your weight slip from his knee as he straightened his leg, and stood back from you, shoulders drawing square again beneath his garb.
"I must see you back to your chambers now, My Lady."
He ignored the way your body slumped at the loss of him, the way the heat in your eyes guttered when the night air moved between you.
“All I came for was one night of freedom,” you said softly, your gaze dropping. It was near worse, that softer voice of yours. Worse than the wit, worse than the quick little barbs you liked to set between the two of you.
“So did I,” he said, “and yet.”
Your eyes lifted back to him then, taking in his face with a look so openly it made him shiver. As though you knew there would not be another time for this. To see him plain, uncovered—no helm, no steel, no dark visor to hide behind. Only the man himself, rough and graying and a little drunk. He set his face back into something blank and gave you nothing he did not mean to.
"And yet," you echoed.
Your gaze continued to wander over him as you said it, from his eyes to the old scar that cut across the bridge of his nose, down to his beard gone silver in places now, then up again to the thick disarray of his hair where his hands had been pushed through one too many times that night. He wanted you to stop looking. Wanted it because he did not know what sat on his face when you looked at him so. Wanted it because some part of him feared he did not want it to end.
“Why do we not make the most of this night, then?” you asked, and when his eyes found yours again, that spark of amusement had returned.
"I think not." he said plainly.
“Why?" You stepped nearer as you said it, the edge of your leather shoe toeing the front of his boot. "Would you have me wither away in my room like the rest of them? Am I not allowed one night’s freedom in my own kingdom? Am I not allowed to steal a kiss from a handsome man in some dark alley?”
Joel ground down on his jaw until his teeth creaked. Yes, it was a compliment. Yes, it made his blood flame again, his cheeks redden, his groin tighten with even the fleeting thought of your lips on his. But—
“A princess does not kiss knights,” he said plainly, his voice flat, hiding his thoughts. His eyes squeezed shut a moment before he looked back at you from under his brow. “A princess kisses lords. Marries princes—such will be the way of things for you.”
Your expression darkened in an instant.
“And here I thought, all this while,” you said, drawing yourself up straight, stock still now, your voice cold, “that you were a knight of truth. Yet I see you lie like the rest of them.”
Joel's eyes narrowed, not understanding.
“I asked you the other night whether you heard what those men asked of me in council. You did not answer. I took that silence for ignorance.” Your mouth sharpened with every word. “Yet here you stand, proving you knew well enough. They mean to sell me off. They say I cannot rule because I am a woman. That I must have a man at my side to take The Crown.”
Your words were venom now, the poison filling your mouth, spitting like a snake.
“I trusted you to—”
“You should not trust anyone, My Lady,” he cut in seriously. “Not in that keep. Not among men. Especially not where your future is concerned.”
Your eyes flashed.
“And it is not my fault,” he went on, “that I will not take you up on this mad offer of yours. It is not on me to steal your first kiss in a reeking alley with ale on my breath. I am only a knight, and you, you are—”
“I am a woman,” you snapped. “A woman asking a man to kiss her, to make this night bearable, for God’s sake!”
“The only thing happening tonight is that you are going back to your chambers,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Which is a kinder end than what might have befallen you had you sat beside any other man in that tavern.”
You glared at him.
He glared back.
And yet.
Still the heat in him did not ease. It ran under his skin, restless, mean, his blood beating hard with it. Want sat in him like a fever. As did anger. And something worse, something dangerously like grief.
“I am to take The Crown,” you said, voice plain and authoritative suddenly. Your shoulders squared beneath the cloak. The alley seemed to narrow around you, stone and shadow and the thin wash of moonlight caught along the trim at your throat.
“I shall rule this kingdom,” you went on, “and I am giving you an order. For you to disobey would be a stain upon your honor, your code, the very first law your Guild ever taught you. Do you understand, ser?”
Joel felt then like some damned hound brought to heel. Standing there before you with his hands empty, waiting for your word. He hated that you were right, that obedience had been hammered into him so long ago it lived in his bones now, deeper than drink, deeper than want.
"Tell me your name."
"Joel."
"Tell me your title, your entire name."
"Joel Miller." he swallowed against the knot in his throat, straightening to his full height, "Ser Joel of the Dawn, My Lady."
"Joel Miller." you said.
The air around the two of you held very still suddenly. The sound of his name in your mouth, not his title, the name bestowed upon him with the king's dying breath, but the name his mother gave him. The name of his father. His mind felt thick with the unknown, the ale making it fuzzier, but a sudden clarity to him as he watched your tongue swipe out to wet your bottom lip.
He suddenly had the wild thought that whatever words left your lips would set the course for everything after. That there was still, even now, a ledge beneath his feet. One he was not ready to step off from.
Then you looked at him and said, quiet as a prayer and twice as perilous—
“I order you to kiss me, Joel Miller.”
He heard your breath stop when he wet his own lips without thought. What in God’s name was he meant to do with that? Refuse a direct order from the very person he had sworn his obedience to, his life to, when he had bent the knee and sworn his life to The Crown itself? And here you were, standing before him, with all the force of it.
So, he did as he was bid—though his mind screamed for him to cease all movement—and leaned forward.
He did not touch you. One hand braced against the wall beside your head, sore already from the stone biting into the meat of his palm, the other held in a tight fist at his side. He bent his face down to yours, but did not close his eyes. If this was to be done, and done only once, then he would keep all of it. Every flicker in your gaze. Every small movement. Every catch in your breath.
The touch of his lips to yours was light enough to scarce be called a kiss at all, more ghost than man, feather-light. And the second his mouth met yours, he was drawing back again.
"If there is nothing else, Your Grace." he murmured, his voice low and rough as if the screaming in his head had been real, "We must be getting back."
You sighed then, and for a moment you looked terribly young in your disappointment, almost childish with your eyes lowered so plainly and your heart worn there for him to see. It made him curse himself all the more bitterly, because there was nothing childish in what he felt at the sight of it.
"No," you said, "there is nothing else."
𝓙oel’s head was hurting again.
He truly needed to lay off the ale, even on nights like the last, when all he wanted was to blur the world away. He was not sure whether his misery came from drink or lack of sleep, of which he had barely gotten any once he had seen you back to your chambers. He had held your hand up the same way as the night before, the only words exchanged between the two of you was a promise to not kill the night watch for his carelessness. He had dismissed the man all the same and taken his place for a few hours, standing there until he heard your snoring through the door and saw the first wash of morning creep across the hallway window.
And now he stood outside the council chamber doors once again, stifling yawns inside his helm.
You were late today, though the chamber was hardly quiet for it, voices rising over one another beyond the doors while the sound of trenchers, cups, and serving platters carried through the wood. Whatever had been laid out for breaking fast, it was enough for a crowd, and the room had the full swell of it, men talking over one another in easy spirits while chairs scraped and laughter broke out now and again between the louder voices.
Joel wondered if you'd been sleeping off the same humiliation he had spent the night trying to fight off. He felt stupid, ashamed—most of all, cowardly. Yet even with all of that souring his gut, he knew he had done right by the end, even if he was far too brazen to begin with. He was a lowly knight, and no man such as him had any business kissing a woman of your station in some back alley, no matter that you had stolen out of your tower and asked it of him.
As his thoughts meandered, he finally heard echoing footsteps down the corridor.
You were leading a small knot of council men, a foul look set upon your face. The gown you wore was a deep blue, rich even in the dim corridor, with a trim of pearls resting low around your neck. It suited you, and Joel could not force his gaze away. It made the anger in your face look sharper somehow, your eyes near red with it, your mouth set hard as you swept toward the doors.
You didn't even look at him.
He thought, perhaps wildly, that he still preferred your anger to your disappointment. But when you reached the council chamber doors and laid your hand to the iron ring, you paused. Then, at last, you looked up at him.
The smile you gave him was sweet enough to curdle milk.
“Come, I wish for you to join me inside today.”
And then you turned at once and fixed the two pallid men behind you with that same look.
“You are dismissed.”
“But—”
“My Lady—”
“Dis. Missed,” you seethed, and opened the doors, and Joel didn’t even allow a look back at the men before he followed inside.
Inside, the room felt as though it had burst wide open before his very eyes. What he had taken for the din of dishes and the breaking of fast turned out to be visitors, and many of them, near all gentleman callers by the look of it. Lords and princes alike with shining gold plates at their cuffs, deep rich cloth laid over doublets and surcoats, velvet sleeves, jeweled belts, chains of office resting against clean and unmarked skin. Every head in the room turned at your entrance. Smiles lifted their faces at once, a few men bowing, one or two bold enough to wink. Joel’s hand tightened round the pommel of his sword as he took his place along the side of the chamber, where he had, unfortunately, the clearest view of every man there setting himself to fawn over you.
He was in for an hour of hell.
A light touch at your shoulder. A hand at your back. A lingering kiss to your knuckles. Joel felt his blood heat by the minute, his helm growing hot and claustrophobic around him. Steel turning cage instead of shelter. He stood inside it trapped now, clad in iron to hide from the room, meant to watch and say nothing.
And he knew that you knew.
You kept flitting your eyes over your shoulder if a man laughed at your joke. You'd smile when one kissed your knuckles only to wipe it against your gown as they stood, another flick of your eyes to him in the corner. Every look told him plainly that this was no accident. You had forced him in here to stand witness to it all. To watch you smile at other men. To watch other men touch you. Perhaps to see what sort of creature it made of him. To perhaps teach him a lesson to never refuse you. His lips would sometimes tingle with the memory of the night before. But he did not give in.
He let the hour drag over him and bore the brunt of his vexation without moving as the sun climbed higher through the windows until it settled on his left shoulder and baked the steel there hot enough to sizzle. He kept his mind on that pain of the heat inside his helm instead. A new pain for an old one. Better that than dwell over the other one inside him, the one with no wound to show for it and no name besides.
It was not until the very end of the hour, when the lords and dukes and whoever else had begun bowing their heads in farewell and offering up their final words, that Joel had finally had enough.
“This has been a wondrous way to break my fast," a man was saying at your side. "I fear every breakfast hereafter shall pale beside it."
Tall and lean, he was handsome if Joel didn't want to snap his neck, and younger than him by enough to make him feel mean. The man was polished from head to heel, his doublet a deep burgundy stitched through with gold thread, a short mantle pinned at one shoulder with a jeweled brooch, rings glinting when he lifted his hand to touch the small of your back.
“Oh, but you lie, good sir,” you said back politely. “I know for a fact the gardens at Darbeshire are far fairer company than I. If I were made to break my fast whilst looking over those roses, I do not think I should wish to be anywhere else. But I do thank you for visiting.”
"Ah, but you are far lovelier to look upon than those flowers."
You gave him a tightly lipped grin, but there was no color in your cheeks and your smile hardly reached your eyes. Joel could not help the quick and ugly swell of satisfaction that filled him.
“Tell me,” the man said, stepping into you as you turned to see him toward the doors, “when I may look upon you again.”
“Oh,” you said, and Joel could have sworn your eyes flicked to him one final time, “I fear my days are not my own just now. I will need to speak to my council for any other visits—"
“Then I shall petition for one hour only,” the man said. “One walk. One turn through the gallery. One look, if you are cruel enough to deny me more.”
You gave a breath of a laugh for courtesy’s sake and kept moving towards the grand doors, though the smile on your face had begun to wear thin.
“You are too generous in your praise, My Lord.”
“I am sparing in it, truth be told. Were I honest, I should shame myself with the excess.”
That had you glancing aside at last, less charmed now and more like cornered, and still the fool pressed on, following close with all his bright confidence and gleaming teeth.
“At least grant me some token to carry away,” he said, stopping you from reaching the exit. “A ribbon from your sleeve. A pearl from your ear. Some small mercy for a man already half beset with the thought of leaving you here alone.”
“My Lord, I think you greatly overstate the matter.”
“I do not.” He smiled, and there was something in it Joel disliked at once, too pleased with itself, too certain. “You have made a ruin of me in a single morning.”
Whether it was your politeness or there was little left in you to suffer the prattling fool, Joel could not yet tell. But your patience had plainly frayed, and not in the way it had with him the night before. Your body had already turned away from the prince, or lord, or whatever shining title he wore— Joel cared for none of it. What he cared for was the way the man reached out with two spindly fingers to drift the back of them against the snug fabric of blue silk at your waist, just under your bust, admiringly so.
Joel was at your side before the next words could even leave your mouth.
"Sir—I think—"
Joel's hand closed round the man’s wrist and removed it from you in one hard motion. The prince stumbled back a half step, more from outrage than force, his face changing at once.
“You dare lay hands on me, knave?!”
“Your hour is done here,” Joel said, his voice rough with disuse, made rougher still by the helm that echoed.
The man looked him up and down. Where he might've been handsome from far away, he was more pallid and mousey up close. Joel wondered if he could feel his fiery gaze through the visor, as he made no move to come any closer to you.
"Do—" he scoffed again, mouth agape like some sort of guppy—"do you know who stands before you? I am the Duke of York, I am—"
"A man who has outstayed his welcome. I will see you out."
The duke stared up at Joel, "You forget your place, knight."
Joel did not move. You were strangely silent beside him.
"You are here to watch a door," the duke went on anyway, "not snatch at your betters like some kennel dog!”
Joel’s jaw tightened, “Then your betters ought to know when a lady has bid them enough.”
The duke’s eyes flashed. “I was speaking to Her Grace.”
“And now you are not,” your voice came suddenly.
That gave the duke pause. He turned to you, perhaps expecting a soft apology and simpering, but you had none for him.
“My Lord,” you said, your voice cool now, all sweetness spent, stepping forward, “I have thanked you for coming, I have bid you farewell. But I begin to think your ears are for ornament only. Must I say it a third time before you hear me?”
The prince barked a laugh, though there was no mirth in it. Where his face was befallen with surprise before, it soured now entirely. He looked between you and Joel for a moment with a curdled smile.
"Indeed?”“ His gaze felt oily as he looked upon you with something ugly. “You are not some merchant’s daughter to play the coy maid with me. You are a princess, and I had thought to indulge you and your blandness, seeing as you have so little to offer a man besides a crown and beauty.”
“Excuse me?” you said, sharp as a lash.
He turned toward you fully now, still flushed with his own offense. “What? Will you set your hound upon me because I admired you too well?”
“I will do as I please in my own court,” you said, your voice low now, which was always worse. “And you forget yourself far more than my knight ever has.”
Joel's stomach did a funny little swoop at that.
The prince’s mouth went thin. For a moment he said nothing, only stared at you with that same affronted disbelief men so often seemed to wear when told no by a woman. Then whatever sense had kept his tongue bridled failed him.
“Had your father still breath in him, this silliness would be done by nightfall,” he said pompously, seething and turning blotchy red as he loomed closer. “He’d have had you handed over to me without fuss, wedded in the chapel and beneath me in bed by dark, sparing the realm of your tiresome —"
He did not finish the sentence, because Joel's metal fist made contact with his perfectly straight nose.
The duke fell to the floor at once, knocked out cold upon the council room stone. Joel heard your gasp of surprise, and looked to you at once.
Your eyes were wide upon the duke, and then up at him.
"Apologies, Your Grace," Joel said as he shook the force of the blow from his gloved hand, "His tongue ran faster than my patience would allow."
For a moment you only stared at him wide eyed.
The room had suddenly become so still Joel could hear the faint crack and hiss of one of the hearth fires at the far wall over only his pounding heart. He wasn't sure if you would rage at him, throw him from the room for knocking out your suitor. But as he watched, something changed in your face. He saw it first in your eyes, the way the shock in them gave way to a brighter, near disbelieving glimmer. Then your brows pulled together, not in anger but in the strain of holding something back. Your hands stayed clasped over your mouth, though no gasp escaped now.
He saw the crinkling of your eyes, a light sparking in them, and you began to laugh. It slipped pasted your clasped hands, your shoulders shaking with undeniable mirth.
And suddenly, Joel found that he was laughing too. It broke from him in a sort of hiccuping cough at first, something his body had nearly forgotten how to do. He bowed his head once, though his helm hid his expression anyway. But lifted it once again to watch the warmth in your face, alive and gleeful as you looked upon him.
You drew a breath, trying to master yourself, though a last giggle still betrayed you as you dropped your hand.
“What an absolute pompous ass,” you said.
Joel’s mouth twitched.
You looked down at the sprawled duke with open disdain now, all sweetness gone as the moment passed. Joel bent down to lift the man and take him to the infirmary.
“Leave him there.”
He paused. “My Lady?”
“I shall take my noon rest,” you said, smoothing one hand down the front of your gown, though your eyes were still bright with laughter. “Will you stand guard at my door, ser Joel?"
He stood slowly.
"If you wish it, M'Lady."
“Very good. Let us take our leave,” you said simply, "and we will leave him to wake to his humiliation where he lies. I'm sure he will take his leave with as little grandeur as he deserves.”
Joel nodded, and escorted you out.
𝓞utside your door for the rest of the day, Joel let the hours pass him by without much notice of the comings and goings. Yes, he watched dutifully as always when one of your ladies came by, a new book in hand for you, it seemed, keeping you well entertained through the day. As the sun began to lower, a few servant boys came up with hot water in buckets, one of them red in the face with the strain of carrying it careful up the steep stair. But the traffic thinned as evening wore on, the hallway settling into long stretches of quiet broken only by footsteps far below.
His mind wandered more than he cared to admit. Back to that morning, to the princes and their soft clean hands, the jewels that flashed in the golden sunlight that came through the room as they drank and ate the morning away. He had stood firm and watched while they fawned over you, kissed your knuckles, laid hands to your shoulder or the small of your back when they'd lean in to speak to you.
He would not dare try to name the feeling that rose in him at the thought. Particularly not when it came to that duke of where-the-fuck who laid hands and filthy words upon you. His knuckles were still sore, and he glanced down at them as if he could see through the steel plated gauntlet, flexing and fisting his fingers. It was dangerous to strike a man of such stature, he knew that, though he had only thought of it after. His blood and his body were meant to serve his princess. He did not care what other title stood in the way of your safety.
He realized, after a moment, that he had hardly thought of his daughter the past half day. He had meant to drink himself stupid the night before, to rid himself of the memories and the guilt and another turn of the sun for him but not for his own girl. He had wanted to be wake up to a splitting head and a rolling stomach because he deserved no less. Wanted to dwell in the pain of it all like he did every year since. But instead... he suddenly was glad he hadn't drank more, and found he liked the memories of the alley now. Of you there in the dark, with your false confidence ordering him about like a dog meant to heel. He did not like what the memories did to him, however. The way his blood seemed to leave his head and settle low in his gut and loins. It would not do. He told himself that over and over, like knocking his own skull with a mallet. He must rid himself of such visions, of the memory of your featherlight touch where he had barely kissed you.
He felt stupid. That was the word for it. Stupid and past his years. He was old enough to know better. To know what came of letting himself be pulled around by a woman’s eyes, no matter that woman wore a crown’s future on her head. Old enough to know the distance between a knight and a princess was not something crossed in taverns or alleys or hallways outside her bedchamber. Yet there he stood, same as he had stood all day, held in place as much by his own thoughts as by duty.
A servant came to set the torches burning, one by one, and the stone walls took on that evening color they always did, gold near the flames, brown in the corners, black where the ceiling beams cut across overhead. Somewhere below, voices had started again. Supper, likely. Men off duty and cups being set down. He heard a dog barking once in the yard. Joel listened without really hearing any of it.
When the steps came on the stair at last, steady and heavy with armor, he looked up.
Joel did not move when the other knight reached the top of the landing. He only watched them come broad in the torchlight, helm on, hand resting easy at the pommel of his sword as though this were any other turn of the watch.
“It is late,” the man said, voice muffled beneath the steel. “You may go.”
Joel stayed where he was.
“She has slipped her chambers twice now,” he said, voice becoming more rough hewn, more frustrated. “Twice in two nights. Did you know?”
The other knight slowed.
Joel stepped forward then, not enough to crowd him, yet enough to make plain the matter would not be waved off. “And unless you are witless, that means she did not do it without negligence. Was a door left unguarded, a passage left unwatched? Or a man on duty with his head up his own ass? Which was it?”
The knight stiffened at once. “You should mind your tongue, brother.”
“You should mind your post.”
But as Joel spat the words, realization crept upon him, or, rather, recognition.
"…Tommy?"
The knight lifted his visor, and Joel saw at once the blue-green of his brother’s eyes.
“Tommy,” he said again, this time with a long breath.
“Joel?”
Joel pushed up his own visor then, enough for his brother to see him plain enough. Not only a brother of the guard before him, but his own brother in blood.
"It's been too long, hasn't it?" Tommy said, and Joel could see the crinkling around his brother's eyes, a smile widening beneath the steel covering.
“Aye. Overlong indeed,” Joel said, and let his visor fall shut again with a clang. “Had I known this was the sort of watchman you’d make, I would have taught you better long ago.”
"You forget it is I who have been a knight longer than you, brother." Tommy only chuckled genially. “But I shall do better this night. There is no need to worry. I shall see to it my rounds are passed with each hour from here to the stair and back again—”
Joel shook his head, a creaking of steel with the motion, “No. Go down to the garden stair and begin your watch there. I shall remain here and guard this door.”
Tommy paused. “Have you not stood here all day?”
“Aye.”
“Then you have need of sleep, brother. I shall send another in my stead to—”
“No need.”
Tommy’s helm tilted with disbelief. Joel could picture the look beneath it easily enough. He had known that look since Tommy and him were only boys, seeing straight through his stubbornness.
“You need rest, Joel,” Tommy said with a sigh. “Most of all after yesterday—”
“Have a good night, Tommy,” Joel cut in. “I shall see you in the morn when we break fast.”
Tommy was quiet for a moment, then said, “Very well. I shall go below and send someone up with your supper. I doubt you have eaten a bite, knowing how you mark the day.”
Joel rolled his eyes, though Tommy could not see it.
“Fine,” he said.
Tommy nodded once. “Good night, brother.”
“Good night.”
𝓐fter his meat pie and potato stew, Joel had begun to feel the full weight of the day.
The castle had gone quiet in only the way it did deep into the night, the fires burning low in the torches, the doors long shut of the nurses and cooks and servants fast asleep in their chambers. There were no footsteps in the corridor now, only the crickets outside the window kept him company through the long hours.
His eyes threatened to droop now and then, the steady set of his guard beginning to slacken as his body swayed before he caught himself. His legs were sore. His back ached. At least the pain in his head had eased with food and water, leaving him only with the deep drag of tiredness settling into his bones.
You had been so quiet the rest of the evening, the entire day if he thought of it. He wondered if you had your nose between the pages of that book your lady-in-waiting had brought. Or maybe you were so tired from the previous night and finally were getting your rest. Perhaps you just did not want to see anyone. Joel would understand that best.
That was why, when he heard the sound the first time, he thought he had imagined it.
It was so faint—he couldn't have said for certain whether it had come from within your chambers or some dreamlike place between wakefulness and sleep. He lifted his head from where it had just begun to dip again, his entire body stilling as he listened.
But then, nothing. Only the crickets keeping him company beyond the window, and the soft crackle of torchfire along the wall.
Joel frowned, looking out into the dark stretch of stone corridor, but there was nothing there.
And just as he began to dismiss it as some trick of his tired mind, he heard it again.
No, that had most certainly come from your chambers. And it was soft but unmistakable, forcing the drowsiness from him at once.
And then, you were calling his name. As if pained, as if you needed something and you were so weak you couldn't bare to yell it or even call to him.
"Joel, please."
His head filled at once with terrible possibilities. Had you been hurt? Had someone come in the night and set upon you in your sleep? But how would they have got past your guard? Had Tommy been struck down and left crumpled at the garden door while some intruder made his way inside?
Joel felt the last of his tiredness leave him in a rush. He pushed through the door and took the winding staircase two steps at a time, his hand skidding once against the stone wall as he climbed, already expecting to find some dark figure at your window or slipping through the garden door below—
But he did not.
Instead he found the candles by your bed still burning low, their light pooled soft and gold across the room.
Your chamber was richer than anything below. It smelled of lavender, fresh clean linen and pressed oils. A great bed stood at the center of it, raised on a carved frame dark as old walnut, the curtains tied back in pale drapes that spilled from the canopy like silk. Fine linen hung in layers round the posts, gathered and draped with a care no soldier’s room had ever known. The coverlets were cream colored and worked over with little stitched flowers and trimmed edges, the pillows heaped high enough to swallow a body whole. A lamp burned on the table beside it, throwing light over a rug patterned dark at the foot of the bed, over the washstand in the corner, over fabric that had been thrown to the floor in a heap. It was as messy and as elegant only a woman’s room could be.
And you were laid in the middle of it upon the heaps of down pillows and duvet.
You weren't wounded like the nightmare his mind casted upon him. You were only sunken into the bed coverings, settled heavy with your face turned towards him as he entered. There was nothing of alarm in your expression—no fear, no pain he could see. Only a soft, faraway look of someone not wholly in the room with him.
“Oh,” you said gently, a small smile tugging like a string tied at the corner your mouth. “I must have fallen asleep. This is a dream, is it not?”
Your hands were hidden in your lap beneath layers of your gown, still in that deep blue from earlier. It lay dark against the pale linen, rumpled now from rest and restlessness, sleeves pushed up, pearl necklace and gloves gone and strewn over your bedside table. Your face looked loose with rest, lashes lowering, the hard edge of politeness he had watched you wear all morning nowhere to be found.
“My knight of truth,” you sighed, then caught your lip lightly between your teeth. “Come closer.”
Joel didn't know what to do. So he stayed frozen in the doorway.
You didn't look hurt, you looked…serene. Soft and pleased, even, with that hooded gaze fixed upon him.
He should not be here.
The thought rang through his head loud as church bells in the square. He should not be in your bedchamber. Not at this hour, not at any hour.
You let out a soft, simpering sigh when he did not move. Your eyes opened a little wider then, blinking awake, your teeth still worrying your lower lip.
“Mmm,” you hummed, and only then did Joel see the shift of your arm where it lay hidden beneath the folds of blue in your lap. “Then perhaps I am not dreaming,” you said, your voice thick with sleep. “You listen much better in my dreams.”
Joel almost had half a mind to laugh.
He climbed the last step and came fully into the room.
"Take off the helmet, ser," you said a little breathless, "and come closer."
Joel only listened to one of those orders, the less dangerous of the two, and stepped closer to you.
One step.
Then another.
He had come halfway to the bed when he saw you properly and turned his back at once with a sharp breath.
“Your Grace—”
You let out an petulant scoff of breath, and he heard the duvet move as if you'd kicked your legs like a child.
"You are such a terrible listener!" you whined.
"Please, My Lady, I should leave you to your—"
"Turn around, Joel Miller. And come stand at my bed." you said. Fully awake. An order not to be disobeyed.
He stood rigid, staring instead at the portrait hung beside the doorway. Yourself, painted fine and bright in an ornate frame, hair dressed perfect, those same pretty eyes fixed on him from canvas and bed alike. His blood was hot and thrumming in his veins, shooting up his neck in a deep flush. His fingers fisted, the steel of his gauntlet creaking with the strain.
Fuck.
“Turn around,” you said again, stronger now, your voice carrying all the weight of The Crown.
He turned.
And he saw you. You, with your dress turned up and hiked over your hips and stomach so that your legs were spread out, your hands not only just laying in your lap but between them, one spreading your folds open, the other with a delicate finger playing with your most sensitive flesh.
Joel looked only at your face.
"Good." you smiled. "Now the helmet."
Joel murmured your name, and you only moaned.
He swallowed hard.
“Please,” he said, and his voice came rough, “I cannot be here. What are you doing awake at this hour? You ought to be asleep.”
“I cannot,” you whined. “I could not stop thinking of you striking that idiot this morning. It made me so... you make me so...” You shut your eyes, drawing in a heavy breath, and the sound you made then had Joel fixing his gaze on the bedpost behind you, on the carved wood, on anything but the sight of your hand between your thighs.
“And what of you, knight?” you asked when your eyes reopened. “Do you think of me as I think of you? With your hand on your—”
“Jesus—” he cut in. “No. No, I do not—”
“Joel,” you groaned, throwing your head back so the column of your neck shone in the firelight, a bead of sweat making it glisten, “you are the only man here who does not lie to me. I would rather you did not begin now.”
He was silenced.
“Everyone lies to me,” you went on, breathless now, your fingers still moving as you looked back at him. “They tell me what they think I wish to hear. They flatter me with pretty words. They speak to The Crown and not to me. You are the only one who does not sound tired of me before I have even finished speaking. The only one who does not look at me and see what may be gained. You are the only one who sees me at all. And you make me half mad.”
Joel was breathing hard himself, his thoughts clawing in every direction, trying to fix on anything but the bed before him, the sound of your voice, the shape of your mouth when you said his name.
And he knew at once, a single truth.
He had never taken his place in The Guild for honor or nobility. He had not trained for twenty and one years from boyhood nor for the sake of The Crown, nor for any shining notion of duty. He had joined because there was a deep, empty chasm within him that demanded to be fed, and when his daughter died it had only widened, and widened, and widened, until it seemed it would take the whole of him if he did not give it something. Order. Coldness. Blood. A wall to put his back against. A blade in his hand.
But just now, in this moment, he understood that none of it had filled him the way you had in the last few days of being in your stead. You had stepped up to him so close that day in the chambers, close enough to make him forget himself. You had terrified him with how slippery you were, how easily you slid past every wall set between you and what you wanted. You had silenced him with your wit and your strength. And you had made him an absolute fool in his wanting just last night. He felt lighter than ever before.
That was what made him answer:
“Yes, Your Grace,” he said at last, barely above a whisper. “I do think of you.”
Candlelight flickered over the pale curtains of the bed, over the dark blue of your gown pulled high to the crease of your thighs and over the sheets wrinkled beneath your legs, over your face as you watched him with that dazed, wanting look that would have been easier to bear if there had been any shame in it.
You sighed again, and Joel wondered how you had so much breath in you, giving it up in long, dragging pulls while his own seemed held tight in his throat.
“I will tell you this, Joel Miller,” you said at last, when neither of you gave way. “And it is my final order. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“An answer, please.”
“Aye, My Lady. I understand.”
“You are to choose your next step of your own accord. I will not force you, nor command anything further of you, Ser Joel of the Dawn.”
Your voice caught a little then, though your eyes never left his.
“But know this, and know it well: I want you, and I want you badly. I am not much accustomed to being denied what I desire, as I think you know by now. Yet I would not force you to me. So the choosing is yours.”
You drew in one last shaky breath, nervousness now clear as day in your eyes as you looked at him from the nest of your bed:
"But I would have you choose now. My hand prunes with how wet you make me. And if you will not have me, I would much rather suffer alone."
Joel’s feet moved of their own accord then, not from any order, nor fear of disobedience. He walked toward the foot of the bed and what he saw there nearly stopped his heart in his chest.
You looked up at him with a smile dimpling your cheek, your hooded eyes soft as they found him. Your breasts spilled high above the tight blue bodice, and below that, you had bared yourself to him with your skirts shoved up over your hips. Your hand laid gently over your core, and he saw how you glistened. It pearled in the hair around it, a beautiful basin of nectar waiting for his taking.
"Is this your decision, Ser Knight?"
His hands rose to his head, to that steel shell that had kept him safe from being seen, from being known too well, and slowly he lifted it off. He held it at his side and looked at you, and God, you were a sight fit to kill a man where he stood.
"Joel."
That made him look up. Your fingers between your sweet lips and his name on the other.
"Your answer," you whispered.
He held out his hand to you, and you replied in silence, lifting your own from between your legs and reaching for him. Before you could touch him, he tore off his gauntlets and cast them aside with a dull clank to the thick blanket upon the floor, then took your hand in his. Hot skin met hot skin. He felt the slickness of you on the pads of your fingers, and it sent a hard shiver through him. He brought your hand to his mouth and closed his lips around your first two fingers, and groaned deeply at the taste.
Soft, supple, tasting of musk and honey and delight. It was like that pastry cream upon his spiced gingerbread so many days ago. And he loved the taste much the same. He suckled them deep, tongue slipping between and licking up every line and dip of your delicate fingers.
“What would you have of me, princess,” he murmured against your fingertips, kissing them once before drawing back, “if I said yes?”
Your eyes were on his mouth as they pressed against your fingers, your breath labored and panting.
"I—" you hiccuped, licking your lips, "I would have you undress. Take off all this—y-your armor—and—and—"
Had he made you so nervous suddenly?
It made his blood surge.
“And?” he asked with low tones.
"I want to watch—" you suddenly went bashful as your eyes found his, then dropped again as your gaze trailed down and down and down until—
"I wish to watch your arousal grow for me."
So he gently let go of your hand, and began to undress in silence.
"So it is…a yes?" you said again.
He had never seen you so unsure before, so nervous in his presence.
"Yes, Your Grace." he finally said. "I will take you as you want, I will kiss you as you had asked. I will do anything you ask."
“Take off this irritating steel first,” you said at once, as if you'd held the words in waiting, long enough that they came out with impatience. “It pains me that you hide such beauty beneath it. You are the most handsome man I have ever seen, and I have only ever seen a third of you.”
Joel felt his lips twitch.
"I've never seen that before either." you said.
"What?" he asked, unlatching his breast and arm plates.
"Your smile."
Suddenly you were sitting up, hand lifted between the space between you, hovering over his cheek. When he did not stop you, you let the pads of your fingers drift lightly along his cheekbone. It felt foreign, strange, but not unwelcome. Warm. Soft, gentle. Your eyes watched him, bright and eager, and it set a small stir in his chest. His mind dulled as you traced the line of his nose, down over the curve of his top lip, the bottom one, then down to his wiry chin. He caught your wrist when your hand began to wander down his throat, cradled it in his palm, and pressed a kiss to the center.
"If I do this, if we do this…." he said very seriously. You had to know. "There is no coming back from it. Do you understand?"
You nodded.
"Make it clear in your head—you will no longer be a virgin for your husband one day, and you will always be mine."
You bit your lip, "I understand, Joel."
He leaned down, and finally, finally, kissed you.
Heat.
It was as if his body was made of it, blinding, kindled only by your touch.
You made a small sound at the force of it, his mouth finding yours with such certainty that it shocked a noise from him too— a deep, hungry groan. His tongue pressed at the seam of your lips, and you opened for him so easily, so sweetly, that he had to pull back almost immediately and press his forehead to yours just to keep hold of himself.
"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth before planting a sweeter, chaste kiss to it.
He watched as you licked your lips, breathing in every exhale of his.
You carded your hands through his hair, and God, it felt so fucking good. Touch, want, your fingers working through his hair, those little sounds leaving you for him and no one else. It had been so long that the hunger he felt it made him nauseous.
He pulled away then and began stripping off the rest of his armor with more haste than care, setting each piece down as quietly as he could for fear the night watch below might hear the fall of it. You had pushed yourself up onto your knees in the bed to watch him, your eyes bright with an eagerness that made his pulse kick harder the more of himself he uncovered.
By the time he was down to his tunic and linen trousers, you gave him a look that said plainly it was not enough.
"These too."
"Bossy little minx," he said, shaking his head, "Patience is a virtue, didn't your council ever tell you?"
"They tried." you smiled.
He chuckled, and pulled his shirt over his head, and your hands were immediately upon him with avidity. Nimble, light touches that made him flush in goosebumps. They traced down over the wiry hair that trailed beneath his linen pants, your fingers setting his skin in a line of fire as you hooked in the waistband and began pushing them down.
His member was only half hard, as he had tried so hard to cast his mind from you at all that he had to control himself.
You sank back against the pillows then, unable, it seemed, to stop looking at him. He stood at the end of the bed, broad against all the pale linen and carved wood and soft drapery, and for a moment he felt almost ashamed of the roughness of himself in a room so clean and fine.
“You are...” you said, then shook your head a little. “The most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Joel Miller.”
He didn't realize he still had it in him to blush like some teenage boy. His cock swelled and twitched when you squirmed before him. Your smile widened, as did your eyes as you watched it twitch for you.
"I am not the one who is worthy of such praise, Your Grace," he said, following you down into bed, "I have never in all my years—and years I have, more than anything—seen something as stunning as you."
Your finger caught between your teeth, nervousness again, it made his cock jump in excitement again, surging with need, and his lips pulled up in a smile. You grinned up at him as your other hand reached around his shoulders when he finally reached you.
"You are ridiculous," you giggled.
He looked at you with disbelief, "Ah, but it's not just that, is it?" he said roughly, kissing your lips softly, before planting another on your chin, and then down your jaw, and then on your clavicle. He kissed where your breasts nearly spilled above your neckline.
"It is not your beauty that has me in your bed right now, Your Grace," he said.
"Please say my name when you are kissing my flesh, Joel. That or something sweet, something you'd bestow upon a lover."
A lover.
Joel paused his kissing, stealing his breath.
"I'm—I'm sorry—" you began, your hand reaching for his hair, as if trying to soothe. You pushed the dark hair that tickled his forehead back, scratching your nails through his scalp, "I know we are not…that you don't want…"
"Make no mistake, baby, I do want." he said hoarsely. "It's all I've ever felt around you."
Your hand stayed in his hair as if you knew there was something else. A hesitation on his tongue.
"But?" you urged.
"But…the last time I loved anything…it…I… I can't…"
"It's alright, Joel, just for tonight, let's pretend." you said softly, your smile still pulling your lips like thread, though it was sadder now, he could see it. "I'm a big girl. I can handle what comes tomorrow."
He lifted his head and looked at you for a long moment.
Then he gave the smallest nod. “Aye,” he said softly. “I think you can.”
His lips went back to your soft skin at once, to the warm slope of your breasts, and his hands slid between you and the bedspread to draw you fully into him while he worked at the ties of your bodice.
You hummed pleasantly, still watching him, always watching him. Finally, when your bodice came undone, you were quick to pull the rest of it away, and soon you were bare to him. Joel suddenly realized the only person who had seen you in such a way your entire life was probably your mother as a babe.
You were stunning. Curves made for his hands and supple skin for the taking. You squirmed a little in the bed beneath him as he looked upon your figure, breasts heavy enough to make his mouth water when he finally bent to take one into his mouth.
You gasped when his lips closed around the nipple, and his hips pressed into you with need. His cock was aching now, and he realized you had not truly been able to watch him harden for you, but he was in another frame of mind now, so taken by his wanting that he moaned when your back arched into him, kissing between the valley of your breasts before taking the other into his mouth. He suckled it hard, then gentler, then let the edge of his teeth drag lightly over the pebbled flesh.
“Oh,” was all you could say as his hand palmed the other breast in time with his mouth. Your legs wrapped gently around him, and he could feel your wet center begging for his cock to enter you, but he would wait, be good and patient if only for you, to get you ready. For now, he let his member slide between the soft, hot folds, both of you moaning at the feeling.
His lips left you with a soft pop as he kissed down your ribs, to your navel, his tongue tracing around it until it dipped into the skin, just tasting every inch he could find. Your hand stayed in his hair until you could no longer reach, and then he was lifting your legs over his shoulders.
"What do you know about bedding, baby?"
You hummed, hips squirming.
“A little.”
“Oh?” he asked, looking up at you through his lashes. And God, if it was not the finest sight. Your breasts rising and falling with every breath, your soft belly moving with the undulation of your hips.
“Mmm,” you hummed again, dreamlike. “My lady-in-waiting told me of her first time once. My mother only said it may hurt.”
Joel nodded, kissing the top of your mound, a thicket of pretty hair meeting his lips, a pearl of your arousal sticking to his mustache, and he licked it off.
"Some find the…initial entrance a bit uncomfortable, I will not lie to you. But it passes, as long as I am gentle."
"Will you be gentle with me, Joel?" you asked. And when his eyes met yours, he was surprised to see a spark of challenge in them.
“If you wish—” he said, kissing the line where your thigh met your center. Your skin rose in gooseflesh beneath his mouth.
"And if I don't want you to be gentle?"
He didn't answer that.
“—But this,” he said between kisses, his mouth close enough now that the scent of you had his head light and cotton-made, “this should feel good. You will tell me if it does not. Do you understand?”
You nodded. “I do.”
"You are so beautiful, baby," he said softly, and kissed the pearl that was your clit at the top of your center. Sweet, honey musk filled his mouth at the touch, his tongue laving at the bud. He heard how your breath caught in your lungs, and you laid flat on your back, giving yourself over to the sensation.
"Tastes like those god damn pastries you like so much," he growled between long, fat licks, "so fucking sweet."
He heard a thick dispelling of breath from you that might've been a laugh had he not had you under his tongue, and your legs fell open even wider for him as he suckled your clit into his mouth.
"Oh—" you breathed, "that feel so—so—"
Joel groaned at the way your body answered him. He grew more intent, more certain with his tongue, listening to every sound you made, every catch in your breath, every shift of your hips beneath his mouth. And he replied in earnest with his wet muscle of his tongue, tasting and eating and taking. Your moans only climbed higher, and with them something possessive and ugly stirred in him again. He wondered, a little maddened, whether you had ever felt anything like this before. Whether your own hand had ever brought you here the way he was doing now. The thought made him near sick with jealousy, that you might ever lie in this bed again without him and try to find your way back to this feeling alone. That someone else, a husband perhaps…would…
And when his tongue prodded into your entrance that now flooded with slick and wetness made from sweet nectar, his nose nudging your clit, your back bowed in a flash, your hands in fists as you clenched the bedsheets, and he felt your cunt pulse against his mouth as you claimed your orgasm.
A loud, mewling noise left your open mouth as he let your hips shift up and down his mouth, tongue flat as you rode out the wave of ecstasy.
When you had settled and your hips began to soften and ease, he kissed your bud a few more times before you were twitching from sensitivity, and he began to climb over you.
"And how are you feeling, Your Grace?"
"What did I say about my name?"
Joel smiled down at you, a little dazed, before he moved to your side and pulled you back against his chest. You smelled so lovely, your hair a bouquet of scent, as if you'd been in the garden—lavender and lilacs, sprigs of rosemary all filled his nose as he buried it into your hair for a moment. Like spring and warmth and newness.
He pressed a kiss to your ear, and you let out a soft, pleased sigh as he whispered your name into the shell of your ear.
"I feel wonderful," you said dreamily, your arm hooking over your shoulder so your fingers could go back to his hair, playing with the nape of his neck as you looked over at him.
You kissed him softly, plump lips swollen, and his hands began to roam of their own accord and own mind, over your chest to fondle you, down to your belly and below to dip his fingers in your weeping core, pulling you against him.
"You feel…" you said, a little nervous again, yet pushing your bum back into him anyway, "big."
Joel nodded, kissing your lips again, "Yes, but you will take it."
He felt you shiver beneath him.
“And I know you will take it well,” he added, his mouth brushing yours with every word, “only if you are certain you want it.”
"Yes," your hands tightened in his hair, "I want you, more than anything I've ever…"
He didn't let you finish, the sentence, the words of want, of need. He was too afraid of what they would do to him. So he kissed you hard, tongues rolling and sliding against one another, and he adjusted his hips so that he could angle himself against you. The tip of his cock circled your clit, making you whimper beneath him, until he was breaching your tight entrance. It turned his brain to mush so fast he had to take a moment to return to himself, panting hot breath on your mouth.
"Joel—!" you squeaked, and he only kissed you harder, distracting. But he saw how your brow knitted together, how your jaw went slack as his lips found purchase.
"It's alright, baby," he cooed, "that's all, just a little, look at me now, look."
And you opened your eyes, black pupils overtaking that pretty color of your irises, arousal glossing over your features, but there was an uncertainty clouding them, pulling your brows close.
"Just you and me." he said softly, "Gonna go real slow, okay?"
You nodded. "Hold me."
He did as he was bid—wrapping his arms tightly around you, letting his hips push another inch or so inside—and your jaw unhinged, eyes bulging a little.
His arms wound around you so tight he thought he might steal the air from your lungs.
"Deep breath in, baby, real deep. Yeah, that's it," he whispered against your skin and he could hear the scrape of his own beard against the smooth skin of your cheek, could feel your ribcage expanding with air as you inhaled deeply.
"And out," he sighed, as if demonstrating.
And as your breath left you, he pushed in the remaining eight inches of himself, stretching your tight cunt until it wrapped around him in slick, pulsing heat. He watched every change in your face, heard every sound that hitched in your throat.
Your neck bent back into the pillow, your jaw wide enough to unhinge from your skull, and he kissed your skin sweetly, quickly, breathing hard.
He had to remind himself to stay still. Your velvet walls, the wet heat you made for him, only for him, always for him, it made him insane. His brain was overcome with it, with the need to fill you with himself.
He hadn't had…he hadn't been with anyone in so long. And for it to be you. You, stunning beauty and quick wit and heavy crown looming over your head. You, who wanted him just as much despite the circumstance.
He had to remind himself to be good, polite. Because that broken chasm in him was slowly starting to knit itself together inside of him, though it begged for more now. It hungered for something more from you, to take—no, not take, but to give. And he'd give you everything.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned, cock swelling and twitching inside of you. "I—"
"Move," you whispered, hand tightening in his hair again, "Please,"
"Are you certain?" he breathed heavily, chest pricking with sweat against your soft back, "We should take it slow—"
"Please, please move, Joel," you whined, eyes fluttering closed, tongue poking out to lick your dried lips as you began to babble. "I feel so full, so… oh, this is everything. I feel you in my stomach, so so full— I feel you everywhere."
Joel kissed the crest of your shoulder before pulling out only an inch or so, and watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.
"Oh my fucking god—"
He nearly laughed at your filthy mouth. He'd never heard you say more than a quick insult, let alone a curse.
"I want more—harder—more more moremoremoremore—"
The feeling was too great. Your cunt was holding onto him in a vice like grip, sucking his cock in greedily, and his mind was lost to it.
"I'm going to take you now," he growled into your neck, and before he could even finish the sentence, you were nodding.
He flipped you onto your stomach with rough hands, and mounted you, though he stayed lain across your back so his hips moved freely. He began pulling almost all the way out slowly, until you were whining and kicking your feet for more—
And then he began to move.
Hips swinging forward and back, fucking you in earnest, the bed creaked and slammed against the wall, your moans filling the chamber and his ears. His mind was gone now, completely gone to this feeling—your weeping cunt made for taking him, and taking him so god damn well. Joel thought everything made sense now. Why you'd challenged him, why you'd driven him insane when you'd snuck out, why he'd cornered you in the alley like a brute—it was all leading to this. Him, fucking you, and you, taking it so beautifully. He'd never had anything like it.
"You take it so well for a girl who's never seen cock before, Your Grace," he groaned into your ear, wrapping his arms around your torso so there would be no inch of skin not discovered by him.
Your mouth hung open, breath spilling out, your hands holding onto where his arms held you. He watched as a bit of spit caught at the pillow as you looked over your shoulder at him with a smile. "Only yours, Joel Miller. And yours is the only one I wish to take for—"
He kissed you hard, cutting you off, deepening the angle of his thrusts to swallow the rest of it, his tongue forcing past your lips, both of you breaking into the kiss with sounds of pleasure.
"This little cunt feels so perfect, baby." he panted against your mouth, words slipping between kisses. “It is mine now. No matter who you marry. No matter who you bear children for.”
There it was. The manic beast that laid dormant yet hungry all the same. Possessive and desperate. The black pit of him, the darkest side of him now coming out. Selfish and mean and needier than anything he'd ever known. He was sure it would terrify you, the way his lips snarled with the demand.
"Yours." you whispered in response against his mouth.
“No—” he tried, the word catching as he pulled back a fraction, fighting it.
"Yes," you hissed, and as he began to pull away you held him there again, arm swiping out between you and the bed to fist into his hair once more. His thrusts were becoming sloppier by the minute. He was losing control. Of this, of himself, of whatever this suddenly was becoming.
Your mouth hung open, but through your moans, through the breaking of your breath, you said, "I am yours, Joel Miller. And you are mine."
The light of morning had begun to slip in through your chamber window, catching along his shoulder, laying pale yellow and blue over the bed.
“And I wish for you to finish inside me,” you went on, softer now, but no less certain. “So I may bear what is yours. So we shall marry. I will have it no other way.” Your eyes stayed fixed on his. “I am to be Queen of this realm. And you are my man. You are everything. There is no part of you left to solitude. Nor I."
He tried to silence you again, pressing his mouth to yours, but you would not let him. You pulled away—lips only just brushing, holding him fast and made him hear you.
His cock was swelling insurmountably at your words.
He thought his words of possession would scare you. But it was your words...
They terrified him.
And they also made him feel fucking insane.
"Give me everything, Joel."
His face fell onto your shoulder as his hips drove faster into you, your keep tightening and fluttering against him, as if your words had been spoken from where the two of you were joined. He felt anchored to you in an entirely new way, losing complete control over what little he thought he had.
"Ohhhh!" you mewled, fist loosening in his hair as you began to tighten and constrict his cock now.
“Come with me,” he groaned against your shoulder, voice rough and near pleading now. “Come on—let me feel you—I'll give you everything—everything you wish for.”
Your head tipped back, your body arching beneath him, and he felt it the moment you went, the way you clenched around him that pulled a harsh, broken moan from his chest as it dragged him right after you. His back went taut, his mouth opening against your skin as everything in him gave at once, his arms tightening hard around you as he lost himself in the way your bodies met, his spend emptying into you while you both shook through the ecstasy together.
For a while, there was nothing.
Slick skin against slick skin, hot breath and heavy inhales, the two of you intertwined entirely anew.
You were the first to move, to turn your head enough to kiss his nose where it laid against the top of your shoulder.
He shifted then, beginning to lift himself from you, but your hands tightened, holding him.
"Stay." you murmured.
He obeyed, because in truth, there was nothing else he wanted more.
“’Tis morning,” he said after a moment, voice low, still rough. “I should not linger long. Your lady-in—”
“My lady-in-waiting knows how much I have wanted this,” you said, cutting him off gently. “And she will not come until I call for her.”
Joel let out a quiet breath and settled back over you, his weight returning without resistance this time.
“I like feeling you like this,” you sighed, your eyes slipping closed. “Over me. The weight of you is… comforting.”
Joel smiled a bit at that, and brought you closer.
The morning had begun to stir outside your window. First with the low calls of birdsong, distant at first until the sun grew stronger. Its rays filled your bed chamber, stretching across his back, through the curtains of your bed posts, laying gold across your skin and his alike.
Your breathing was so slow and even beneath him he thought you might have fallen asleep.
He stayed there, laid over you, his face turned into the gentle curve of your neck, his arms still wrapped around you. He did not move an inch in fear he might break whatever spell was upon the two of you. And for the first time in a very long time, the deep abyss that lived inside of him held no ache, no need, no nothing.
He was content.
“I meant what I said, Joel,” you said quietly after a while, your eyes still closed, breathing still even. It didn't scare him this time, it didn't make him want to pull away or kiss you silent.
"I know."
𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇
𝓗e knew he was late, and not by a little bit either. His chest fluttered with the anticipation of it, something he couldn't quite put a name to as he made his way through the castle corridors. His steps felt light against the stone. He had no metal helm to hide behind nor the armor plates to keep his expression hidden as he faced every passing glance and morning greeting.
"Morning, ser."
"Good morrow, Ser Joel."
A bow of a head, a smile, a wave. It all was something he was getting used to, or…at least trying to.
Finally ascending the stairs to the second floor, he took them two at a time, breath heavier now, whether from strain or the nerves making his heart thunder in his chest, he wasn't sure. He came upon the great chamber doors, their iron handles staring up at him. Voices carried through the wood— lighter, bubbling, and excited.
He pushed them open without announcement.
"Ah, there he is."
Your voice found him at once. Gentle and amused, it carried easily above the low hum of conversation.
“Good morning,” he said, just as soft, moving around your chair, letting his hand trail along your shoulder, down the line of your arm before taking his place beside you. "Apologies for the delay."
He looked around the table with a light, polite smile of greeting (he had been practicing it for some time), the room feeling vastly different than it ever had before.
To his left sat Miriam from the orphanage, her thin hands folded neat atop a ledger, kind eyes sharp as she took in the conversation at the table. Beside her, Lucia the barmaid, hair tied back, sleeves rolled, already mid run-down of town gossip with someone across from her—Rose, the fishmonger’s wife, still smelling faintly of salt even here. Beside her was Harriet, who raised cattle at the bottom of the hill, broad shouldered and kind, her voice was low but carried when she spoke. Next to her, Elin, the baker's widow. Marjorie from the weaver's row, and Old Nan at the far end who knew every birth and burial in the valley better than any record ever kept.
All women.
Every single one of them. Not a Lord or Duke or Prince in sight. Nor were there balding, pallid men who waggled their all-knowing boney fingers at you either.
Joel leaned back slightly in his chair, glancing once more around the table, taking it in. This was his place now, beside you. No longer standing stiffly in the corner with his eyes on every exit—though, he could admit he still caught his eyes glancing around, making sure, an old habit he wasn't eager to break. Some days it felt otherworldly to sit at your council.
Without thinking, his hand found yours beneath the table, rough fingers curling loosely around your softer ones, grounding himself in the only part of it that felt entirely familiar. He turned the ring on your finger absently.
Beside him, you sat at the head of the table with your chin propped lightly against your free hand, listening, asking where needed, dismissing where you saw fit. Not a physical crown upon your head, not a single piece of ceremony about you—and still, there was no mistaking what you were.
What you had become.
Your eyes drifted to him when he squeezed your fingers, a coy little smile playing your lips. Painted in ruby, for the celebration of harvest.
"And the stores—" Harriet said, rolling her eyes, but not in annoyance, but of something else. Bemusement, perhaps.
"What of them?" you interjected, concern drawing a line between your brows.
“Full, Your Grace," she answered, smiling wider at you. “More than full. We shall carry well into winter, if rot does not take to it."
“See that it does not,” you said with a small nod, and pointed to Miriam gently to write your thoughts. “We can store the excess here in the castle. There is room enough, and the lower chambers will keep it dry.”
Joel’s thumb moved once over the back of your hand, though he could not say why he had done it at all.
“Your Grace,” Lucia called, leaning forward a touch, “do you not think we ought to mark such a season as this? The townsfolk…they are eager to celebrate you and your husband. What you have brought them, in place of your father before you.” She glanced around the table. “We have not known times like these in…a long while, would you not say, ladies?”
There was a murmur of agreement around the table.
Joel was still getting used to that too—husband—a title he could hardly believe you had chosen to give him. And yet there was something in him that knew, just as he had warned you that first night in your bed, that there was no going back from whatever this had become. He had spoken then of some future husband, some man meant for you, while all the while that part of him, the one that had been sewn whole again, had already begun to hunger to be that man himself.
It had felt near a miracle when you asked him. He had thought you were teasing him at first. But you had not been.
You had married him in the garden, before only your most trusted councilwomen, Tommy at his side. It had been a fine fall day, the leaves crisp beneath your feet, the sun low and golden against his back as he stood in the finest cloak he had ever worn. And afterward, when the feast had begun in the great hall—full of townsfolk and distant kin and all the noise that came with such things—you had both slipped away from it, laughing through the corridors, back to your chambers, to be as you had always meant to be—together.
“And what would you have of it?” you asked, eyes on his, shaking him from his memories.
The room followed your look.
Joel felt the weight of your stare, though it did not strike him the way it once would have. He could have passed it off, given them something simple and let the attention fall away from him as he often did, but he had never been much good at soft answers, not where you were concerned.
“Give them something they’ve not seen,” he said, his voice carrying plain across the table. “A feast, aye, but more than that. Let them feel it’s changed.”
He did not look away from you when he answered. “Like they’re not merely surviving anymore, but living.”
You watched him through the quiet moment as they took in his words, your smile tightening into something knowing. He suddenly wished he could kiss you now.
"I think we ought to have something truly special to celebrate." you added, leaning towards him, temping him further.
He answered it with one of his own smiles. “Oh?”
You nodded, "I think we shall name your coronation day. A feast, a celebration of harvest in your name, Joel."
He felt the heat rise in his face, sudden, unwelcome. “That is not—” he began, shaking his head. “We do not need—no one wants—”
“Oh, the town would love it!” Lucia burst out.
“The children,” Miriam added, near breathless, “they would speak of nothing else. A man of The Guild, raised from nothing—” she shook her head, smiling, “it would mean everything to them.”
There was a tumult of excitement across the mahogany table at that, and Joel's face was aflame with it, your eyes dancing in the sunlight as they stayed on him.
“What do you think?” you murmured.
He made a sound low in his throat, perhaps sounding like something between a protest and a surrender, but did not argue.
"Joel." you tilted your head, wanting something more than just his practiced silence.
“Ser Joel of the Dawn…” You let your hand fall from your chin and took his so it laid properly over the table now, both of yours closing around his, soft against the rough of him. “To be crowned King of this kingdom, beside me.”
He was silent.
“Let us celebrate you,” you whispered, your hands giving his a small, insistent squeeze.
Joel let his gaze move once around the table, over the wide eyes and eager faces of the women you had handpicked for your council, the people you had chosen to help you shape this kingdom, and there he was among them, beside them. Beside you.
At last his gaze came back to you, to your eager eyes and soft skin, to your braided hair and ruby mouth, and he felt it plain as breath in his chest that there would never be another woman he would wish to stand beside. He would do whatever you asked of him. There was no true reason left to hesitate, save perhaps that he liked the way you looked at him when you were waiting, the way you still made him nervous, the way you asked him—again and again—to be braver than he had ever been. Braver than he had been in his armor, braver than he had been at your father’s side, braver than he had been on the day he first stepped into this very chamber and found his life turning toward you. You had asked him to be the man you needed, and there had never been a world in which he would deny you.
So, with all the courage he had left to give, he nodded, and said:
CW: OMGG bta first album jamaica harry is literally my dream bf so this fic is entirely my daydreams sighhhh!!! its nasty and angsty and lowkey fluffy as well!!! im very proud of this and i hope u all enjoy!! i wrote this in like three days because the inspiration was inspirationing fr!!! minors please dni !
WC: 6.3k
Inspired by this request.
PREVIEW:
She thought he would pull back right after, and they would get back to their dumb conversation sharing anecdotes that weren’t all that funny yet they laughed anyway. However, he ended up giving her this look, right in her eyes, like he was peering into her soul. His pupils were blown and she was sure hers were too. Neither of them were thinking clearly when he nudged his nose against hers and kissed her softly.
It was a gentle press at first—she could taste the strawberry chapstick he wore, and it made the kiss more sticky as he pulled back just to pluck her bottom lip with his thumb. Like an instinct, Y/N’s mouth pliantly fell open, letting him lick against her; deep and almost romantic in the way he held her face, like he didn’t ever want to let go. There were needy sounds exchanged betwee the two—a wet gasp for air; a groan which travelled from her hair down to her toes.
Before she knew it she was climbing his lap and the kiss got heated. Y/N didn’t know how long they remained like that; pressed against one another as they madeout sloppily, but she remembered how she felt when she finally pulled back to breathe. Her lips were tingly but it was the good kind. Her hands were knotted in his freshly cut hair and he looked at her like she was the stars and the moon and the whole solar system at once.
The private villa was massive.
That was the first word that came to Y/N’s mind when she first pulled up to the estate, having landed in Portland, Jamaica merely two hours ago.
Geejam Studios was a sprawling facility, complete with three private villas, twelve spacious guest rooms, three deluxe cabins, a private beach and a restaurant and bar featuring a luxurious infinity pool—the kind she only ever saw on her Instagram feed and favorited for later; a time which she thought would never come. But there she was—awe all over her face as the sun beat down on her skin, soaking her with peace and calm.
Y/N had only ever heard about the retreat; She knew pop stars and artists would frequent here and create their music in private recording studios, but she never thought she herself would ever get the opportunity to be there.
Well, it wasn’t technically her who had the opportunity to stay at the retreat and make music. It was her brother, Adam, who was a professional bassist for the past seven years—she was his plus one, of some sorts—Y/N was a trainee bassist, following the steps of her older brother, and he thought there was no better opportunity for her to practice her skills than to experience firsthand as he recorded music with Harry Styles for his first debut album.
Yes, she was talking about the Harry Styles.
How her brother landed such a prestigious position, Y/N wasn’t sure. He was a very talented man, and when she asked him how he found himself here, living in Harry Styles’ rented out private villa, he’d just shrug and tell her it was all about “connections” or whatever that meant.
Y/N wasn’t complaining though. She got to stay in her own ensuite, which had windows that opened up to the lush green that surrounded them on all sides. If she squinted her eyes, she could see the water just beyond the trees—still and silky, like she had her own sliver of heaven right here on earth. Plus, she got to sit in on the band rehearsals and studio sessions, soaking in all the information first hand which she couldn’t get from any sort of musical institution even if she paid for it.
Everyone was very nice to her too; she didn’t feel out of place or left out—she got to have dinner with them every night, hang out on the L-shaped couch while Harry and his producer tested different melodies and song lyrics. Every night, they would all gather by the pool and share drinks, debriefing about the day and what they accomplished. They’d go over new ideas sometimes and tell each other what they liked or disliked about what went on that afternoon.
Eventhough they were technically there for “work” it didn’t really feel like that. It was easier to forget that they were actually putting together an album to debut Harry’s career when they were all so close—living with someone in a private villa for nearly a month can reveal a lot about them (unsurprisingly)—and the more you learn, the more comfortable you eventually get with those people.
For example, Y/N learned that Harry was definitely, 100%, the hottest man she had ever seen.
This was something she’d known for a long time now—she’s a little embarrassed to admit this, but even before she flew out to Jamaica, she’d been a huge One Direction fan through and through. She was talking posters in her room, fanfiction on her phone, merch hanging on her walls; the lot. That’s why when she heard Adam signed a contract with Harry, she nearly screamed her head off and went flying through the roof. This was like, her dream situation.
And when he asked her to join him at the estate…yeah. Top three moments of her life, easily. Adam didn’t have to do much convincing to get his eager sister to tag along. If he didn’t ask her, she would have found a way to come anyway—would have hid in his suitcase or gotten a disguise and snuck on the plane, or something.
When she first met Harry, she did her best to mask her fangirl-ness. She didn’t want to give him the ick, but Harry didn’t let her worry too long about that, because he was, right off the bat, one of the sweetest people she’d ever met. He hugged her when she held her hand out for him to shake and told her how excited he was to have her with them (but she found it hard to focus on what he was saying, considering he smelled intoxicating—like smokey, woodsy vanilla; the scent clung on to her jumper, which Y/N still hasn’t washed in case it goes away).
The simplest way to put it was this: Harry was a cool guy.
Everyone adored him. There was an unmistakable confidence in the way he moved—the kind possessed by a man who knew he was loved, and who could win over anyone in the room without even trying.
But he was also humble, and kind, and so dedicated to his work, and fuck—Y/N thought that made him ten times sexier than he already was. She always had a thing for men who were passionate about what they did (and were good at it too), so actively watching Harry fall in love with his music did wonders for her.
That’s why when on their fourth night at the villa as they were all gathered around the pool, and Harry and Y/N ended up sharing a blunt sneakily tucked away from everyone on the back deck, her nerves were going haywire and her heart was doing backflips in her chest. And when they were both in that floaty, giggly space, Harry insisted he shotgun smoked in her mouth, Y/N took no time to nod her head yes very eagerly, agreeing to let him do as he pleased.
She remembered being so flustered; butterflies erupted in her belly when he angled her face towards him, his knees grazing hers as they sat on a low step. His breath washed over her warm cheeks for a second, before he took a drag and cupped her jaw, pursed his lips and blew gently into her mouth. It didn’t take long for Y/N to be in shambles. If she wasn’t already sitting down, she knew her knees would have given out and she would have (embarrasingly) fallen face first on the ground.
But Harry was steady—like an achor. She thought he would pull back right after, and they would get back to their dumb conversation sharing anecdotes that weren’t all that funny yet they laughed anyway. However, he ended up giving her this look, right in her eyes, like he was peering into her soul. His pupils were blown and she was sure hers were too. Neither of them were thinking clearly when he nudged his nose against hers and kissed her softly.
It was a gentle press at first—she could taste the strawberry chapstick he wore, and it made the kiss more sticky as he pulled back just to pluck her bottom lip with his thumb. Like an instinct, Y/N’s mouth pliantly fell open, letting him lick against her; deep and almost romantic in the way he held her face, like he didn’t ever want to let go. There were needy sounds exchanged betwee the two—a wet gasp for air; a groan which travelled from her hair down to her toes.
Before she knew it she was climbing his lap and the kiss got heated. Y/N didn’t know how long they remained like that; pressed against one another as they madeout sloppily, but she remembered how she felt when she finally pulled back to breathe. Her lips were tingly but it was the good kind. Her hands were knotted in his freshly cut hair and he looked at her like she was the stars and the moon and the whole solar system at once.
Maybe it was the weed that had her so enthralled, but she thinks Harry just being him was equally at blame for the feeling which bloomed in her chest and invaded her veins. And when he kissed her neck and whispered into her ear asking if she wanted to go to his room, who was she to decline such an invitation?
It was still very late at night and Adam and the rest were out by the pool drinking and laughing when they snuck upstairs to Harry’s master bedroom. His room was nicer than hers, but at that moment Y/N didn’t stop to take in her surroundings. Harry offered her no reprieve, immediately ushering her towards the bed. She remembered the weight of him on top of her as they continued the kiss; the goosebumps his fingers left when they trailed beneath her top to cup her breast and circle her nipple.
Harry was skilled; that much was clear to Y/N that night—he was way more skilled than she was at least. Sure, she’d been with men before, but no one had ever split her thighs the way he did and feasted on her like she was a three course meal. Normally when someone was down there, she could tell when their heart wasn’t in it, but that was not the case with Harry. He ate her pussy like he loved it—like he wanted to be there, and nowhere else. Her thighs squeezed around his head so hard, she wondered if she blocked any bloodflow.
And when he fucked her… well, Y/N had no words that she thought did him justice. He was slow at first; grinding against her gummy walls, biting down on her shoulder. Her nails scraped down his back as Harry picked up his pace, slammed his hips into hers so hard she anticipated bruises the next day. He stopped when she was close just to pull out and flip her over, pounding into her from this new angle that had her squealing and moaning into the pillows.
Suffice to say, it was one of the best nights of her life. Not because she was already halfway in love with Harry, but because he was so much more than she ever imagined. The aftercare was impeccable too—he asked her to spend the night in his room and sneak out in the morning before anyone woke. They ended up showering together, where he pressed her against the foggy glass and fingered her till she was coming all over his hand. He was a cuddler as well—held her tight all night with his back up against her chest cocooning her from the outside world.
She had no shame in saying now that she was basically addicted to him; everything about him, truly, from his pretty seamoss eyes, straight nose and pouty mouth, down to his calloused fingertips and tattooed belly. Y/N was consumed by that man. And she liked to think that he felt that way about her too.
After the first time, Y/N and Harry would continuously meet post recording sessions. Sometimes they’d share a blunt before they fucked so everything was amplified by ten, and sometimes they’d just be sober; enjoying each others unfiltered company. It was usually in his room they’d go, and by the second week of this arrangement, Y/N didn’t think there was any surface in that room where they hadn’t already fucked.
The best part was that no one else in the villa had any idea what the two got upto. Not once had anyone looked at either of them suspicsiously, or pulled either one aside for a quick ‘chat’ about anything… they were in the clear for now. Y/N hoped it stayed that way. If Adam found out, all hell would break loose.
Naturally, Harry was the only person Y/N was sleeping with at that time. She didn’t have much opportunity to go out and meet someone and bring them back to the villa anyway, but she wasn’t mad about that. Harry was more than enough to satiate her needs and Y/N was very happy to have access to just him when she needed a fix.
Y/N assumed (sue her for always thinking the best of everyone) that Harry was in the same boat; that she was enough to satisfy his needs and he wouldn’t want to sleep with other people. They were hooking up almost every other night, so even if he did want to sleep with someone else, where would he even find the time to, right?
That was what she thought. You can call her naive, but to her, she was just being practical.
But the actual reality of the situation was, that when one morning as Y/N was passing by Harry’s room to go to the kitchen, she heard a woman’s laughter from inside. At first, she thought he was watching a TV show or a movie, maybe, or scrolling on his phone and a video popped up. Then when she heard him responding to the voice, she thought maybe he was on the phone with someone, but people on the phone didn’t sound so clear did they? There was no static or any cutting off—her voice was clean—like she was on the other side of the door, in person, in Harry’s room.
Curiosity got the best of her and Y/N knocked once on his door before walking in. They were way past the point of formalities now—they’d seen parts of each other the sun never touched, so surely Y/N could enter his room without being faced with something completely unexpected, right?
Wrong.
Harry was in his room, like she anticipated, but there was someone tucked into his side. It was a girl. A beautiful, topless girl who was smiling at Harry the same way Y/N smiled at him when he was the first person she saw as she woke up after a splendid night. Y/N recognised her as the pretty server who she’d often see work down at the restaurant by the beach.
Y/N caught them right as the girl began kissing down his jaw and neck, but at the sight of her angry face, she jumped away and screamed; loud enough that Harry had to put his hand over her mouth and tell her to shush before someone else came in.
“What’s going on?” Y/N asked, even though she knew the answer to her own question. Harry looked at her with a bewildered expression—he had sex hair and his eyes were wide, “You can’t just barge in like that!” He quietly yelled, letting his hand slip from the girl’s mouth. He turned to her carefully, “Maria, do not scream again, please.”
“Who the fuck is Maria?” Y/N asked another question. She took a step inside his room as Maria nodded and slowly sat up. The poor woman was shaking, trembling, like Y/N was a cop or something and she’d caught her with four bags of cocaine up her ass. “Can we not do this, Y/N?” Harry replied and got up, and Y/N was happy to see he was still wearing his boxers when he did. She raised a brow, “You’re sleeping with other people.” This time, she stated a fact rather than asked a question.
Maria was hastily getting dressed now, looking between Y/N and Harry as they bickered back and forth, “I’m going to go,” She murmured, giving Harry a tight-lipped smile before she dashed out of the room. Y/N stepped out of her way as she left and Harry ran a hand down his face, “Look what you did.”
“What I did? You’re the one sleeping with other people!”
“So what? Why are you so mad about that?” He scoffed. Y/N couldn’t believe the audacity of the half naked man in front of her. His seething tone made it seem like she was to blame—like she did the wrong thing by catching the person who she thought she was exclusively sleeping with in bed with another woman.
“You don’t see the problem with what you’re doing?” She instigated.
“No? We never talked about this so how was I meant to know?”
Y/N chuckled dryly at him—not an ounce of humor in her tone, “It’s common sense, Harry. Sleeping with multiple people at the same damn time—you’re practically begging to get an STD!”
“It’s safe sex!”
“What it is, is disgusting! If you wanted to see other people, at least warn me about it!” She reasoned. Her face was red hot with anger and Harry’s was too—except for him she could see it spreading down his neck and chest. It was his turn to laugh at her now, but when he did it, it broke something inside of her.
“I didn’t think we owed shit to each other. It’s just sex.”
She wouldn’t be surprised if steam began coming out of her ears at this point. He was saying all the wrong things and pushing all the right buttons to make her angry. In fact, she was more than angry.
She was hurt.
Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, ever the stubborn girl. “Okay then. We sleep with other people.” She stated. The words were sour on her tongue—sleeping with other people was the last thing she was thinking about, but she couldn’t let Harry know that. She had to appear on equal footing with him. If he found out she was holding out for him while he was fucking whoever, she thinks she’d perish from embarrsament.
“We do. Because this—” Harry motioned between her and him, “Is not a thing, Y/N. I’m sorry.”
If she stayed any longer, she knew she would start crying, and Y/N would die before being so vulnerable in front of someone like Harry, who at the moment didn’t give two shits what was spewing out of his mouth. He was saying bad things for the sake of it—without thinking about what the repercussions would be. Instead, she nodded her head and kept her face neutral.
“Fuck you,” Was the last thing she said before she stormed out of his room that morning.
Two days passed since then, and Y/N and Harry would barely look at each other.
On night one she didn’t go to the studio, and instead lied about not feeling well. The whole time she was buried beneath her covers, rewatching her comfort shows with a big bowl of pasta warming her lap. Luckily, no one inquired too much so Y/N didn’t have to lie—she was already covering up having sex with Harry on the low, and if she had to keep up another lie, she thinks she’d literally burst from nervousness.
The second night, she attended the sessions but kept her head low and her eye contact with Harry minimal, who appeared painfully normal. They were recording a slower song tonight, so the vibes were chill compared to the hard rock vibe Harry was going for for the rest of the album. To contrast the tempo, Jeff suggested they all went down to the bar since they were doing a special night, some sort of theme that Y/N was only paying half of her attention to.
She had nothing better to do, and she wanted to get her mind off of certain things (Harry, mainly) so she got dressed in one of her cuter outfits and headed down with Sarah and Adam. The dress she wore was hot pink—it was a tiny number, loose around her torso but it had a tighter fit down her hips to her mid-thigh. The tan she accumulated stood out, paired with silver jewellery and her hair down… Y/N felt good about herself after a long, long time.
Maybe she’d meet someone tonight who could get her to think about anything else but Harry. Since it was apparently okay with him for her to sleep with other people, this shouldn’t be much of a problem.
The bar was just as beautiful as the rest of the retreat—outdoors, with a wooden deck, covered in lights that twinkled and reflected off of every sweaty person dancing to the beat that pumped through the massive speakers.
Slowly the rest of the crew came down in groups of twos and threes, until they were all seated together at the left end of the bar table. Harry was there too, of course, and Y/N’s eyes naturally gravitated towards him. He was dressed very simply compared to everyone else—a loose pair of shorts and a printed, floral red button up that barely covered anything. The swallows on his collarbones and the tip of the butterfly on his tummy peeked out over the fabric. Y/N was staring, but she was also two drinks in so she didn’t care if he saw her looking.
Besides, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t already seen before. They made brief eye-contact and if she wasn’t angry at him still, she’d have given him a cheeky smile and a text asking to meet somewhere around the back. But her ego got the best of her. Y/N forced herself to rip her gaze away from Harry and search the crowd for some sort of rebound.
The truth was that she didn’t actually care to have sex with someone else, but she was hoping doing so was the antidote to the restlessness in her heart. After a bit of looking she settled her gaze on a tall, tan man who just walked into the establishment, eagerness written all over his face.
He was good enough; with short, blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. He was a bit lanky which wasn’t her normal type, however drunk Y/N thought he was cute so it didn’t matter. All she had to do was shimmy her way through the crowd so she was closer to where he stood and make sure she was in his eye line, and the boy was gawking at her just like she wanted.
Y/N counted the seconds in her head—she made it to seven before she heard him from behind, “Excuse me?”
She turned around, flipping her hair purposefully, “Can I help you?”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Up close, he was not too bad.
He smelled nice and he had an endearing accent, and those were good enough reasons for Y/N to say yes and join him on the dancefloor. It was weird to have another man's hands on her after weeks of just feeling Harry, but Y/N swallowed down that feeling. The theme was disco EDM, so the music wasn’t like, sultry, to the point where people were grinding against each other—it was more upbeat and party, and she was glad for that because she didn’t know if she wanted this man (Carmen, was his name, maybe? Or was it Cameron… she’d already forgotten) that close to her.
The thought was a bit pathetic, really, because Harry had no problem getting intimate with someone else, so why did she? Maybe she let herself get too invested in their little arrangement… she had to pull back, and she decided this was the best way to do it.
And she was having fun; Carmen/Cameron was sweet—he kept whispering in her ear how pretty she was and how lucky he felt to be dancing with her, and that was always nice to hear. He’d bought her two drinks at that point, so her tongue and her body was looser.
They were just about to get started on their third song when she felt her phone blow up against her bra. Y/N excused herself from Carmen/Cameron (which proved harder than she thought, considering he insisted he go with her until she politely turned him down).
As soon as she escaped the warmth of the crowd, Y/N was met with the cold breeze of the sea nipping at her cheeks. She pulled her phone out and her jaw almost went slack.
Harry
What the fuck are you doing?
10:05PM
Y/N.
10:14PM
Meet me at our spot.
10:16PM
Eyes wide, Y/N did a double take of her phone. No way he was texting her like this. She wanted to believe that maybe he was bothered by her hanging out with someone else, but was she getting ahead of herself? She could never be sure with Harry. He was so unpredictable and impulsive, yet she still found herself making the familiar walk to the back deck where they snuck off to the first night they kissed.
It was already 10:31PM. Hoping that Harry was still waiting for her, Y/N rounded the last corner and came face-to-face with the bane of her existence.
Her breath was immediately stolen from her lungs—who was she kidding? Carmen/Cameron didn’t hold a candle to the way Harry’s eyes lightened up at the sight of her; the tattoos that haunted her every moment; the lips she loved to kiss… he was something else entirely. And he looked at her with so much hunger, so much desire, Y/N could almost feel it wafting off of him in waves. Her heart jumped with excitement.
“What was that?” He started, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What was what?”
“You were all over some guy—”
Y/N scoffed. “So? I thought we could sleep with other people?”
“You can, but he–he’s a stranger. Y’don’t even know the guy!”
“And you knew Maria so well?”
Harry sighed, out of frustration or anger, or maybe both. Y/N traced his worried features with her eyes, “That was different,” He muttered.
“How was that different!?” Disbelief was clear in Y/N’s tone. And why wouldn’t it be? His words held no sense or sound logic—he was again just saying things with no meaning.
“Because that was me!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can do that shit but you can’t.”
Maybe he lost his marbles completely. It was either that, or he was too drunk to think straight and so he continuously spat bullshit at her. But Y/N knew Harry, and he didn’t have that sheen in eyes he normallyl got when he was drunk—his words weren’t slurring either. She’d guess he had maybe one drink before this, but she still couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck he was on about.
“How can you say that? How is that fair?” Cool winds from the sea whipped her hair around, making her waterline glisten—though the weather wasn’t entirely to blame for that.
“Because I get… I get jealous.” A frown tugged at his features, and his voice turned low, almost reluctant, as though he knew his argument held no weight. Y/N struggled to believe what she was hearing. Jealousy couldn't possibly be the only reason behind all of this.
“Okay, yeah, sure, Harry. We’re not kids. I’m not a toy that you don’t share because you’re jealous or whatever. I have real feelings.”
“I do too.”
“So what does this mean?”
“It means I don’t want you to sleep with other people. Only me.”
“And you get to fuck whatever waitress you want every night? Do you think I’m an idiot, Harry?”
He nodded his head no. He looked sincere as he took a step closer to her, “I think I’m the biggest idiot for ever wanting to be with anyone but you.”
He was pissing her off but he also gave her fucking butterflies at the same time which was the most annoying part. Her heart was fluttering but her brain was still angry—the reasonable part of her still saw no substance in his arguments—he was being childish and that was very clear.
But the unreasonable part of her loved this—the possessive side of him she seldom got to witness… he was crumbling before her, and that did wonders for her self-esteem.
Save for the stars and the dim lighting of the deck, the night was dark—surrounding the two like a shield, protecting them and their secret from the rest of the world. Perhaps the biggest secret of all, at that moment, was whose resolve broke first, as their lips collided in a fiery battle. It was more violent than the one they were already engaged in, but kisses hurt way less than words, Y/N learned.
“I hate you,” She breathed against his lips.
“I know.”
“You’re a hypocrite.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth. “I know.”
Strangely, she couldn’t remember the last time they were together like this. It’d been a while for sure—it felt like so much happened between then and now, her and Harry were like two different people. But their bodies found each other so easily; locked in this familiar dance they’d done so many times. Her hands found his hair in an instant, twisting between his locks and pulling how he liked it, and his own settled on her waist, and then her jaw, slipping and sliding indecisively.
He tasted sweet but there was alcohol on his tongue which explained his behaviour a little bit. The mere fact that he opened up to her like that proved enough. His hands squeezed her ass and cupped her face at the same time, urging her mouth open so their tongues met. There was nothing tentative about the kiss—they both knew exactly what they wanted, and they showed it too.
Harry was the one who suggested they go up to his room. Deja vu hit Y/N like a train—his words, his touch, his kiss—it was all akin to the way they first gave in to each other. It was the same darkness that enveloped them, the same words he whispered in her ear and the same way Y/N nodded eagerly and let him guide her to his room.
There was something gentle in the way he pushed her against his door and unzipped her dress. It was different to the way he normally was—hungry and ravenous. He took his time with her as he worshipped her boobs, sucking her nipple until her back arched against the wood. Y/N moaned needily while he took his time sluicing her in his spit, an especially loud noise coming from her throat when he left a pretty mark right where her neck met her chest.
She was getting impatient. Harry looked so good that night and she’d been wanting to touch him for the longest time, so she fumbled with his buttons and shoved his shirt off his shoulders, walking him to the bed. The angle made it so she was astride him, naked apart from the pink cotton that covered her core. Her hips rolled into his for a while, the bulge in his shorts pressed right against her swollen clit.
Harry’s groans were like music to her ears, and the way he looked at her… Y/N thought he would just about swallow her whole. His gaze darted from her face to her tits, down to where her wetness seeped through her underwear and coated his shorts. He had to throw his head back at the sight of that, giving Y/N more skin to roam her hands over and kiss.
Eventually, he got her on her back, where he dove right in and sucked her pussy through the fabric. That was where he spent the longest time—sighing, when he got the first taste of her. She came twice from that—just his lips wrapped around her clit, sucking slowly and then speeding up in intervals. He’d lick down to where she leaked, tongue wriggling inside of her so not a drop went to waste before coming back up to abuse her poor button.
And when he fucked her, it felt like home. His hand wrapped around her throat, just resting there, and from his window Y/N could see the sea in the distance. The sounds of the waves lapping ashore and Y/N’s moans created a pretty melody, one that urged Harry to go faster. He was basically laying on top of her, buried in her neck, engulfing her. Y/N liked it this way, though—surrounded by him, inside and out. His hips punched into hers and her pussy squelched each time he bottomed out.
They came together, pleasure somehow being the only thing they both could ever agree on. She dug her nails into his back and he tightened his hold on her throat as he painted her tummy with his cum. He flopped on top of her, crushing her for a minute and then rolled next to her. Y/N struggled to catch her breath. They’d done this so many times before, but this time was different.
Maybe because there was finally something more than lust behind their actions—something emotional, for once, because of which their hearts were fuller. Y/N slipped into a deep sleep after that. She faintly remembered Harry disappearing to the bathroom to fetch a towel to clean them up but she’s pretty sure she was snoozing by the time he came back out.
When her mind forced her awake in the middle of the night after a weird dream, she noticed his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her back into his warm chest.
After a long time, Y/N was content.
The soft rays of the sun in the morning were what made her eyelids flutter the next morning. She was happy to find that Harry was still beside her, though he’d slipped down the bed some, resulting in his cheek laying against her chest. She wished she had her phone on her so she could take a photo of him—blissful, calm—comfortable, as slow puffs of his breath caused goosebumps to pimple on her skin.
It took him a second to rouse from his slumber, but when he did, he gave her a sleepy, lazy, smile. “Y’stayed,” He stated, his deep, morning voice sending shivers down her spine.
“I did.” Harry yawned, pushing up from her body. Y/N immediately missed his warmth.
“That’s good.”
“It is.”
The birds chirped and the sea crashed against rocks, matching the placid beats of her heart. “I’m glad I saw you last night,” Harry said.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“The dress y’were wearing… looked like you were waiting to be snatched up.”
Now this made Y/N’s eyes narrow. She couldn’t tell if this was him still sweet talking or if the conversation had just taken a turn for the worse.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Harry fully sat up, “Y’obviously wanted to take someone home. I’m happy I got to you first.”
“Harry, are you slut shaming me?”
He chuckled, “I’m just saying, y’had very clear intentions.”
Y/N rose from her comfortable position lying on his bed. She grabbed his shirt that was forgotten on the floor and quickly put it on, “Right. Because women can't wear a dress without it being for a man.”
“The way every bloke in that place was staring at you.”
Y/N scoffed. “And that's my fault?”
“Didn't say it was.”
“You literally brought it up.”
“Because I didn't like it, alright?” He rubbed his palm over his face, avoiding meeting her eyes.
The admission hung between them.
Y/N blinked. “So this is the jealousy thing again.”
Harry looked away. “Don't do that.”
“Don't do what?”
“Make me sound crazy for caring.”
Her laugh was sharp and humorless. “Caring? Harry, you don't get to fuck another woman, show up whenever it's convenient, and then act possessive when another guy looks at me.”
His expression hardened. “You’re impossible to talk to. I don’t understand why I put up with it.”
“Then don’t! No one’s asking you to!”
“Then get the fuck out.”
Y/N felt like the floor was snatched from beneath her feet. The silence that followed was no longer comfortable. It felt like standing too close to a cliff edge, both of them knowing exactly where this conversation was headed and neither willing to step back.
“You’re a fucking asshole and I hope you remember that every goddamn second of your sorry life.”
With that, she stormed out of his room, banging the door shut behind her, so loud that she felt it in her bones. It was her luck that no one was out in the hallway when she hurried back downstairs with tears trailing down her cheeks.
No matter how hard she tried with him, Y/N had to accept that her and Harry were never going to see eye to eye. What she had with him was special, but she was starting to think it was only special to her. If he valued it even half as much as she did, surely he wouldn’t treat her like he did. It was as though every road between them eventually led here, to resentment disguised as concern and affection tangled up with hurt.
For the first time, she wondered if this was simply who they were together—not a love story waiting to be fixed, but a cycle waiting to repeat itself. Shutting her door behind her, Y/N felt her heart shatter in her chest, every shard cutting deeper than his accusations—because, deep down, she knew nothing between them would ever change.
AN: BEHHEHEHE I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE GUYS I HOPE U ENJOYED IT!!! THE INSPIRATION STRUCK AND I JUST HAD TO WRITE THIS!! I LOVE BTA HARRY AND I LOVE ANGST AND I LOVE JEALOUSY AND POSSESSIVE SEX!!!! LET ME KNOW IF U LIKED THIS ONE!!!! IF U HAVE ANY REQUESTS OR U WANNA SAY HI PLS STOP BY MY INBOX!! LUV UUUUUUUU <33
