being in love with a fictional character is wild like what do you MEAN i’ll never feel their hands on my waist?? what do you MEAN they’ll never lean in real slow and say my name like it means something?? and what do you MEAN they’re not real??
[When Sanji loses sight of you in a city filled with Marines, Zoro is more than happy to try out his new swords on the cook.]
[Part two]
Zoro isn’t going to admit he’s in love with you. Not because it’s untrue – it’s patently obvious to any onlookers – but because he doesn’t want it to be true. If he were in love with you, that means your rejection can break his heart and your sole presence on the ship will haunt him like a malevolent spirit. Then again, if he were in love with you and you reciprocated his feelings, Zoro would have duties towards you. What if he failed at them? He’d be responsible for keeping you safe and happy. Unfortunately, he’s the kind of man who lunges into danger and tends to “misplace” excitement. In other words, Zoro views himself as the complete opposite of the person who deserves your time and affection. To him, the best way of dealing with this is to simply pretend he doesn’t love you, naively hoping that his infatuation will leave one day, like clouds slowly rolling across the sky.
And so he continues to lie to himself. His feelings aren’t love but simple enjoyment of your camaraderie. Whenever you’re in danger, he protects you because you need a little more help than the others. Zoro will carry your things because the weight will only slow you down. In a truly remarkable fashion, he has a perfectly innocent explanation for every little thing that his lovesick heart drives him to do. But no matter how long a man commands the sun to rise, the moon still silently shines down on him until its hour passes.
Zoro bites his tongue and clenches his jaw when you announce that you’re going to stick with Sanji and Luffy in Loguetown. He was going to casually tell you to keep him company and not get into trouble, a plea disguised as an order, but it wouldn’t make sense anymore – he’d have to be your boyfriend, such a high-sounding title, to demand every second of your time. Because he is definitely not in love with you, Zoro simply refuses to comment on the arrangement. His silence earns him a questioning look from Nami but he pretends not to notice it. He’s good at ignoring things.
For a man who is not in love, Zoro thinks about you a lot. Although ‘a lot’ is an adorable euphemism. Ever since you disappeared into the crowd with Sanji and Luffy, Zoro’s thoughts have been occupied solely by you. Whenever his eye is caught by something in the shop window, he wonders whether you’d like it. Would you gush about the dress? Say a mean quip about a rather interesting top hat? Then his thoughts become more grim. You’re somewhere out there, going for a stroll in a fish market with Sanji by your side. Is the cook minding his manners or being sleazy as always? What cheesy line has he thrown at you this time?
Zoro’s eyebrows furrow. His face becomes almost the same colour as his hair. What if Sanji’s sleaziness is working?
The man takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw again. Why would he be even thinking about Sanji trying his chances? It’s not like Zoro is your boyfriend and has any right to be jealous about other men being interested in you. He’s not even in love with you, so why should he care about Sanji’s constant flattery?
He manages to push those thoughts away but they remain with him, lingering in the back of his mind. If he’s not careful, he might think about you and Sanji again. Perhaps there’s another, ‘friendly’, explanation…
When Zoro arrives at the square, two new swords adorning his hip, he immediately notices the absence of something. Well, to be exact, it is the absence of someone – you’re nowhere to be seen. Sanji appears to be perfectly content with holding a rather large fish as though the meat is going to be tonight’s date, not dinner. Whether it’s you being gone or Sanji having no care in the world, Zoro’s anger reaches the boiling point. Of course, it’s not because the girl he’s in love with seems to be gone and, possibly, in danger. He’s just looking out for his friend, while the blond dishie boy can’t split his attention between fish and people.
Zoro crosses the distance to Sanji in long, hastened strides. "Where is she?" he asks in a low voice. Despite appearing collected, there’s a sense of urgency in the way he speaks. This is the sound of a man holding on to his sanity by a thread. The question is when, not if, reason leaves him entirely.
Sanji, too busy admiring the fish in his arms, doesn’t notice Zoro’s angered tone. "Around,”
he answers. The man lifts his gaze from the meat and looks to his right, then left side. "Somewhere…” His smile drops when he realizes that you’re not next to him. Sanji can’t quite remember when was the last time he saw you.
"This town is crawling with Marines, you idiot,” Zoro drones out. He gets even closer to Sanji. If it wasn’t for the fish in the cook’s arms, the two man would be touching foreheads. Something dark stirs in Zoro’s eyes; something that betrays all they lies he’s been telling himself. Only love can breed such anger. “How could you lose her?”
Sanji stares back at Zoro with apparent confusion. Since when is the swordsman so hot-headed? "Oi, pipe down, mosshead, will ya? She's a big girl, she'll manage.” It doesn’t escape his attention how the furious look in Zoro’s eyes only intensifies. Then, as if suddenly recalling long weeks of shared travels, Sanji completely understands the emotional outburst. His confusion subsides only to be replaced by a mischievous smirk. “Besides,” he begins in a teasing tone, “you should be the one looking after your girlfriend."
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Zoro answers, a little too quickly. The deadpan delivery rids his words of any credibility. He appears like a child, who just recently learned that they can lie. While trying too hard to sound honest, they give away their deception entirely.
Sanji’s smile only grows. He’s very much amused by Zoro’s poor attempt at hiding the truth. Weighing his chances of being skewered on a sword, Sanji decides to get under the other man’s skin just a little more:
“So you won’t mind if I pay her a little late-night visit?”
In a flash, Zoro grabs the collar of Sanji’s shirt. The blond man’s smirk doesn’t falter. It’s as if he’s been expecting such a reaction. Even more – he wanted to see it. The truth is, Sanji is counting on Zoro conducting a smidge of introspection to accept his fairly obvious affection for you. Maybe if the swordsman realizes that most people wouldn’t throw hands at others by the tiniest suggestion that their friend is unaccounted for, he’ll finally understand that the flutter of his heart is not excitement or nervousness.
Before Zoro can actually skewer Sanji, Nami steps in. “Now’s really not the time, boys.” She gives each of them a stern look and both of them know better than to defy her at that moment.
Although Zoro knows that Nami is right and he can set the record straight with Sanji after you’re safe and sound, he doesn’t let the cook have the last word. "If something happens to her, you'll be the first person I try my new swords on,” he says. It’s not a threat, as much as it is a warning; Zoro is not trying to scare Sanji, he’s simply informing him about the natural consequences of his actions.
Zoro lets go of Sanji’s shirt. His angered gaze lingers on the other man for a moment longer, before he turns around, ready to head back into the bustling city in search for you.
"Save some of that energy for the missus,” Sanji calls out.
The man stands still, hand gripping one of the swords. He looks over his shoulder, debating whether Sanji’s quip deserves an answer. As much as Zoro itches to respond to the annoying dishie, his mind is set on a different goal. Somewhere out there, you might be in danger. Whether its Marines or other pirates, a malevolent pair of hands could be reaching for something it has no right to touch. The thought makes his skin crawl.
With a sense of urgency in his step, Zoro leaves his crewmates at the town square.
Nami exchanges a knowing look with Sanji. Silently, they’re asking each other if they’ve reached the same conclusions. An equally quiet confirmation gives them an idea – perhaps they could force Zoro to finally stop dancing around and be honest about his feelings. After all, they both know too well that they’re reciprocated…
Zoro x shy reader ft Mihawk who’s the strongest swordswoman, member of straw hat crew and the adopted daughter of Mihawk. When the crew are exhausted, they thought it’s good idea to find shelter and shy reader mentions there’s a mansion she’s living in with her adopted dad. When they arrived the mansion & Mihawk is happy to see his precious daughter. For dinner, the crew especially zoro can see how much Mihawk loves her despite being adopted since she was a newborn. Mihawk isn’t surprised shy reader & zoro are together. Pretty cool Shy reader Powers & Abilities: * Telepathy: Mental bolts, mind control, illusions, psychic shields. * Telekinesis: Creating force fields, flight, telekinetic katana/psi-knife. * Martial Arts: Highly skilled fighter. Like the character Psylocke from X men: Apocalypse
pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro × reader
genre: fluff, romance, adventure
summary: The exhausted Straw Hats find refuge at Mihawk’s fortress, revealing his protective side as a father.
word count: ~4.5k
c/w: mentions of alcohol
a/n: I'm not sure of this one but I hope that you will like it!!
➤ opla masterlist (REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!) )
𑣲 taglist
The salt spray was a welcome companion, even as exhaustion clung to the Straw Hat crew like a second skin. The Grand Line had been relentless lately, a series of islands each more bizarre and dangerous than the last. Now, adrift on the calm but vast expanse of the sea, the Going Merry creaked softly, a tired vessel carrying an equally tired crew.
Luffy was slumped over the figurehead, his usual boundless energy finally depleted. Sanji leaned against the railing, smoking a cigarette with uncharacteristic slowness, while Nami meticulously checked her maps, a furrow of concern on her brow. Usopp was passed out under a pile of fishing nets, his snores a gentle counterpoint to the lapping waves.
And then there was you. You sat near the mast, knees pulled to your chest, watching the horizon with a quiet intensity that was uniquely yours. You were the newest member of the crew, a young woman of few words but immense presence. Shy and reserved, you often faded into the background, but those who paid attention knew there was a well of incredible power lurking beneath your demure exterior. You were their swordswoman, their psychic shield, and perhaps most surprisingly, the adopted daughter of Dracule Mihawk, the man they all aspired to one day defeat.
Zoro sat beside you, not close enough to crowd your space, but near enough that his solid presence was a comforting constant. He was cleaning his swords, the rhythmic scrape of whetstone on steel a familiar, meditative sound. He didn't need to speak to communicate with you. Over the months, you'd both developed a silent language, a current of understanding that flowed between you. He felt your exhaustion, and you felt his quiet concern for the crew.
"I think we need to find an island soon," Nami finally said, her voice tight with worry. "Supplies are low, and we all need a real rest. A proper bed, not a hard deck."
Luffy stirred, lifting his head. "Island! Meat!"
"But where, Nami-swaaan?" Sanji sighed, flicking his cigarette butt into the sea. "The log pose is spinning. We're in the middle of nowhere."
A heavy silence fell over the deck, the weight of their situation pressing down. It was you who broke it. Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it cut through the despair like a blade.
"There's... there's a place," you murmured, not looking at anyone but the endless water. "Not far from here. If we head east for about half a day's sail."
All eyes turned to you. Even Zoro paused his polishing.
"A place?" Nami asked, her navigator instincts kicking in. "What kind of place? An island? A port?"
You hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's... a mansion. On a small island. It's where I... where I live. With my dad."
The revelation hung in the air. Your dad. Mihawk. The World's Greatest Swordsman. The crew had met him briefly during the ceremony at Marineford, but the concept of him having a home, a life, a daughter was still something they were processing.
"Your dad?" Luffy was now fully alert, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and hunger. "You mean Mihawk? He has a house? With food?"
You gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "He... he wouldn't mind. If it's us."
Zoro looked at you, his single eye unreadable. He knew how much you loved your adoptive father, but he also knew the immense pressure you felt under his shadow. To invite the entire crew, his rival included, into his sanctuary was a huge step for you. He gave a slight, almost invisible tilt of his head, a silent question. Are you sure?
You met his gaze for a fleeting moment, and in that instant, a wave of reassurance washed over him. It wasn't a thought, more like a feeling—a quiet certainty that this was the right thing to do.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Luffy shouted, scrambling to his feet. "To Mihawk's house!"
Nami, ever the pragmatist, was already unfolding a chart. "East, you said? Can you give me a bearing?"
You pointed a slender finger, and Nami adjusted their course accordingly. The mood on the ship shifted instantly. The exhaustion was still there, but now it was laced with a potent cocktail of curiosity and anticipation. Usopp, woken by the commotion, was now wide-eyed with terror and excitement. "We're going to the World's Greatest Swordsman's house? Are you crazy? He'll slice us in half!"
"He won't," Zoro grunted, resuming his polishing. "Not if she's there."
The journey was short, just as you'd promised. As the sun began its descent, casting long, golden rays across the water, a small island appeared on the horizon. It wasn't tropical or lush, but rather a rugged, dramatic outcropping of dark rock, crowned with a few gnarled, wind-swept trees. And perched on the highest cliff, overlooking the sea like a silent, watchful sentinel, was a mansion.
It was magnificent and intimidating. Built from the same dark stone as the cliffs, it was a sprawling structure with soaring towers, pointed arches, and large, imposing windows. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress, a fitting residence for the man they called Hawk-Eyes.
"Wow..." Usopp breathed, his fear momentarily forgotten by the sheer spectacle. "He lives there?"
As the Going Merry drew closer to a small, well-constructed stone dock, a figure emerged from the mansion's main entrance. Even from a distance, his silhouette was unmistakable. The tall, imposing frame, the wide-brimmed hat, the long black coat billowing in the sea breeze. Dracule Mihawk.
The crew fell silent, a nervous energy crackling in the air. Luffy was practically vibrating with excitement, Sanji was eyeing the mansion with professional curiosity, and Nami was already calculating the property value. Zoro stood up, his hand resting on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji, his gaze fixed on his rival.
You were the first to step off the dock and onto the solid ground of the island. As you did, Mihawk began to walk down the path to meet you. His pace was unhurried, but there was a distinct change in his demeanor. The fearsome Warlord persona seemed to melt away, replaced by something else entirely.
"Tesoro," he said, his deep, resonant voice holding a warmth that the Straw Hats had never heard before.
You ran the last few steps, your usual shyness forgotten in the face of your father's presence. He caught you in a firm, gentle embrace, one hand resting on the back of your head. It was a gesture of such pure, unguarded affection that it left the watching crew utterly speechless. This was the Hawk-Eyes Mihawk? The man who had faced down fleets with nothing but a dagger and a stare?
"I wasn't expecting you," Mihawk said, his voice a low murmur meant only for you, though it carried on the quiet sea air. He held you at arm's length, his sharp golden eyes scanning you from head to toe. "You look tired. And you've brought company."
You nodded, stepping back and gesturing nervously toward the ship. "They're... my friends. My crew. We needed a place to rest."
Mihawk's gaze swept over the assembled pirates on his dock. It lingered on Luffy for a moment, then on Sanji, and finally, it came to rest on Zoro, who had now stepped onto the dock. A flicker of something—amusement? Recognition?—crossed his face.
"The Straw Hat Pirates," he stated, his voice once again assuming its formal, commanding tone. "My daughter's new associates. An interesting choice." He looked from Zoro's three swords to your own katana, which was sheathed at your hip. Then he looked back at Zoro, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "And Roronoa Zoro. I should have known."
Zoro met his stare without flinching. "Mihawk."
There was no threat in the greeting, no challenge. It was a simple acknowledgment between two swordsmen who now shared an unexpected, and far more complicated, connection.
"Come," Mihawk said, turning and gesturing towards the mansion. "The night is drawing in. You are my daughter's guests. You will be shown hospitality."
The interior of the mansion was just as imposing as the exterior, but with an unexpected coziness. The main hall was vast, with a ceiling that disappeared into shadowed rafters. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, a crackling fire casting a warm, dancing light. The floors were polished dark wood, covered here and there with intricately woven rugs. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled to capacity with ancient-looking tomes. There were no frivolous decorations, no overt signs of wealth—just quality, craftsmanship, and an atmosphere of quiet strength.
"Wow," Luffy said, his eyes wide as he spun in a circle. "This place is huge!"
Mihawk led them through the hall and into a dining room that was just as impressive. A long, heavy table of dark wood could have easily seated twenty. At its head, a single chair was slightly more ornate than the others. Mihawk took this seat, and you instinctively sat to his right. The Straw Hats
hesitantly found places along the length of the table, their earlier boisterousness replaced by a cautious awe. Zoro sat directly across from you, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of unfamiliarity.
"Make yourselves comfortable," Mihawk said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Sanji, was it? The cook. If you require use of a kitchen, you will find it through that door. My stores are at your disposal."
Sanji, who had been vibrating with a mixture of culinary curiosity and professional terror, nearly bowed off his seat. "M-Mihawk-sama! It would be an honor! I would not dream of imposing!"
"Nonsense," Mihawk waved a dismissive hand. "My daughter has informed me of your 'All-Blue' ambition. A man who pursues such a dream with passion deserves a proper kitchen. Feed my crew. They look like they haven't had a decent meal in weeks."
While Sanji practically skipped into the kitchen, already babbling about spices and techniques, the rest of the crew sat in a somewhat stiff silence. It was Usopp, of all people, who broke it. "So, uh, this is a really nice place you've got here, Mihawk-sir. Very... drafty. In a good way! Very atmospheric!"
Mihawk's golden eyes swiveled to the long-nosed sniper, and for a moment, Usopp looked like he might evaporate. But then, the corner of the Warlord's mouth twitched. "Atmospheric. I suppose that is one word for it. It is built to withstand the cyclones that frequent this sea. Comfort was a secondary consideration to survival."
A servant, a quiet, older woman who moved with silent efficiency, began to bring out wine and glasses. She poured a deep red liquid into each glass, her hands steady as she served even the most infamous pirates at the table.
Luffy, never one for patience, grabbed his glass and drained it in one go, his face scrunching up. "Blech! This is gross! It tastes like old grapes!"
"Luffy!" Nami hissed, mortified.
Mihawk, however, let out a low, genuine chuckle. A sound so unexpected it made Zoro blink. "He is not wrong. It is an acquired taste. More for the rest of us." He took a slow sip from his own glass, his gaze drifting to you. "She never developed a taste for it either. Prefers juice."
The simple, domestic observation hung in the air. This was Mihawk, the man who had struck fear into the hearts of countless pirates, commenting on his daughter's beverage preferences as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Soon, the most glorious smells began to waft from the kitchen. Sanji, in his element, had outdone himself. He emerged with a procession of dishes that would have made a king weep: roasted seabird with herbs, a savory seafood stew, steamed vegetables in a garlic butter sauce, and fresh, warm bread. The table, which had seemed so cavernously empty, was now groaning under the weight of the feast.
"For my honored guests, and for the father of our dearest nakama!" Sanji announced with a flourish, presenting a perfect plate to Luffy, who immediately began shoveling food into his mouth with ecstatic cries of "MEAT!"
The tension finally broke. The universal language of a magnificent meal took over. Even Mihawk watched the spectacle with a look of detached amusement, picking at his own food with a refined elegance that contrasted sharply with Luffy's chaos.
As dinner progressed, the crew began to relax, their exhaustion melting away with each bite. They talked and laughed, their voices echoing slightly in the grand room. And through it all, Zoro watched. He wasn't just watching his crew; he was watching you and your father.
He saw it in the small things. The way Mihawk's eyes would find you in the midst of the chaos, a silent check-in. The way you would instinctively lean slightly towards him when the laughter got too loud, seeking a familiar presence. The way Mihawk would subtly push the bread basket closer to you when he noticed you hadn't taken any.
At one point, you reached for the water pitcher at the same time as Nami, your hands briefly colliding. You flinched back with a soft gasp, your shyness asserting itself. Before anyone else could react, Mihawk's hand shot out, not with the speed of a swordsman, but with the swift, protective grace of a father. He steadied the pitcher, his fingers brushing yours for a moment.
"It is quite alright, tesoro," he said softly, his voice only for you. "There is plenty." He poured the water for you and Nami, his gaze never leaving your face until he saw you relax.
Zoro felt a strange tightening in his chest. He had always respected Mihawk as a warrior, as the pinnacle of the swordsmanship he sought. But seeing this side of him—the doting, protective parent—was disarming. It was a powerful reminder that the man who held his ultimate ambition was not just a goal, but a person. A person who, against all logic and reputation, loved fiercely and quietly.
Later, as the plates were cleared and Sanji was happily cleaning the kitchen with the older servant, Mihawk leaned back in his chair, a glass of wine in hand. He looked at Zoro, his expression unreadable.
"So," he began, his voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. "You are the one who has captured my daughter's attention."
The table went silent. Luffy stopped mid-chew. Usopp choked on a piece of bread. Nami's eyes darted between you, Zoro, and the imposing Warlord.
You froze, your face turning a shade of crimson that could rival Luffy's vest. You stared down at your hands, wishing you could become invisible.
Zoro, however, didn't flinch. He met Mihawk's gaze head-on. "I am."
Mihawk took a slow sip of his wine, his golden eyes holding Zoro's. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken challenge. This was it. The test. The confrontation he had been subconsciously dreading.
"I am not surprised," Mihawk said at last, his voice calm.
That... was not what Zoro had expected. "You're not?"
"No. I saw the way you looked at her in Marineford. Even then, there was a focus there that went beyond simple rivalry. And she..." He glanced at you, and for a moment, his expression softened. "She has always been drawn to strong wills. To a quiet determination that mirrors her own. It is why she found you so fascinating."
He looked back at Zoro. "Your ambition is to defeat me. That is a worthy goal for a swordsman. But if you ever, ever, cause her pain or distress, that ambition will become the least of your concerns. Do we have an understanding?"
The threat was delivered not with anger, but with a cold, absolute certainty that was far more terrifying. It was a promise from a father protecting his child.
"We do," Zoro said, his voice low and firm. There was no hesitation. No defense. Just a simple, solid acknowledgment of the terms.
"Good." Mihawk's gaze shifted to the rest of the crew. "You will all stay the night. The guest chambers have been prepared. You will leave in the morning, rested and refitted. My island is not on any chart, but your navigator seems capable enough to find her way back to a standard sea route."
The matter was settled. Just like that.
Later that night, you found yourself standing on one of the mansion's many stone balconies, the cool night air a welcome balm to your heated cheeks. The moon was a perfect silver disc, casting a shimmering path across the dark water. Below, the Going Merry rocked gently at the dock, a small, familiar shape in the vastness.
You heard his footsteps before you saw him. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Zoro. His presence was as distinct to you as the scent of the sea or the feel of your own sword.
He came to stand beside you, resting his forearms on the cool stone railing. For a while, neither of you spoke. You just watched the waves, the comfortable silence stretching between you.
"Your father's... intimidating," Zoro said, his voice a low rumble.
You let out a small, nervous laugh. "He tries to be. But he's not like that with me. Not really."
"I saw that," Zoro replied, turning his head to look at you. The moonlight softened the sharp lines of his face, making his single eye seem almost gentle. "It was... good to see."
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire inside. "He wasn't too hard on you, was he?"
Zoro grunted. "He gave me the warning. The one I expected."
"I'm sorry," you whispered, your gaze dropping back to the sea. "I didn't mean for him to—"
"Hey." He reached out, his calloused fingers gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Don't you dare apologize for that. It means he cares. It means he's a good dad. I'd have been worried if he didn't threaten to gut me."
A small smile touched your lips. "He wouldn't actually gut you. He'd just use Yoru to pin you to a wall for a few days."
"See? Good
dad," Zoro said, a rare, genuine grin spreading across his face. It was a sight that still made your breath catch, a crack in his hardened exterior that was reserved only for you.
You leaned into his touch, his rough thumb gently stroking your cheek. The shyness that was your constant companion seemed to melt away under the moonlight, replaced by a deep, abiding affection for the man beside you. He understood. He always understood.
"I was so worried," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper on the sea breeze. "Bringing everyone here. I thought... I thought it might be too much. For him, and for you."
"Too much for me?" Zoro's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would it be too much for me?"
"Because... he's your goal. The person you're trying to surpass. And I brought you right to his doorstep. Into his home. It felt like I was... diminishing your dream, somehow."
Zoro was quiet for a long moment, his gaze turning back to the vast, dark ocean. He let his hand fall from your face, but only to lace his fingers through yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "You don't get it, do you?" he said, his voice low and serious. "My dream is to be the World's Greatest Swordsman. That hasn't changed. But seeing this... seeing him as a father, seeing where you came from... it doesn't diminish it. It makes it real. He's not just a title or a legend I'm chasing. He's a man. A man who raised you."
He squeezed your hand. "And if he's half the father he is a swordsman, then you had the best in the world. That just makes me respect him more. And it makes me want to be worthy of you."
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but they weren't tears of sadness. They were tears of overwhelming emotion. You squeezed his hand back, a silent thank you for the words you could never find yourself. In that moment, you didn't need telepathy. You knew exactly what he was feeling, and you knew he felt the same from you.
"You know," you said, a playful thought entering your mind, "when I was little, I used to practice with wooden swords out on that cliff." You pointed with your free hand to a jagged outcropping bathed in moonlight. "He'd watch me, but never correct me. He'd just let me find my own way. Sometimes, I'd get so frustrated that I'd throw my sword down."
Zoro listened, completely captivated.
"One day, I did that, and it just... stopped in mid-air," you continued, a small smile forming on your lips. "Just hung there. I looked over at him, and he was just watching, one hand raised slightly. He didn't say anything. He just... held it there until I calmed down, and then he let it drop. He was teaching me control without ever saying a word."
Zoro whistled softly. "Telekinesis. That's a hell of a training method."
"It was how he taught me everything," you said, your voice distant with memory. "He knew my powers were stronger than my physical strength. He taught me to blend them. To make them one and the same." You looked from the cliff back to Zoro, your eyes shining with a newfound confidence. "Wanna see?"
He didn't have to ask what. He simply nodded, his expression one of intense curiosity.
You let go of his hand and took a step back onto the balcony, closing your eyes. You took a deep breath, centering yourself, reaching for the familiar energy that hummed just beneath your skin. It was like a warm current, a river of power that flowed through you. You didn't draw your katana. Instead, you held out your hand, palm up.
At first, nothing happened. Then, the air around your palm began to shimmer, to warp like heat haze. Slowly, a shape began to form, coalescing from the psychic energy you were manifesting. It was long, slender, and sharp. A blade. It was a perfect, shimmering replica of a katana, crafted from pure willpower. It glowed with a soft, violet light, the edges humming with barely contained power.
Zoro's single eye was wide, a look of profound awe on his face. He had seen you use your abilities in battle—creating shields, sending psychic bolts, the occasional telekinetic push. But he had never seen this. This was creation. This was art.
You opened your eyes, and the psi-blade solidified, its glow intensifying. It felt weightless in your hand, an extension of your own thoughts. With a fluid motion that mirrored years of practice, you moved into a basic stance, the blade held at the ready. You weren't just holding a weapon; you were the weapon.
Then, you began to move.
It was a dance. A kata you had practiced a thousand times, but this time it was different. There was no resistance of steel, no weight of the hilt. You flowed through the forms, the psychic blade slicing through the night air with a soft, ethereal hiss. It was a breathtaking display of grace and power. You executed a perfect vertical cut, then a horizontal slash, then a complex thrust-and-parry combination against an imaginary foe. Each movement was precise, economical, and deadly.
Zoro watched, utterly mesmerized. He wasn't just seeing a cool light show; he was seeing the very soul of your swordsmanship. He saw the influence of Mihawk's elegance in your posture, but he also saw something uniquely you—a fluidity, an unpredictability that came from a power he couldn't begin to comprehend. This was your true strength. The perfect fusion of the physical and the psychic, the sword and the mind.
You finished the kata, holding the final pose, the glowing blade pointed at the moon. For a moment, you were still, a silhouette against the night, a warrior of impossible power. Then, as gently as it had formed, the psi-blade dissolved, shimmering into motes of violet light that faded into the darkness.
You lowered your hand, your breath coming in soft pants. The display had taken more out of you than you let on, but the look on Zoro's face was worth it.
"That," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "was the most incredible thing I have ever seen."
He crossed the space between you in two strides, his hands coming up to cup your face. He didn't say anything more. He didn't need to. He simply leaned down and kissed you.
It wasn't a kiss of fiery passion, but of deep, profound reverence. It was slow and tender, a silent acknowledgment of everything he had just seen, everything you were. It was a kiss that said, "I see you. All of you. And I am in awe."
When you finally parted, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed. "He taught me that," you whispered. "That my mind is my greatest weapon. That a sword is just a tool."
"He's right," Zoro murmured, his thumb stroking your cheek. "But you're the one who wields it."
From the shadows of the doorway behind you, a figure watched. Mihawk had come to check on his daughter, to ensure she was settled. He had intended to simply offer a quiet goodnight. Instead, he had witnessed the entire display. He had seen the mastery of her powers, the grace of her form, and the raw, unadulterated love in the eyes of the first mate of the very crew she had joined.
He saw Zoro kiss his daughter, and he felt not anger, not possessiveness, but a strange, quiet sense of peace. He had spent years raising this child, this powerful, shy, incredible young woman, preparing her for a world that would surely try to break her. He had taught her to fight, to survive, to be strong. But he could not teach her this. He could not give her the simple, unwavering devotion he saw in the swordsman's eyes.
He saw the way Zoro looked at her—not just as a woman, but as an equal. As a warrior. He had seen the awe, not just for her beauty, but for her strength.
Mihawk allowed himself a small, private smile. Roronoa Zoro was still his rival. The day of their duel was still written in the stars. But the man had earned his respect. And more importantly, he had earned the right to stand by his daughter's side.
Without a sound, the World's Greatest Swordsman turned and walked back into the shadows of his fortress, leaving the two young swordsmen to their moonlit peace. The future was uncertain, the seas were chaotic, but for tonight, on this isolated island, a new kind of legacy was being forged—one of swords, of psychic power, and of a love as strong and as true as the sharpest blade.
❤︎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀jo will never be like his father. he was not made to be a deer hunter, far too soft his father had once said. but hes know this since he was a child. its only solidified when he sees you—a white feather hawk tailed deer.
•⠀ masterlist 𓋰 💬 26k wc ─── ᛫ deer hunter!jo x deer!f rea . hurt/comfort, angst, childhood trauma, hybrid au, abuse (past), slow burn, mutual pining, guilt, grief, minor character death, major character death, mentions of blood, injury, virgin jo, virgin reader, loss of virginity, size difference, soft sex, needy!jo, inexperienced jo, inexperienced reader, unprotected p in v, pulling out, kissing, healing. don't copy/translate my work. i only write on tumblr.
The forest was quiet that morning, the kind of quiet that made every snapped twig sound like a gunshot. Jo gripped the rifle tighter than he should have, his knuckles white under the worn leather gloves his father had handed him at dawn.
“Keep your eyes sharp, boy,” his father muttered, breath fogging in the cold air. “Deer hybrids are clever. They look almost human when they want to, but don’t let that fool you. They’re still animals. Prey.”
Jo hated this.
He hated the weight of the rifle in his hands. He hated the eager glint in his father’s eye. Most of all, he hated the way his own pulse hammered with something that felt too much like guilt even before they’d spotted a single track.
“Fresh,” his father said, turning up his nose and sniffing the air. The smell of someone who was scared and trying not to be, floated through the trees. His father whispered, lips curling into a satisfied smirk. He watched the tracks below—small, delicate hoof prints mixed with the faint imprint of human-like feet pressed into the damp soil.
“Young doe. must be female. She’s definitely alone. Perfect for your first real kill.”
Jo swallowed hard. “Maybe we should head back. Storm’s coming.”
His father shot him a sharp look. “Don’t go soft on me now, boy. This is what we do, what our family has always done. Those hybrids took enough from us over the years. Time to balance the scales.”
Jo bit his tongue. He’d heard the stories a thousand times: so many times that he could remember them off the top of his head. How the deer folk had “raided” their crops, how one had supposedly gored a neighbor. But he’d also seen the antlers that hung above the crackling fireplace, carved from the mother of the very hybrid they were probably tracking right now. Balance felt a lot like vengeance wearing different clothes, Jo thought before sighing and pressing his lips together to nod at his father with a small smile. Anything to make sure his father didn’t suspect his real feelings.
Your scent hit Jo first.
Not the sharp musk of regular deer. Softer. Warmer. Something sweet lingered underneath—it curled low in his chest and made his breath catch, made the rifle feel suddenly too heavy, made the guilt bloom wider, darker, like ink dropped in water. Jo froze mid-step, boots sinking into the moss.
And the forest held its breath with him.
He could already picture you—small, trembling, eyes wide and fearful. The way your body would probably soften under threat, the same way it had been taught to soften as prey.
Jo’s grip loosened, just a fraction. The rifle suddenly felt like a betrayal pressed against his own ribs. He wondered, quietly, if when he finally saw you, he would be able to pull the trigger at all.
Or if some sick, ruined part of him would simply want to kneel instead.
His father moved ahead, boots deliberate, breath steady. The man who had taught him that mercy was just another word for weakness. The man whose hands had once pressed those same antlers that hung over the fireplace into 8-year-old Jo’s small palms and said, “This is what we do to what hurts us.”
Jo followed because he always followed. Because he didn’t know what else he was made for. What good are you if not obedient?
But every step felt like sinking deeper into something that wasn’t quite mud.
Then he saw you.
Through the thin veil of branches, half-hidden behind a fallen log draped in moss like an old blanket. Small. Trembling. Your ears—delicate, furred, twitching at every sound—flicked back against your hair. Delicate antlers, barely branched, caught the weak sunlight filtering through the trees. The baby doll dress you wore—far too thin for the morning cold—clung to your frame like it was trying to hold you together. Your legs ended in small cloven hooves that clicked softly against the frozen ground, delicate and wrong in all the right ways, but the rest of you looked heartbreakingly human. Frame wrapped in a tattered coat you’d clearly scavenged from somewhere kinder than these woods, faint tremble running through your hands as you clutched that bundle of foraged roots tight to your chest like it was the last soft thing left in the world.
You looked straight at him.
And Jo forgot how to breathe.
You looked like something that had wandered out of a dream he was never meant to have.
Your hands clutched the hem of your dress, knuckles pale, the fabric bunching as if it could shield you if you just held on tight enough.
The air turned thick, honey-slow, pressing against his ribs until every beat of his heart felt like an unsaid confession.
His father’s voice slid in low and steady beside him, calm as Sunday morning scripture. “Easy shot. Take her, son. First kill’s always the hardest, but it gets easier.”
Jo’s finger hovered over the trigger. The rifle felt impossibly heavy, heavier than the guilt of murdering something so innocent, heavier than the antlers mounted above the fireplace that still watched him every time he sat and drew in this living room. Your eyes met his again, wide and pleading, and something inside him cracked wide open, slow and wet like a wound that had been waiting years to bleed.
He couldn’t do it.
Before his father could react, Jo swung the barrel away and fired into the dirt at your feet. The gunshot exploded through the trees, violent and sudden, ripping the quiet apart like cheap cloth. You bolted, hooves kicking up leaves and frost as you disappeared into the underbrush with a startled cry that lodged itself somewhere behind Jo’s ribs and refused to leave.
“What the hell was that?!” His father roared, grabbing Jo by the shoulder and spinning him around hard enough to bruise. “You missed on purpose!”
“I—I slipped,” Jo lied through his teeth, voice shaking like a leaf in the wind he couldn’t control. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
His father’s eyes narrowed, suspicion sharp as the knife he kept for dressing kills, but he let it go with a low sigh and grunt that still carried warning. “We’ll pick up the trail tomorrow. She won’t get far with that leg print. Looks like she might be limping a little already. Better not miss again.”
That night, Jo lay awake in the cabin, staring at the ceiling until the wood grain blurred into antlers and delicate cloven hooves. Every time he closed his lids, he saw yours again—full of fear and something else, something quieter. recognition, maybe. Like you knew exactly whose blood ran in his veins. Like you’d already learned what men like his father did to things that looked soft.
The next morning, he slipped out alone before dawn, boots quiet on the frost-hard ground, rifle left behind like a sin he wasn’t ready to carry anymore.
The forest felt different without his father’s shadow stretching ahead. Quieter. Heavier. It was waiting for him to choose what kind of monster he wanted to be. Jo was never good at choosing for himself, though.
He moved slow, following the faint trail of small hoof prints and the memory of your scent still clinging to the inside of his lungs. Sweet. Warm. Trembling not just from the frosty November air.
He didn’t know what he would say when he found you.
He only knew he couldn’t let his father be the one to finish what the family had started.
He wondered if you would run when you saw him coming or if you would simply wait, spine already bowing, eyes already softening. Submitting to a fate you had seen take all you knew.
Jo was six when he first saw something beautiful die.
It was not a deer, nor a rabbit.
It was the light in his mother’s eyes.
He remembers the exact moment it flickered out. She had been humming while folding laundry, the sound thin and sweet like early spring air, her hands moving carefully over his small shirts as if keeping them soft could keep him soft too. Then his father’s boots hit the porch heavily. The humming stopped mid-note. Her shoulders drew in, just a fraction, the way yours had behind that fallen log. The light in her eyes dimmed the way dusk takes the last color from the trees—slow, inevitable, leaving only the gray.
Jo had sat near the doorway, pencil still in his small hands, when he watched his father’s hand close around her wrist, not hard enough to bruise where anyone could see, but hard enough that the laundry slipped from her fingers and pooled at her feet like surrender. She didn’t cry out. She never did. just lowered her gaze and whispered something too quiet for Jo to catch, the same way you had clutched the hem of your dress like it could shield you from what was coming.
In every way, you reminded him of his mother. He wondered if he would become like his father and ruin all that's good. all that is made of softness and light.
That night, silence filled the home. His mother moved through the cabin like a ghost learning how to haunt her own body, smiling small and tight when Jo asked if she was okay, the smile never reaching the place behind her eyes where the light used to live. Jo learned then that some deaths don’t always leave blood. They leave empty rooms inside people.
He started practicing the same smile. learned to make his voice steady, even when his hands trembled—learned that you were no good unless obedient.
Years later, the same lesson still sat heavy in his chest as he followed your uneven prints deeper into the trees.
He kept walking, boots sinking slowly into moss that smelled of damp earth and old secrets. The forest felt like it was holding its breath again, waiting to see which version of him would arrive first—the boy who once held warm antlers and cried, or the man still trying to outrun the sound of his mother’s humming cutting off mid-note.
snap.
There you laid, your small frame half-curled against a fallen trunk, coat too thin, antlers catching fractured light. He could see the blood that seeped through your tights, turning white to red. Your eyes lifted, wide and fearful. He had seen this look before; he knew it all too well.
“I’m not…” the words came out cracked, uneven, too quiet for the weight they carried. “I won’t hurt you.”
The words felt stupid the moment they left him. Too gentle for a boy raised on rifles and revenge. Too soft for the son of a man who drilled the words “Grow up tough or die weak.” But they slipped out anyway, slow and trembling.
He took one slow step closer.
Then stopped.
Because you looked too much like her.
It wasn’t just the fear in your eyes, maybe it was the way your shoulders drew in, the way your spine already knew how to bow—to hide.
Jo felt sick. The part that had never quite learned how to be cruel the way his father wanted — ached to kneel instead. To press his forehead to the cold soil and beg you to run. To tell you he was sorry for the blood on your tights, sorry for the antlers above the fireplace, sorry for every time his mother’s light had dimmed and he had only learned to look away.
But he stayed standing.
Breath shallow. Rifle long abandoned back at the cabin like a sin he wasn’t ready to carry anymore.
The forest held its breath with him.
You didn’t speak. Just watched, ears flicking back against your hair, cloven hooves scraping faintly against the frozen earth—a tiny, helpless sound that lodged itself somewhere behind his ribs and refused to leave.
“I’m Jo,” he said, softer this time.
He lowered himself slowly, not quite kneeling, not quite standing — caught between the man his father made and the boy who still remembered what softness looked like. One knee brushed the moss. Cold seeped through his jeans like a warning.
Your eyes followed the movement.
Something in them flickered. Not trust. Not yet. Just the quiet, exhausted recognition of someone who had already learned what men with rifles sounded like when they lied.
“Jo,” you repeated, the sound of his name in your mouth felt wrong and right at once—soft, trembling.
“You’re hurt,” he whispered, the words slipping out unevenly, longer than they needed to be, then suddenly short, like breath catching on a hook. “Let me… I can help. I won’t—”
His hands moved before the rest of him caught up.
He ripped his jacket off. The heavier canvas slides down his arms with a quiet rustle that sounds too loud in the stillness. It drops to the moss beside him, forgotten. Then the flannel underneath—worn thin at the elbows comes off in one clumsy pull. Cold air hits his skin instantly, sharp as memory, but he barely flinches. All he feels is the sick ache low in his chest and the way his hands won’t stop shaking.
His arm stays outstretched, trembling.
The flannel dangles from his long, thin fingers—still warm from his body. Sleeves limp and dangling. The faint smell of wood smoke and something softer underneath, something almost like violets, maybe, or even the ghost of his mother’s laundry soap—clinging to the fabric.
a beautiful contrast against the blood, frost, and fear.
“Here,” he says, voice cracking small and uneven again. “Please. press it against the bleeding. It’s clean enough.”
Your ears flick back against your hair again, delicate fur brushing skin that looked too human, too breakable. Eyes full of fear, fear that this was all a trap. That once you took the offering, you would be signing away your life.
You reminded him so much of her it hurt to breathe.
The same way your shoulders drew in. The same way your fingers clutched fabric like it could ever be armor. The same quiet, ancient knowing that softness was just another word for something already marked for taking.
Jo’s throat tightened.
A short, brittle line of thought: I won’t become him.
Then longer, spilling slow and thick:
“I’m not asking you to trust me. Not yet. Not ever, if you don’t want, just… let the bleeding stop. Then I’ll back away. I’ll leave the flannel. I’ll walk backward until the trees swallow the sight of me whole. Whatever you need.”
You take the flannel.
Your fingers—small, trembling, still dusted with dirt from the roots you’d been clutching earlier—reach out slow, hesitant, like the fabric might burn you. They brush his first. just the lightest graze of skin against skin, warm from his body meeting the chill of yours, and Jo feels it like a spark dragged across dry tinder.
The fabric presses against the blood, soaking your tights, dark red blooming into the faded plaid, turning the scent of wood smoke and faint violets into the smell of metal and moss. You hold it there, shoulders drawn in tight, ears still flicking back against your hair in small, wary starts. Your eyes stay on him the whole time—, wide, full of that old fear that this was all a trap, that taking anything from a man like him meant death.
“…Why?”
The word came out small, cracked at the edges, barely louder than the scrape of your hoof against the frozen ground. Your voice is soft—trembling, but steady enough to cut through the quiet. “Why are you doing this? You shot at me. Your father… he would have killed me. Why give me your shirt when you should have just finished it?”
Jo’s breath caught.
“I don’t know’ is all he whispers.
But that was not the truth.
The real answer sat heavy and rotten behind his ribs, pressing outward until every slow inhale felt like it might split him open. The truth was, you reminded him of his mother.
He let out a shaky breath, the cold air fogging between you.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this. Not really. Maybe I’m just tired of watching beautiful things die. Maybe I’m trying to prove that I am not someone who will ruin everything soft it touches. Or maybe I’m just a coward who finally couldn’t pretend anymore.”
Jo’s hands stayed open and empty in the space between you, still trembling, palms up like an offering he didn’t know how to make clean.
Your ears flicked back again, delicate and wary. The flannel pressed tight to your leg, blood still seeping slowly into the fabric, “You think I’m beautiful?”
His cheeks burned.
The heat crawled up from his neck in slow, traitorous waves, staining his skin a soft, humiliated red that he couldn’t hide even if he tried. Jo ducked his head slightly, bare shoulders curling inward as if that could somehow shrink him.
“Yeah.” Jo’s cheeks burned hotter the second it left his mouth, a soft, humiliated pink blooming fast across his face, crawling up to the tips of his ears until even the cold air felt warm against his skin. He ducked his head lower, bare shoulders curling in tight like he could fold the blush away, hide the shy boy who had never learned how to say something gentle without feeling it in his whole body.
“I… I do,” he whispered, the confession long and trembling.
“I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. It just… slipped. You looked—I dont know…so soft when I first saw you. I haven’t seen anything like that in years…and I… I couldn’t pretend I didn’t see it. Couldn’t pretend I wasn’t tired of watching things like that disappear.”
“I’m sorry,” he added, softer still, the apology flowing long and gentle before it ended in a tiny, broken stop. “I know it’s stupid to say something like that right now. While you’re bleeding and scared, and I’m the reason.”
“…You really think I’m soft?”
The word hung there, fragile and uncertain, like something you were almost afraid to touch. Your ears flicked back again, slower this time, the delicate fur brushing your hair as your doe eyes stayed fixed on his flushed face.
“I haven’t felt soft in a long time,” you whispered, the sentence long and careful, then suddenly short, almost broken. “Not since the woods started feeling like they were always watching. Not since I learned that soft things get chased. So when you say it like that… it sounds like a trick. Like the kind of lie that comes right before the hurt. But your face is all red and you keep looking away like you’re scared I’ll laugh at you… and I don’t know what to do with that.”
You pressed the flannel harder against your thigh, shoulders still drawn in tight, A small whimper escaping you at the pressure on the wound—soft, involuntary, barely more than a breath. A tiny helpless sound that made Jo’s chest ache.
Your voice dropped even softer, trembling at the edges.
“Right now I feel anything but soft. I feel scared. And cold. And like if I let myself believe you even a little, it’ll hurt worse when you remember whose son you are.”
He swallowed, the sound small and wet, cheeks burning brighter as he risked the quickest glance at your face before looking away again, lashes lowering.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice barely there now, long and careful before it faded into a tiny, broken stop. “I’m sorry he exists. I’m sorry I come from him. I’m sorry that every time I try to do something gentle it still feels like I’m carrying his shadow on my back.”
The forest held its breath tighter, the cold pressing in while the faint scent of blood and moss curled slow around you both.
Your voice came out small, barely louder than the wind slipping through the bare branches.
“Your father will come to finish the job.”
The words landed soft and heavy between you, trembling at the edges like frost on a leaf that might crumble if touched wrong. They weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. They simply sat there, quiet and true, pressing against Jo’s ribs until the air felt too thick to breathe.
“I… I know,” he whispered, the confession long and shaky, flowing slow like something afraid to be heard before it suddenly broke short, almost too quiet. “He’ll come looking. Tomorrow. Maybe sooner. He doesn’t let things get away. Not when they bleed. Not when they’re… soft.”
“If he comes…” he murmured, the words long and trembling again, then suddenly short, almost pleading. “If he comes, I’ll stand between you. I’ll tell him I slipped. I’ll tell him I lost the trail. I’ll lie until my voice gives out. But I need you to believe one thing. Just one. I’m not him. Not yet. And I don’t want to be the reason you stop feeling soft.”
You didn’t answer right away.
Instead your voice came again, quieter, trembling at the edges but steady enough to reach him.
“…Then what are you going to do when he gets here and sees you kneeling in the dirt with no shirt, blushing like that, trying to protect something you were supposed to kill?”
Jo’s heart lurched, shy and ruined.
He let out a tiny, embarrassed breath, almost a whimper of his own, cheeks burning hotter as he whispered back, long and gentle before it ended in a small, desperate stop.
“I don’t know… but I’ll figure it out. Just… stay soft a little longer. Please. Let me tie the cloth first. Let me stop the bleeding. Then we’ll decide what comes next. Together. If you’ll let me.”
You give him a small hesitant nod, and he reaches forwards—fingers trembling as he knots it, slow, careful—not tight enough to hurt, never that—but enough to stem the red that keeps blooming dark against the faded plaid. His bare skin prickles in the cold, but the real shiver lives deeper. Somewhere behind his ribs where the boy who once cried over antlers still hides.
You watch him. Eyes softer than before, ears half-flattened, the delicate fur catching bits of fractured light. Your breath comes in small clouds that dissolve too fast, the way good things always do around men like him.
“I don’t know what comes next either,” he says, voice long and low, spilling like sap from a wound he can’t stop touching. “But I know the sound of my father’s boots. I know how heavy they fall when he’s tracking something soft.” A short pause. The forest exhales with him. “I won’t let them fall here. I’ll make sure of it…”
He sits back on his heels, knees sinking deeper into moss. The ground is cold and honest. It doesn’t pretend mercy is easy. Jo’s shoulders curl inward, bare and lightly freckled and suddenly too exposed, like stripping the flannel off had peeled more than just cloth away.
He thinks of his mother again—how she used to fold his shirts with gentle hands. How she taught him to be quiet the way other mothers teach songs.
You shift. A tiny sound escapes—half-whimper—and it hooks behind his sternum, pulls.
“Why do you look at me like that?” you whisper. The words tremble at the edges, then drop short. Sharp. “Like I’m something worth saving.”
Jo’s throat tightens. He doesn’t answer right away. Lets the silence stretch, uneven, heavy with everything he’s never been allowed to say. The blush still burns across his cheeks, stupid and boyish and impossible to hide. He ducks his head lower, lashes brushing skin that feels too hot for November woods.
“Because you are,” he finally murmurs, long and careful, each word weighted like stones dropped into still water. “Because I’ve spent my whole life watching soft things get taken apart. My mother’s humming. The light in her eyes. The way she’d press her face into my hair like I was the last tender thing left.” A sudden short breath. “And I never stopped it. Not once.”
He reaches out—not to touch, never without permission—but to brush a stray leaf from the edge of your coat. His fingers hover. Tremble. Fall back to his lap like they remember their place.
“I think…some part of me died with her light. The part that was supposed to stay gentle. The part that still believed I could protect softness—even if I was still half my father.”
Jo’s voice cracks small, then flows again, slow and tender. “But when I saw you behind that tree—ears flicking, dress too thin for this cold—I felt it wake up. The boy who once swore to shelter the softness he saw. The one who wanted to protect instead of poach.”
Your hoof scrapes the frozen earth. A small, restless sound. Your eyes stay on his face, searching for the lie you expect to find.
Jo swallows. The taste of wood smoke and fear and something sweeter—your scent still clinging to the inside of his lungs—sits heavy on his tongue.
“If he comes,” he says, the words long and trembling before they cut short, “I’ll stand in front of you. Shirtless and shaking and useless, probably. But I’ll stand.” A fragile smile ghosts across his mouth, gone as quick as breath on glass. “Maybe that’s all I’ve got left that’s mine. The shaking. The not-wanting-to-be-him.”
He leans forward just enough for the cold air to slip between you, carrying the faint trace of his warmth. The flannel knots hold. Red still seeps, but slower now. Like the woods themselves are deciding whether to let you bleed out or let you live.
Your fingers stay curled in the fabric he gave you. Small. Dirt-stained. Breakable in ways that make his chest ache with something too big for the name guilt.
“Stay soft,” he whispers again, the plea spilling long and desperate before it ends abrupt, almost too quiet. “Just… a little longer. Let me get you somewhere warmer. My father’s out till dusk. The cabin’s empty. There’s blankets. Water. No one goes in my room. It’s on the other side of the house.”
He stands slow, careful not to loom. Offers his hand—not demanding, just open. Palm up. Trembling like everything else about him.
“I know it’s stupid,” he adds, voice soft as moth wings against stained glass. “Asking a doe to follow the hunter’s son home. But I’m not hunting anymore.” A sudden short line, raw: “I wasn’t made for that sort of thing.”
The forest holds its breath again. Antlers of bare branches overhead catch the weak sun. Somewhere distant, a twig snaps—maybe wind, maybe boots, maybe nothing at all.
Jo waits. Heart hammering loud enough to wake every secret the trees ever swallowed. Blush still burning. Knees still moss-stained. Ready to kneel if that’s what it takes.
Ready to ruin everything he was supposed to be, if it means keeping one soft thing from dying in front of him.
“If I die. It’ll be something you will have to live with. knowing that something soft died within your hands. Are you okay with the possibility of that?”
Jo’s breath catches. The forest tilts, just a little. Like the chapel in your nightmares. Like every time his father pressed those antlers into his small palms and called it love. His outstretched hand stays frozen between you, palm still open, still trembling, the cold air licking across his bare skin like judgment dressed in wind.
He doesn’t answer right away. Lets the silence stretch long and uneven, heavy with every ghost he’s tried to outrun. The blush on his cheeks burns hotter, stupid and helpless, crawling down his throat until even swallowing feels like confession.
Because the truth is a knife turned inward.
“I’m not,” he whispers at last, the words spilling slow and thick, then breaking short. “I’m not okay with it.”
“That’s exactly why I won't let it happen.”
He rises then, slow, careful, the way you’d lift a baby bird with a broken wing. Picking up his jacket and placing it over your shoulder before stepping back— hand open. Only a tank top covering him as he shivered, cheeks still flushed.
“I know what I’m risking,” he breathes, voice cracking small before it flows again.
“If he finds out… if he sees me with you. alive and not blooded and cold… he’ll do god knows what..” A sudden short line, raw as bone: “But I’d rather he break me than let him break you.”
Jo’s hand stays open. Palm up. Trembling like everything else about him. The blush burns hotter, stupid and boyish, making him duck his head until lashes brush flushed skin.
You take it.
His hand—palm rough from years of gripping rifles he never wanted, calluses like small betrayals pressed into skin that still remembers how to tremble. The forest exhales around the touch, slow and deliberate, as if the trees themselves have been waiting for this exact fracture in the script.
Your fingers are smaller than he expected, colder, the faint grit of dirt and root-dust catching against his like secrets neither of you meant to share. Jo’s breath snags on something sharp behind his ribs, a hook pulled taut.
He does not pull you up right away.
Just holds. Lets the weight of your hesitation settle into him the way evening settles into the branches overhead—soft at first, then heavier, inevitable
The blush still burns across his cheeks, stupid and alive, crawling down his throat like it wants to confess everything before he can stop it. I’m not him, he thinks, the words long and looping, winding through the dark hollows where his mother’s humming used to live. I’m not him not him not him. But the thought frays at the edges, thins into something smaller. Yet.
You stand.
Hooves unsteady on the frost-hard ground, the flannel tied tight around your thigh now dark with your blood and his warmth, a ugly beautiful marriage neither of you asked for.
The baby doll dress clings where it shouldn’t, thin as prayer, and Jo looks away fast—too fast—because looking feels like sin stitched into his own bones long before he understood the shape of it. The way your ears flick back against your hair. The way your spine already knows the angle of surrender. It crawls up his throat, tight and suffocating, and the word protect withers there, sad and pathetic, never quite daring to escape whole.
Jacket too big, sleeves swallowing your wrists, the scent of wood smoke and faint violet soap wrapping around you like something that might almost be mercy. Jo steps back. One deliberate pace.
Then another. Giving you room the way he wishes someone had once given his mother—space enough to breathe without the shadow of boots falling too close. The cold bites at his tank top, sharp as memory, but he barely feels it. All he feels is the sick, ruined part of him softening at the sight of you in his clothes. Like maybe, for once, something he touched didn’t have to break.
The walk back is uneven.
Long stretches where the only sound is your hooves clicking softly against roots and his boots sinking deliberately into moss, then sudden short silences that stretch too wide, too thin, like the moment before a shot that never comes.
Jo doesn’t speak at first. Just walks beside you, close enough that your scent—sweet beneath the blood, warm beneath the fear—curls into his lungs and stays there. His bare arms prickle in the cold, but the real shiver lives lower. Somewhere between the boy who once cried over antlers and the man trying not to become the hand that mounted them.
You limp. Just a little.
He notices the way your ears flick back against your hair at every snapped twig, the way your spine bows in fear, how you try to make yourself smaller. It makes something in his chest ache like a bruise pressed too hard.
I won’t become him, Jo thinks. The words long and heavy, then sudden and small. I won’t.
But the thought tastes like ash. Because here he is, leading you deeper into the woods that belong to his father’s rifle, bare-skinned and blushing and already ruined by the simple fact that he wants to keep you breathing.
The cabin appears between the trees like a wound that never quite closed. Windows dark. Smoke curling lazy from the chimney. His father won’t be back till dusk—Jo knows the rhythm of those boots the way other boys know bedtime stories. Still, his pulse hammers louder than the wind.
He pushes the door open with his shoulder. The hinges sigh like they remember every secret the walls have swallowed. Inside, the air is warmer. Smells of wood smoke and old coffee and the faint ghost of his mother’s laundry soap still clinging to the curtains she never got to wash again.
Jo guides you to the far corner of the room—his room—past the kitchen table, attempting to hide the view of antlers hung above the mantel. He doesn’t even look at them. He can’t.
You sit on the edge of his narrow bed. The mattress dips under your weight, springs creaking soft and intimate. Your hooves rest on the worn rug, small and cloven. The jacket slips off one shoulder. The baby doll dress underneath rides up just enough to show the bare curve of your thigh.
Jo looks away.
Fast. Too fast. The blush slams back into his face, hot and helpless, staining his neck, his chest, every place the cold air touches now that he’s half-undressed and fully exposed. He ducks his head, lashes brushing flushed skin, the heat crawling all the way to the tips of his ears like it wants to burn the shame right out of him.
“You—uh,” he starts, voice cracking small and uneven before it spills longer, thicker, desperate. “You should… clean up. The blood. There’s a shower. Hot water. It’ll help. With the cold. With everything.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just turns quick, bare shoulders curling inward as he slips out of the room like the walls themselves might judge him for looking too long. The door to the hallway clicks shut behind him—soft, careful, nothing like the way his father’s boots ever sounded.
A second. Maybe two.
Just long enough for him to stand in the dim hallway, forehead pressed to the cool wood of the linen closet, breathing like he’d run the whole way back from the forest. His mother’s clothes are still there. Folded neat and small on the top shelf where she left them the last time she ever touched anything in this house. He reaches up slow, fingers trembling, and pulls down the softest things he can find—a worn cotton nightgown the color of faded lilacs, a pair of thick wool socks she used to wear when the floors got too cold, a cardigan that still smells, just barely, like the lavender she kept in the drawer.
He comes back.
Arms full of the quiet ghosts of her, the fabric draped over one forearm like an offering he’s not sure you’ll take. The blush hasn’t left. It just sits there, low and stubborn, making his skin feel too tight under the tank top. He sets the clothes on the edge of the bed beside you—careful, reverent, like they might bruise if he moves too fast.
“Here,” he whispers. The word long and careful, then sudden and small. “These were… hers. My mother’s. She would’ve wanted you to have them. Soft. Warm. Nothing like what you’re wearing now.”
His eyes stay on the floorboards. On the way your hooves rest so small and perfect against the rug. On anything but the way the baby doll dress still clings, thin and wrong and heartbreakingly right in the low light. The air between you feels thick again, honey-slow, pressing against his ribs until every beat of his heart feels like another unsaid confession.
He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t reach. Just stands there, bare arms prickling, blush burning hotter, the sick stitched-in part of him already softening, already kneeling in the quiet of his own mind while his body stays upright.
Waiting.
Hoping the shower will wash some of the blood away. Hoping the clothes will feel like mercy instead of another cage. Hoping—God, hoping—you won’t see the way his hands shake when he thinks about you standing under the water, ears flicking back against wet hair, spine already learning the shape of safety in a house that only ever taught surrender.
“I’ll wait out here,” he adds, voice spilling slow and thick before it cuts short again. “Take as long as you need. I won’t… I won’t come in.”
You slip past him without a word.
Hooves soft on the floorboards, the borrowed nightgown brushing your thighs. Jo doesn’t watch you go. Can’t. He turns his face to the wall instead, forehead pressed to the cool wood again. Anything to ground himself.
The shower starts.
Water hissing through old pipes. Jo slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, bare arms wrapped around them like that might hold the sick, ruined part of him in place. The blush is still there—low, stubborn, burning under his skin like the antlers above the mantel are watching him even now. She’s in there, the thought loops long and heavy, then snaps short. Naked. Wet. Wearing nothing but the sound of water and the echo of my hands on her thigh.
He presses his palms into his eyes until stars bloom behind the lids. I’m not him. I’m not him. The words spill thick and desperate, then thin out to nothing. i hope.
Minutes stretch. Honey-slow.
He pictures it anyway—the way the water would trace the delicate line of your curves, the way your ears would flatten wet against your hair, the baby doll dress peeling off like shed skin. The thought hooks behind his ribs and pulls. Gentle yet sick.
The water stops.
Silence rushes in thicker than before. Jo stands too quick, knees cracking softly. He keeps his eyes on the floorboards, lashes low, the heat crawling up his throat again when the bathroom door clicks open.
You step into the room.
His mother’s nightgown clings where the baby doll dress once did—faded lilac cotton worn thin at the shoulders, hem skimming just above your knees like it remembers the shape of someone smaller, someone, already halfway gone. The cardigan hangs open, sleeves too long, swallowing your wrists the same way his jacket had swallowed them in the woods. Wool socks bunch a little at your ankles, hiding the soft fur that edges your hooves. Your eyes catch in the lamplight, delicate and oh so beautiful, and your ears—still wet—flick once, uncertain, against the strands of hair that cling to your neck.
Your eyes find his and Jo feels it low in his stomach—a slow, sick twist, like the first crack in ice that’s been holding too long.
Jo’s breath catches.
Not loud.
Just a small, uneven hitch that sits behind his ribs like something trying to hide.
You look soft.
“I—” he starts, voice cracking small and raw before it spills longer, thicker, desperate. “You look… warmer. That’s good. That’s—yeah.”
The words feel stupid the second they leave him.
Jo’s voice cracked on the last word like a dry twig underfoot, the sound small and stupid in the quiet of his room. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, bare arm flexing awkwardly under the thin tank top, the fabric suddenly too tight across his chest.
His cheeks were already burning again—even hotter now, a deep, traitorous red that crawled all the way down to the hollow of his throat. He hadn’t had many interactions with girls. None, really. Not like this.
Not with someone who looked at him with those wide innocent eyes, ears still damp and flicking uncertainly against the strands of hair that clung to her neck.
The nightgown—his mother’s nightgown—hung soft and faded on your frame, the lilac cotton skimming just above your knees, the cardigan sleeves swallowing your wrists. You looked impossibly small there on the edge of his narrow bed, hooves tucked under the hem, and Jo’s stomach twisted with something that felt too much like hunger and too much like fear all at once.
He swallowed hard, eyes fixed somewhere near your socks instead of your face. "You… you can sleep here,” he managed, the words spilling out long and uneven before they snapped short.
“In my bed. It’s warmer than the floor. Cleaner, too. I’ll—I’ll take the couch in the living room. Or the floor right here if you want. Doesn’t matter. I don’t sleep much anyway.” A shy, embarrassed huff of breath left him, almost a laugh but not quite. “Haven’t had a lot of… company. Never really… yeah.”
His blush deepened, stupid and helpless, and he ducked his head lower, lashes brushing flushed skin as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The floorboards creaked under him like they were judging him for every fumbling syllable.
He turned then, slow and careful, bare shoulders curling inward as if he could make himself smaller, less threatening, less like the son of the man whose antlers still watched from the other room. His hand reached for the doorknob—anything to give you space, to let you breathe without his shaking presence crowding the air.
Your fingers brushed the hem of his tank top.
Just the lightest tug—small, hesitant, the fabric pulling taut against his back for half a second. Jo froze mid-step, breath catching sharp behind his ribs like a hook snagging on bone. The touch was barely there, but it burned hotter than the blush already painting his skin. He didn’t turn right away. Couldn’t. His heart hammered loud enough that he was sure you could hear it over the distant crackle of the dying fire in the living room.
“Stay,” you whispered. The word came out quiet, trembling at the edges, soft as the nightgown against your thighs. Not a demand. Just a plea wrapped in exhaustion and something gentler, something that made his knees feel suddenly unsteady.
Jo’s shoulders stiffened, then softened all at once. He turned back toward you—slow, like you might bolt if he moved too fast—and the blush flared hotter across his cheeks, crawling up to the tips of his ears until even the cold draft from the window felt warm.
His hand hovered uselessly at his side, fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. “I… yeah?” The word cracked small and raw, then spilled longer, thicker, desperate. “You want me to… okay. I can do that. I mean—if you’re sure. I won’t… I won’t get too close or anything. I can sit right here on the floor, or on the edge of the bed if that’s better. Whatever you need."
You nod, slow and hesitant, like even the smallest agreement may still cost you everything. Your hooves click softly against the floorboards as you crawl onto Jo’s narrow bed, the faded lilac nightgown riding up your thighs without warning. The hem slips higher than you mean it to—barely, just enough—and for one fleeting second the soft white cotton of your panties catches the low lamplight, delicate and impossibly out of place against the worn quilt.
Jo’s breath slams out of him like he’s been punched.
His eyes go wide, cheeks flooding with a deep, helpless red that burns all the way down his neck and across his bare chest under the thin tank top. He stumbles back a half-step, hand flying up to cover his mouth like that could hide the way his whole body just short-circuited. The image sears behind his eyelids—soft skin, the tiniest edge of lace, the way the nightgown had clung for that one ruined heartbeat—and something hot and traitorous twists low in his stomach.
“I—I need a shower,” he blurts, voice cracking high and thin before it drops into a rushed, embarrassed mumble. “Right now. Like, immediately. The, uh… the blood. And the woods. And everything. Yeah. I’ll be quick. Super quick. Don’t—don’t worry about me. Just… sleep. Please.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He’s already spinning on his heel, bare feet slapping against the cold floorboards as he practically flees the room. The door clicks shut behind him harder than he means it to, and you hear his footsteps hurry down the short hallway like he’s being chased by his own pulse.
You tilt your head, ears flicking once in quiet confusion. The motion makes the damp strands of your hair brush your neck, and you shrug, small and tired, before curling up under the heavy quilt. The sheets smell like him—wood smoke and faint violet soap and something warmer underneath that makes your chest feel strangely tight.
You tuck your knees up, hooves tucked beneath the hem of the nightgown, and let your eyes drift shut. The wound on your thigh throbs dully under the proper bandage jo had left on the counter, but the bed is soft. Safer than anything you’ve felt in days.
Inside the tiny bathroom, Jo twists the shower knob all the way to cold.
The water hits him like a slap, icy needles against his overheated skin, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to cool the burn crawling across his face. He presses both palms flat against the cracked tile wall, head hanging low between his shoulders, tank top and jeans still on because he’s too mortified to take anything else off right now. Water soaks through the fabric in seconds, plastering it to his body, but all he can see is that brief flash of white cotton and the way the nightgown had ridden up over the soft curve of your thigh.
“Stupid,” he whispers to the steamless air, voice shaky and small. “So fucking stupid, Jo. She’s bleeding. She’s scared. She’s in your mother’s nightgown and you’re—God.”
His ears are ringing. The blush refuses to leave. It sits stubborn under his skin, hot and humiliated, every time he blinks he sees it again—that tiny, accidental glimpse that felt like the universe handing him something he had no right to look at. He slides down until he’s sitting on the floor of the tub, knees drawn up, cold water pounding against his back while he buries his face in his arms.
He stays there until his teeth start chattering and the worst of the heat finally ebbs out of his cheeks. Only then does he peel off the soaked clothes, towel off fast, and pull on a fresh pair of soft gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that still smells like the laundry soap his mother used to use. His hair is damp and sticking up in every direction when he pads back down the hallway, barefoot and trying to make himself as quiet as possible.
The bedroom door is still cracked open the way he left it. He hesitates on the threshold, one hand on the frame, and the sight of you stops him cold all over again.
You’re curled on your side in the middle of his bed, knees tucked up, the lilac nightgown pooled around your thighs and the too-big cardigan half-slipped off one shoulder. One ear twitches in your sleep, delicate and furred, brushing against the pillow. Your antlers catch the faint glow from the hallway light, small and barely branched, and your chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths. The bandage peeks out from under the hem, dark with dried blood but no longer spreading.
He swallows, the sound loud in the quiet.
“I’m… I’m back,” he whispers, even though you’re already asleep. His voice is barely more than breath. “I won’t come any closer if you don’t want. I’ll just… sit right here. On the floor. Like I said.”
He slides down the wall beside the bed, back pressed to the cool wood, knees drawn up to his chest. From this angle he can just see the top of your head and the gentle flick of your ear every few minutes, like even in sleep you’re listening for danger. Jo rests his chin on his arms and watches you, the blush still faint but steady across his cheeks.
Minutes bleed into longer ones. The cabin is silent except for the distant crackle of the dying fire and the soft sound of your breathing. Jo’s eyes start to feel heavy, but he doesn’t let them close all the way. He can’t. Not when his father’s boots could hit the porch at any moment. Not when the only thing standing between you and everything that’s ever hurt you is him—a shaking, blushing, shirtless-in-the-woods mess who still doesn’t know how to be anything but gentle.
He reaches up slowly, careful not to wake you, and tugs the quilt a little higher over your shoulder. His fingers brush the fabric for half a second—warm from your body—and he pulls back like he’s been burned, cheeks flaring hotter.
“Stay soft,” he murmurs under his breath, so quiet it’s almost nothing. “Just… stay soft a little longer. I’ve got you. I think.”
Jo leans his head back against the wall, damp hair leaving a wet spot on the wood, and lets his eyes finally drift shut. The last thing he sees before sleep drags him under is the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath his mother’s nightgown, and the smallest, most fragile smile touches his lips—shy, ruined, and entirely his own.
The morning light filtered thin and gray through the cabin’s single window, the kind of pale November dawn that made the woods outside look like they were holding their breath. Jo stirred first—neck stiff, back aching from a night spent curled against the wall like a guard dog who didn’t know how to lie down properly. His legs were half-numb, one arm still wrapped around his knees, hoodie rumpled and damp at the collar from where his hair had dried overnight. The first thing he registered was the soft sound of your breathing, steady and close, still tucked under the quilt on his bed.
Then the phone rang.
It shattered the quiet like a rifle crack—old landline on the nightstand, shrill and insistent. Jo jolted upright, heart slamming against his ribs before his brain caught up. He scrambled for it on his knees, nearly knocking the receiver off the hook in his hurry to answer before it could wake you.
“Hello?” His voice came out rough with sleep, cracked at the edges.
His father’s voice filled the line, low and flat, the same tone he used when he was already halfway out the door in his mind. “It’s me. Listen, something came up. Me and a couple of the boys are heading up to the mountains for a real hunt. Big bucks, they say. Might be gone a week. Maybe two. Depends how the trail holds.”
Jo’s grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles went white. A week. Two. The words sank in slow, warm relief blooming low in his chest like something he wasn’t allowed to feel. No boots on the porch. No sharp eyes scanning the tree line. No new antlers being dragged home to hang above the fireplace. Just… space. Breathing room. Time. Just for awhile.
“Food in the fridge should last you,” his father continued, dismissive, like he was reading off a grocery list instead of talking to his only son. “Canned stuff in the pantry if you run low. There’s money in the tin on the mantel—your savings from the odd jobs. Use it if you need to go into town. Don’t blow it on nonsense. And don’t go soft while I’m gone, boy. I’ll know if you did.”
A short, humorless grunt on the other end. No goodbye. No be safe. No I’ll call when I’m headed back. Just the click of the line going dead.
Jo stared at the receiver for a long second after the dial tone buzzed in his ear, then set it back in the cradle with shaking fingers. His shoulders sagged, the tension leaking out of him in one long, shaky exhale. He pressed his forehead to the edge of the nightstand, eyes squeezing shut.
Relief tasted sweet and guilty all at once—because his father not caring felt like freedom, but it also felt like the same old knife twisting in the place where a father’s love was supposed to live.
He stayed like that until the floorboards creaked softly behind him.
You’d woken at the sound of the phone, ears flicking upright under the messy strands of your hair, small antlers catching the weak morning light. The lilac nightgown had slipped off one shoulder in your sleep, cardigan still half-draped over you like a borrowed shield. You sat up slowly, knees drawn to your chest, hooves tucked under the hem, watching him with those wide, wary doe eyes that always made his stomach do that stupid fluttering thing.
Jo lifted his head, cheeks already warming under your gaze. The blush crept in slow and traitorous, staining his neck and the tips of his ears even though he hadn’t said a word yet. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, damp hair sticking up in every direction, oversized hoodie sleeves sliding down his wrists.
“That was… my dad,” he whispered, voice long and careful before it dropped short, almost too soft. “He’s gone. For a while. A week, maybe two. Hunting in the mountains with his friends. Said the food’ll last and… and not to worry about him coming back anytime soon.”
He swallowed hard, lashes lowering as he risked a glance at you. The relief in his own chest felt too big, too bright, like it might spill out if he wasn’t careful. “We’re alone. For now. No one’s coming. No boots. No rifle. Just… us. And the cabin. And whatever we decide to do with it.”
Jo shifted closer on his knees, not quite touching the bed, still giving you that careful half-step of space he’d been practicing since yesterday. His fingers twitched at his sides like they wanted to reach out and smooth the quilt over your lap but knew better. The faint scent of you—warm and sweet under the leftover trace of blood and his mother’s lavender—curled into the air between you, and his blush deepened, stupid and helpless.
Your ears flicked once, slow and uncertain, the delicate fur brushing against the strands of messy hair that still clung to your neck from sleep. The lilac nightgown had slipped a little further off one shoulder in the night, but you didn’t fix it right away. You just sat there, knees still drawn tight to your chest under the quilt, hooves tucked beneath the hem, watching him with those wide doe eyes that always seemed to hold more forest than fear now.
For a long moment you didn’t speak. The silence stretched honey-slow between you, thick with the faint scent of wood smoke still clinging to the walls and the warmer, sweeter trace of you that made Jo’s blush burn hotter under his skin. Then your voice came—soft, trembling at the edges like it was afraid the words might break if they came out too fast.
“…Oh so…we will be alone…?” you whispered, the word long and careful, almost tasting it before it dropped short, barely louder than the small sound of flames flickering in the fireplace. “For a whole week… maybe two? No one coming back? Not even… him?”
Your fingers curled tighter into the quilt, knuckles pale, the too-long cardigan sleeves swallowing your hands completely. One ear twitched back against your hair again, wary, but the other stayed half-forward, listening. Your gaze dropped to the bandage peeking out from under the nightgown, then lifted back to his flushed face.
“I'm safe…” A tiny, hesitant breath left you, almost a sigh. “For now.”
Your words landed soft and heavy in the quiet room, like snow settling on the windowsill outside. “I’m safe…” The way you said it—small, almost disbelieving, like you were afraid saying it out loud might make it disappear—made something in Jo’s chest twist tight and then slowly, carefully, loosen.
He stayed on his knees beside the bed, looking up at you with those wide, earnest eyes, the blush still painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears a soft, helpless pink. His damp hair stuck up in messy tufts, hoodie sleeves swallowing his hands, and for a second he just breathed, letting your words sink into him like warmth after too many cold mornings.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, voice long and careful before it dropped short, raw at the edges. “You’re safe. For now. For as long as I can keep it that way. He’s gone… really gone. The mountains are far. He won’t come back early. Not for something like this. Not when there’s bigger game calling his name.”
Jo’s fingers twitched again at his sides. He wanted so badly to reach out—to tuck the slipped shoulder of the nightgown back into place, to smooth your hair, to do something, anything, that might make you feel steadier. But he didn’t. He kept that careful half-step of space, like he was still afraid even his gentleness might be too much.
Instead he swallowed hard, lashes lowering as he glanced at the bandage peeking from under the lilac hem. The dried blood had darkened overnight, but the fabric wasn’t soaked through anymore. Still, the sight of it made his stomach clench with guilt all over again.
“Your leg,” he murmured, the words spilling slow and tender. “It probably hurts more now that you’ve been still. I should… I should change it. Clean it proper. I’ve got stuff in the bathroom—antiseptic, fresh cloth. My mom used to keep a kit under the sink for when I was little and clumsy.” A tiny, shy huff of breath left him, almost a laugh but not quite. “I’m still clumsy. Just… in different ways now.”
He shifted back on his heels, ready to stand, but paused, looking at you again with that same soft, ruined expression.
“Only if you want,” he added quickly, voice cracking small before it flowed longer, gentler. “I won’t touch you without asking. Ever. You can stay right there on the bed.I’ll bring everything in here. Or… or you can come sit at the table if you feel like moving a little. I can make breakfast after. Eggs? Toast? There’s some jam left in the pantry that isn’t too old. And tea. I think we still have the kind with honey my mom liked.”
Jo rubbed the back of his neck again, the oversized hoodie riding up just enough to show a sliver of pale skin at his waist before he tugged it back down, cheeks burning brighter at the accidental exposure. The scent of you—warm, sweet, that faint trace of forest and fear slowly easing into something softer—kept curling into his lungs every time he breathed, and it made his heart do that stupid fluttering thing all over again.
He stayed low, not looming, not pushing, just there on the floor like he was still the boy who once cried over mounted antlers and never quite learned how to stop feeling sorry for the softness the world tried to take.
"You can change it."
The words were small, soft, barely louder than the crackle of the dying fire, but they hit Jo like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. His head lifted fast, eyes wide, the blush already crawling hotter across his cheeks and down his throat at the simple permission.
“Okay,” he breathed, voice cracking small before it steadied into something long and careful. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll be gentle. I promise. So gentle.”
He stood slowly, knees cracking from the night on the floor, and gave you one last shy glance before padding out of the room on bare feet. You heard him moving in the hallway—cabinet doors opening quietly, water running, the soft rustle of cloth being gathered. When he returned, his arms were full: a small wooden box with a faded red cross on the lid, a bowl of warm water, clean cloths, and a fresh roll of bandage. His hair was still messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows now, and the blush hadn’t faded one bit.
He set everything down on the nightstand with careful hands, then lowered himself to sit on the very edge of the bed—far enough that you still had plenty of space, close enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him. His eyes flicked to your leg, then quickly back to your face, like he was afraid even looking too long might scare you.
“I’m going to lift the hem just a little,” he murmured, voice low and trembling at the edges. “Just enough to reach the bandage. Tell me if you want me to stop. Any second. I’ll stop.”
You gave the smallest nod.
Jo’s fingers—long, a little cold from the hallway—reached out and gently took the edge of the lilac nightgown. He lifted it with almost painful slowness, stopping the moment the old flannel bandage came into view. The fabric was stiff with dried blood, dark against your skin. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing, and reached for the bowl.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he began to loosen the knot he’d tied the day before. “I’m so sorry this happened. That I was even there that morning. That my father—” His voice cracked and he cut himself off, focusing instead on his hands.
The old bandage came away slowly. Beneath it the wound wasn’t too deep, but it was angry and red, the skin around it tender. Jo dipped a clean cloth in the warm water and wrung it out, then looked up at you again, lashes low.
“This might sting a little,” he warned softly. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
He cleaned the wound with the gentlest touches imaginable—barely more than dabs, like he was afraid even the cloth might hurt you. Every time you made the tiniest sound, his ears (metaphorically) perked, and he paused, whispering another soft “sorry” before continuing. When it was clean, he patted it dry with a fresh cloth, applied a thin layer of ointment from the box, and wrapped it again with fresh bandage. His fingers brushed your skin only when absolutely necessary, and every accidental touch made the tips of his ears burn brighter.
Once it was done, he sat back a little, still on the edge of the bed, and let out a shaky breath.
“There,” he murmured, voice long and relieved before it dropped short. “All clean. It should feel better soon. I can change it again tonight if you want. Or tomorrow. Whenever.”
You simply nodded again.
The silence settled between you both.
Then your stomach growled.
The sound was sudden and loud in the quiet room, cutting through the soft crackle of the fire and the creaking of old wood like it had been waiting for the perfect moment to betray you. It was a deep, hollow rumble that echoed faintly off the walls, and your ears flicked back hard against your hair in pure mortification.
"Oh…"
Jo froze for half a second.
Then his whole face went bright, burning red—so fast and so deep it looked like it might actually hurt. The blush exploded across his cheeks, down his neck, and even across the bridge of his nose. He ducked his head instantly, one hand flying up to cover his mouth like he could hide the way his lips were twitching between a shy smile and sheer secondhand embarrassment.
“Oh—oh no,” he whispered, voice cracking small and high before it dropped into a flustered, gentle rush. “Your stomach… I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked sooner. Of course you’re hungry. You’ve been through so much and I just sat here talking and—”
He scrambled to his feet so fast he almost tripped over his own long legs, hoodie sleeves flapping as he steadied himself against the nightstand. The tips of his ears were glowing pink under his messy damp hair. He couldn’t even look at you directly for a moment, too busy rubbing the back of his neck with both hands like the motion might cool the fire in his face.
“I’ll make breakfast right now,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out long and earnest. “Eggs. Toast. Jam. Tea with honey. Whatever you want. I can bring it in here if you don’t feel like moving, or… or we can go to the table together. Slow. I’ll help you if your leg still hurts. I won’t let you fall. I promise.”
Jo finally risked a glance at you, eyes soft and wide behind the furious blush still staining his skin. His voice dropped quieter, almost shy.
“I didn’t even think… you probably haven’t eaten properly in days. I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. Let me fix it. Please.”
He took one small step back toward the door, then paused again, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.
“Unless… you want to come with me?” he added, softer still. “The kitchen’s warmer. Fire’s going. You could sit on the couch if the chair’s too much. I’ll stay close. Whatever makes you feel safest.”
You looked down at your hands for a moment, fingers still curled in the too-long sleeves of the cardigan. Your ears flicked once, slow and uncertain, before you lifted your gaze back to him. The blush on his face was so intense it almost made your own cheeks feel warm.
“…I can come with you,” you whispered, voice small and careful, like you were testing the words as they left your mouth. “If it’s okay. I don’t want to stay in bed all day. My leg… it doesn’t hurt as much now. And the kitchen sounds warmer.”
You shifted slightly, hooves brushing against the rug as you sat up a little straighter. One hand came up to tug the slipped shoulder of the nightgown back into place, though the motion was shy and a little clumsy.
“I haven’t… eaten at a table in a long time,” you added, quieter still, the words long and soft before they dropped short. “Not since before everything started feeling like running. It might be nice. To sit somewhere normal. With you.”
Your eyes flicked to his still-burning face, and the tiniest, hesitant smile touched your lips—fragile, but real.
“…You’re really red right now,” you murmured, almost teasing, though your voice stayed gentle. “It’s okay. I’m not scared of you making breakfast. I think I’d like to watch. If that’s alright.”
Jo’s mouth opened, then closed again. The blush somehow deepened even more, spreading down his neck until it disappeared under the collar of his hoodie. He looked like he might actually combust on the spot.
“I—yeah,” he managed, voice cracking high before it tumbled into a flustered, earnest rush. “Yeah, of course it’s okay. You can come. I’ll help you walk. Slow. I promise I won’t let you put too much weight on it. You can lean on me if you need to. Or the wall. Whatever feels best.”
He stepped closer again, one hand hovering in the air like he wanted to offer it but was still too shy to actually reach. His eyes were wide and soft, the embarrassment still painted vividly across every inch of his face.
“I’ll make the eggs however you like them,” he added quickly, trying (and failing) to sound steady. “Scrambled? Over easy? I’m not… I’m not the best cook, but I can do eggs. And the toast won’t burn. Probably. And the tea—my mom always said honey makes everything feel a little less awful.”
He swallowed hard, then finally let his hand settle, palm up, between you—offering without pressure.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered, the words long and careful. “No rush. We’ve got all morning. All week, really. Just… let me know when you want to stand.”
Your fingers—small, still a little cold from the morning air—reached out and slipped into his open palm.
Jo’s breath hitched so sharply it was almost a sound. The second your skin touched his, the blush that had already been burning across his face exploded into something deeper, hotter, until even the tips of his ears looked like they might catch fire. His hand closed around yours with the gentlest pressure imaginable, like he was afraid even holding you too firmly might break something fragile between you.
For one long second he just stayed there, kneeling slightly so he wouldn’t tower over you, staring at where your fingers rested in his like he couldn’t quite believe it was real. His thumb brushed once, barely there, across the back of your hand—warm and trembling.
“Okay,” he whispered, voice cracking small and shaky before it steadied into something soft and careful. “Okay. I’ve got you.”
He rose slowly, guiding you with him, never pulling, only offering steady support. When you stood, he immediately shifted closer on your injured side, letting you lean against him if you needed without crowding. His free arm hovered near your waist, not quite touching, ready to catch you the instant you wobbled.
“Easy,” he murmured, the word long and gentle. “Take your time. Your hooves… the floor might be cold. I should’ve grabbed socks for you. I’m sorry.”
You took one careful step, then another. Your injured leg protested with a dull throb, but Jo was right there—solid, warm, smelling faintly of laundry soap and the lingering trace of wood smoke from his hoodie. Every time you shifted weight onto the bad leg, his fingers tightened just a fraction around yours, and he slowed down even more.
The walk to the kitchen was quiet, filled only with the soft click of your hooves against the old floorboards and Jo’s occasional soft checks.
“Still okay?” he asked after a few steps, voice barely above a breath. “We can stop. Sit on the couch for a minute if you need. No rush. None at all.”
When you finally reached the small wooden table near the crackling fireplace, Jo pulled out a chair for you with his free hand, still not letting go of yours until you were safely seated. Only then did he reluctantly release your fingers, and even that seemed to cost him something—his hand lingering in the air for half a second like it missed the contact already.
He stepped back quickly, cheeks still glowing, and rubbed the back of his neck as he moved toward the old stove.
“I’ll start the eggs,” he said, trying (and failing) to sound casual. “You just… sit. Rest your leg. Tell me if you want anything different. Or if you want to go back to bed. I’ll carry you if you do. I mean—not carry carry, I just— I’ll help. However you need.”
Jo turned back to the stove, still rubbing the back of his neck like the motion might somehow calm the wildfire still burning across his face. He cracked eggs into a bowl with slightly shaky hands, the soft sound of the whisk filling the quiet kitchen as he started beating them. The old pan was already warming on the stove, a pat of butter melting and sizzling gently.
He was so focused on not burning anything that your soft voice caught him completely off guard.
“Do you… just stay home all day?”
The question was quiet, curious, a little hesitant—like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask something so ordinary. Your ears flicked once as you watched him from the table, chin resting lightly on your folded arms.
Jo froze mid-whisk.
For a second he just stood there, back to you, shoulders tense under the oversized hoodie. Then he slowly set the bowl down and turned around, cheeks already flushing that familiar deep pink again. He leaned back against the counter, one hand gripping the edge like he needed something to hold onto.
“I… yeah,” he admitted, voice long and careful before it dropped shorter, almost shy. “Pretty much. When my father’s not dragging me out on hunts. Which is… most days, lately. He says I need to learn. That I’m too soft. That staying inside reading or drawing or just… existing isn’t useful.”
He gave a small, self-deprecating huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. The blush crept higher as he rubbed the back of his neck again.
“I don’t really have anywhere else to go. No school anymore. No friends that stuck around after everything with my mom. The town’s too far to walk to every day, and I don’t have a car. So… yeah. I stay here. Keep the fire going. Cook simple things. Fix whatever breaks. Wait for him to come back from whatever hunt he’s on.”
Jo glanced at you, eyes soft and a little sad behind the embarrassment still painting his face.
“It’s not so bad when he’s gone,” he added quietly. “The house feels… lighter. I can breathe. I usually just read or draw or sit by the window and watch the snow. Sometimes I talk to the trees like a crazy person.” A tiny, embarrassed smile tugged at his lips. “They don’t answer back, but they’re good listeners.”
He turned back to the stove, pouring the eggs into the pan. The soft sizzling filled the space between you again.
“What about you?” he asked after a moment, voice gentler, almost hesitant to ask in return. “Before… all of this. Did you have somewhere safe? People who… who made it feel less lonely?”
Your ears flicked back against your hair, slow and heavy, like the weight of the answer was too much to carry upright. You kept your chin resting on your folded arms, eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table instead of meeting his gaze.
“…No,” you whispered, the word small and cracked at the edges. “Not really. Hunters killed my parents a long time ago. I don’t even remember their faces clearly anymore. Just… the sound of the shot. And the way the woods went quiet after.”
You swallowed, the sound soft in the warm kitchen. One hoof scraped lightly against the floor beneath the table.
“After that, some of my parents’ friends took me in. Other hybrids. A small group that stayed hidden deeper in the woods. They were kind. They fed me. Let me sleep between them when it got cold. Taught me which berries were safe and which ones would make you sick for days.” Your voice grew even quieter, trembling at the edges. “They were rabbits. Gentle. Always moving carefully. Always listening.”
You went quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft sizzling of the eggs in the pan.
“But the cycle never really stops,” you continued, barely above a breath. “Hunters found them too. One by one. Until it was just me again. I ran. Kept running. Hid during the day. Moved at night. When you first saw me behind that log…” Your ears twitched again, and your voice dropped even smaller. “I’d already been wandering alone for over a week. I think I was starting to forget what it felt like to sleep without one ear always listening for boots.”
You finally lifted your eyes to him—soft, tired, but steady.
“That’s why your father’s voice scared me so much. It sounded like every voice that ever took someone I loved.”
The eggs were starting to smell warm and buttery, but Jo had gone completely still at the stove. His shoulders were tight, the spatula forgotten in his hand. The blush that had been burning across his face moments ago had drained into something paler, something heavier. Guilt sat thick in his chest like stones.
He turned the burner down with slow, careful fingers before he trusted himself to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough and low, cracking on the words. “God, I’m so sorry. That you had to go through all of that. That my father—that people like him—keep doing this. Keep taking and taking until there’s nothing left.” He let out a shaky breath, one hand coming up to press against his eyes for a second. “I hate it. I hate that I come from that. That I almost became part of it.”
Jo turned fully toward you, eyes glassy but soft, the blush slowly returning to his cheeks as he looked at you with something close to quiet devastation.
“You don’t have to be alone like that anymore,” he whispered, the words long and careful, almost pleading. “Not while I’m here. Not for this week. Not for as long as you’ll let me stay between you and whatever comes next. I know I can’t fix what happened. But I can… I can make sure you eat warm food. And you can sleep without listening for boots. And maybe… maybe feel a little less like the world only knows how to take soft things.”
He plated the eggs with slightly trembling hands, added a slice of toast, and brought the plate over to you, setting it down gently along with a mug of tea that smelled faintly of honey.
“Eat,” he murmured, voice still thick with everything he wasn’t saying. “Please. While it’s hot. I’ll sit with you."
The kitchen stayed quiet after that.
You ate slowly, the warm eggs and honey-sweet tea settling something deep in your chest that had been empty for too long. Jo sat across from you, chin propped on one hand, just watching you with soft eyes and that persistent pink still dusting his cheeks. Neither of you spoke much. You didn’t need to. The fire crackled, the snow kept falling outside, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence between you wasn’t heavy with fear.
When you finished, he quietly took your plate, washed everything by hand, and helped you back to the bedroom so you could rest your leg. He didn’t push. He didn’t hover. He simply existed beside you like he was learning how to take up space without scaring you.
Days passed like that.
Slow. Surprisingly gentle.
You both fell into something that almost looked like routine. Jo changed your bandage every morning and every night with the same careful hands, always whispering “sorry” when it stung, always blushing when your skin brushed his. You started helping in small ways—setting the table, folding the blankets, limping around the cabin on your better days while he hovered close, ready to catch you.
He read to you sometimes in the evenings, voice low and a little shy, while you curled up on the couch with your hooves tucked under the quilt. You told him quiet stories about the rabbits who had taken you in, and he listened like every word mattered. At night he still slept on the floor beside the bed, even though you’d told him more than once he could take the couch. He always shook his head, ears burning, and mumbled that he slept better knowing you were safe.
By the sixth day, the cabin no longer felt like a hiding place.
It felt like something closer to home.
You caught him on Sunday afternoon.
The light was soft and gold through the window, catching on the dust motes in the air. You’d woken from a light doze on the couch to the quiet scratch of pencil on paper. Jo was sitting on the floor a few feet away, sketchbook balanced against his knees, completely absorbed. His hair was messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up, and there was the smallest furrow between his brows as he worked.
He was drawing you again.
Not the version of you that had been bleeding and terrified in the woods. This one was softer. You were curled on your side in the lilac nightgown, one ear relaxed against the pillow, the faintest smile on your lips like you’d been dreaming of something warm. The lines were careful. Tender. Like he was trying to hold onto the version of you that finally felt safe.
When you shifted, the couch creaked. Jo’s head snapped up so fast he nearly dropped the pencil. The blush hit him instantly—deep, helpless, crawling all the way to the tips of his ears.
“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, voice cracking as he tried to close the sketchbook. “I didn’t mean to stare. You just… looked peaceful. I wanted to remember it. I can rip it out—"
You shook your head before he could finish.
Instead, you asked if he would teach you.
Jo went completely still. For a second he just stared at you, mouth slightly open, the blush somehow deepening even more. Then something small and shy and almost disbelieving flickered across his face.
“…Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, Um—I can do that.”
He moved to sit beside you on the floor, sketchbook between you, his long legs folding awkwardly. His hands were shaking a little as he showed you how to hold the pencil, how to let it rest lightly between your fingers instead of gripping it too tight. Every time your hands brushed, he pulled back like he’d been burned, cheeks burning hotter.
“You’re… really good at this,” he murmured after your third attempt at shading a simple leaf. His voice was soft, almost awed. “The way you see things. It’s nice.”
You worked in quiet for a while, shoulders slowly drifting closer until they were touching. Jo didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into it, just barely, like he was afraid even that much might be too much but couldn’t help himself. The fire crackled. Outside, snow tapped gently against the glass. Inside, the only sounds were the scratch of pencils and Jo’s occasional soft instructions, his voice low and careful every time he leaned in to guide your hand.
By the time the light started to fade, your fingers were smudged with graphite and Jo’s ears were still pink.
The days after the drawing lesson settled even deeper into something warm and unspoken.
You and Jo moved through the cabin like you’d been doing it for years instead of barely a week. Mornings still started with him carefully changing your bandage, but now his hands lingered a little longer, and the soft “sorry” he always whispered came with the smallest smile. You helped him cook. He let you sit on the counter while he stirred, your hooves dangling, his shoulder brushing yours every time he reached past you. Evenings were spent on the floor with the sketchbook between you. He never pushed, but he always lit up—really lit up—when you asked him to show you something new.
At night he finally agreed to sleep on the couch instead of the floor, but only after you’d tugged on his sleeve and asked in that quiet voice if he was tired of the hard wood. He’d turned bright red and nodded, mumbling something about how the couch was “actually pretty comfortable” while avoiding your eyes.
The wound on your leg continued to heal. You could walk longer distances now without limping as much. Jo still hovered close anyway, one hand always ready to steady you, always pretending he wasn’t blushing when you leaned on him.
By Wednesday, the cabin no longer felt borrowed.
The phone rang on Friday afternoon.
Jo was in the middle of showing you how to shade the curve of an antler in the sketchbook when the old landline shattered the quiet. He froze, pencil hovering above the paper, and for a second the color drained from his face. Then he stood slowly, wiping his hands on his hoodie like he could wipe away the sudden tension in his shoulders.
He answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
His father’s voice came through loud and rough, the same flat tone he always used when he was already halfway gone in his mind.
“Boy. It’s me. Listen, we got a big one yesterday. Real trophy buck. Twelve points. Took us damn near all day to track it down, but we got it. Clean shot.” There was a pause, like he was waiting for praise that never came. When Jo stayed silent, his father continued, almost boastful. “Turns out there’s a whole herd moving through the upper ridge. More where that came from. So we’re staying. Gonna set up camp proper. Don’t know how long. Could be another week. Could be longer. Depends on how the weather holds and how many we can bring down.”
Jo’s grip tightened on the receiver until his knuckles went white. He turned slightly away from you, but you could still see the way his shoulders curled inward, the way his free hand came up to press against his eyes for half a second.
“Food should still be fine, It hasn't been that long” his father went on, dismissive. “You know what to if it gets low. Don't be goin' soft whilst i'm gone.”
Another grunt. No goodbye. Just the click of the line going dead.
Jo stood there for a long moment after, staring at the receiver. Then he set it back in the cradle with slow, careful fingers. His back stayed to you for several seconds, shoulders rising and falling with one long, shaky breath.
When he finally turned around, the blush was gone. In its place was something heavier. Something tired and quietly devastated.
“He’s staying longer,” he said, voice low and rough. “Another week. Maybe more. They…um—got a y'know and there’s more of them. So he’s… he’s not coming back soon.”
He crossed the room slowly and sank down onto the floor beside you again, sketchbook still open between you. His hands were shaking. He stared at the half-drawn antler on the page like it had answers.
“I should feel relieved,” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. “More time. More days where it’s just us. Where you’re safe. Where I don’t have to lie or hide you or pretend I’m someone I’m not.” His voice cracked. “But all I can think about is how many more he’s going to kill while he’s up there. How many more families he’s going to tear apart. And I hate that I come from that. I hate that part of me is still… relieved.”
You watched him for a long moment, ears flicking back against your hair as his words settled heavy in the quiet room. The half-drawn antler on the sketchbook between you suddenly looked too sharp, too much like the ones that had once hung above the fireplace. Jo’s hands were still shaking where they rested on his knees, and the way his shoulders curled made something deep in your chest ache.
Slowly, you reached out.
Your fingers—still faintly smudged with graphite from earlier—found his. You didn’t grab. You simply let your hand rest over his, small and warm, until he stopped trembling quite so hard. When he didn’t pull away, you shifted closer on the floor, close enough that your knee brushed his.
“…You’re not him,” you whispered, voice soft and careful, the words long before they dropped short. “You know that, right? You’re not the one out there with a rifle. You’re not the one bragging about twelve-point bucks and how many more you can kill. You’re here. With me. Choosing different. Every single day.”
Your thumb brushed once, barely there, across the back of his hand. One of your ears twitched again, soft and uncertain.
“I know it hurts,” you continued, quieter still. “Hearing him. Knowing what he’s doing. Feeling like part of you is relieved anyway because it means I’m safe a little longer. That doesn’t make you bad. It makes you human. It makes you… someone who’s been surviving the only way he knew how until he decided to be something else.”
You leaned in a little more, close enough that your shoulder pressed lightly against his. The lilac nightgown slipped off one shoulder again, but you didn’t fix it. Your voice trembled at the edges, but it stayed steady enough to reach him.
“I’m glad you’re relieved,” you whispered. “Because I’m relieved too. Because it means I get to keep sitting here with you. Drawing bad leaves. Eating your slightly burnt toast. Falling asleep knowing no one’s going to drag me out of this cabin in the middle of the night and shoot me dead.” Your ears flicked forward, soft and hopeful. “So let yourself feel it. Just a little. You don’t have to carry all of his darkness by yourself anymore. Not while I’m here.”
Jo’s breath hitched.
He stared down at where your hand rested in his, the blush slowly creeping back across his cheeks like it had never really left. His eyes were glassy, lashes wet at the edges, but when he finally looked at you there was something raw and grateful and painfully shy in his expression.
He didn’t speak right away.
Instead he turned his hand over and laced his fingers with yours, holding on like you were the only solid thing left in the room. His thumb brushed across your knuckles once, twice, like he was still learning how to accept gentleness without flinching.
“…Thank you,” he whispered eventually, voice cracking small and thick. “For saying that. For… for not hating me for coming from him. For staying even when you have every reason to be scared of this whole place.”
He leaned sideways until his shoulder rested more fully against yours, the sketchbook forgotten between you. The fire crackled softly in the other room. Outside, snow tapped against the window again.
Jo let out a long, shaky breath and rested his forehead against the side of your head, just for a second.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he murmured, barely loud enough to hear. “Even if it’s only for however long we have. I don’t… I don’t want to be alone in this anymore either.”
His fingers tightened gently around yours.
And for the first time since the phone had rung, the heavy weight in his chest seemed to ease—just a little.
The days stretched on without another call.
A week and a half passed in a quiet, golden haze. No boots on the porch. No sharp voice on the other end of the line. Just the two of you and the slow rhythm you’d built together.
You helped him cook now without him hovering quite so nervously—standing at the stove beside him, your shoulder brushing his as he taught you how to crack eggs one-handed. Evenings were spent on the floor with the sketchbook between you, your graphite-smudged fingers slowly growing steadier under his gentle guidance. He still blushed every time you praised his drawings. You still caught him staring at you like you were something he couldn’t quite believe was real.
At night he slept on the couch, but more often than not you both ended up talking long after the fire had died down—your voice soft in the dark, his even softer as he told you about the mother he barely remembered and the boy he used to be before the rifles and the antlers and the silence.
The cabin felt lived-in now. Your scent had settled into the blankets. His hoodie had found its way onto your shoulders more than once when you got cold. The wound on your leg was nearly gone, only a faint pink scar left behind.
And somewhere in the middle of all those ordinary, gentle days, something between you had shifted. Grown heavier. Sweeter. More impossible to ignore.
“You’re really okay now,” he murmured, voice warm with quiet wonder. His thumb brushed once, feather-light, over the scar. “I was so scared it would leave something worse. But look at you.”
He looked up at you then, cheeks already dusting pink, and the smile grew a little shy.
“I was thinking…” he started, then paused, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “We’ve been here a long time. My father still hasn’t called. The town’s only a few hours’ walk if we take it slow. I could… I could take you. If you want. Just for a few hours. We could get some fresh food. Maybe something warm to drink. New clothes that actually fit you instead of my mother’s old things. You don’t have to hide anymore. Not while he’s gone.”
He hesitated, then added softer, “I’d stay right beside you the whole time. I won’t let anything happen. I promise.”
You said yes.
The walk into town was slow and careful, but not because of your leg. Jo kept his pace deliberately gentle, one hand hovering near your elbow the entire way, ready to steady you even though you didn’t really need it anymore. The snow had melted into slush along the edges of the road, and the air smelled like pine and wet earth. Every time a car passed, Jo shifted a little closer to you, protective without even realizing he was doing it.
By the time you reached the small main street, your fingers had found his.
He didn’t let go.
The town was quiet—just a handful of shops, a diner with foggy windows, and the general store where Jo usually went when he needed supplies. A few people nodded at him in passing. No one stared. No one asked questions. For once, the world didn’t feel like it was watching.
The town was also relatively used to hybrids now. A few even lived among the human folk that resided there.
You noticed it almost immediately.
As you and Jo walked down the main street, hand in hand, you saw them—a pair of fox hybrids laughing outside the bakery, a tall deer hybrid man helping an older woman carry her groceries across the street, a young rabbit hybrid girl skipping ahead of her human mother without a single person giving them a second glance. No one stared. No one reached for a weapon or crossed to the other side of the road. The air didn’t carry that sharp, watchful tension you’d grown used to in the woods.
It felt… normal.
Jo noticed you noticing.
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as you walked, his voice low and a little shy.
“It’s… different now than it used to be,” he murmured. “My father always acted like the whole world was against hybrids. Like we had to stay hidden in the woods or else. But the town’s changed since I was little. People got tired of the fighting. Some of the older folks still grumble, but most of them just… live. Same as everyone else.”
He glanced at you sideways, cheeks flushed.
“I was scared to bring you here at first. Thought someone might say something. But… I think you’re safe. Really safe. Even if someone did notice you’re not from around here, they’d probably just assume you’re visiting family or something.”
He led you into the small clothing shop first. The bell above the door chimed softly. The woman behind the counter—an older human with kind eyes—smiled warmly when she saw you, her gaze flicking briefly to your small antlers and delicate ears without a trace of fear or judgment.
“Jo,” she greeted, “good to see you. And who’s this?”
Jo went bright red instantly, the tips of his ears burning as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.
“This is… um. This is—y/n—” He glanced at you, then back at the woman, voice cracking a little. “She’s with me. We’re just… getting her some things that fit better.”
The woman’s smile only grew warmer, soft and knowing in the way older people sometimes looked when they saw something gentle unfolding right in front of them.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, y/n,” she said kindly, giving you a small nod that didn’t linger too long on your antlers or ears. “I’m Mrs. Satō. Jo’s been coming in here since he was knee-high. Always so polite. Quiet boy.” Her eyes flicked fondly to him, then back to you. “You two take your time. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
She stepped back behind the counter, giving you both space, but the warmth in her voice stayed.
Jo looked like he might actually combust.
His ears were bright red, the blush crawling all the way down his neck as he gently tugged you toward the racks of clothes, still holding your hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“I—sorry,” he whispered quickly, voice cracking as he leaned in close to you. “I didn’t mean to just… blurt your name like that. I panicked. She’s nice, though. She won’t say anything to anyone. I promise.”
You glanced up at him, ears flicking softly, and gave his hand a small squeeze in return.
“It’s okay,” you whispered back, voice quiet but steady. “I don’t mind. She seems… kind. It felt nice. Being introduced like that. Like I’m someone who gets to be here with you.”
You looked around the small shop, taking in the soft sweaters and simple dresses, then back at him with a tiny, shy smile.
“I like that she didn’t look at me like I was strange. Or like I didn’t belong next to you.” Your voice grew even softer. “It made me feel… real. Like maybe I’m allowed to stand beside you without the world ending.
Jo’s blush deepened, but the shyest, most genuine smile tugged at his lips. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, still flustered but clearly touched by your words.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “You are. You’re allowed. More than allowed.”
He stood awkwardly near you whilst you looked through soft sweaters and simple dresses, blushing furiously every time you held something up and asked his opinion. He bought you two new outfits without hesitation, using the money from the tin his father had mentioned, and only stammered a little when Mrs. Satō smiled knowingly at the two of you.
After that, he took you to the diner.
The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, the warm smell of grilled cheese and fresh coffee wrapping around you both. Jo led you to the same corner booth from before, his hand still loosely holding yours until you slid into the seat. He sat across from you, knees bumping under the table, ears still faintly pink from the clothing shop.
A fox hybrid waitress with kind eyes and a gentle smile came over to take your order. She didn’t stare at your antlers or ears—just greeted you both warmly before heading off to the kitchen.
Jo kept glancing at you across the table, one hand resting near yours like he wanted to reach for it again but was too shy to do it in public. The blush on his cheeks hadn’t fully faded.
You looked around the cozy diner for a moment—the foggy windows, the low hum of conversation, the way no one seemed to mind the two of you sitting there together—before your soft voice broke the quiet.
“Thank you for today,” you whispered. “For the new clothes. For letting me walk down the street without hiding. For… for introducing me to Mrs. Satō like I was someone who belonged beside you.” A tiny, shy smile touched your lips. “I liked hearing you say my name out loud. It made everything feel more real.”
Jo’s blush deepened instantly, but he turned his hand over so he could lace his fingers with yours properly, squeezing once.
“You do belong beside me,” he murmured, voice cracking a little with how earnest he was. “I want you to. More than I know how to say without sounding like an idiot.”
The fox hybrid waitress returned with your food—grilled cheese and tomato soup for both of you—and gave you both another warm smile before leaving you alone again.
You picked up your spoon, stirring the soup slowly before speaking again, softer this time.
“I think… I could get used to this,” you said, almost to yourself. “Coming into town sometimes. Sitting here with you. Not having to be scared every second.” Your ears twitched forward as you looked at him. “If you wanted to. I know we can’t stay forever. But while your father’s still gone… I’d like to come back here with you again. If that’s okay.”
Jo stared at you for a second, completely soft and flustered, before the smallest, most genuine smile broke across his face.
“Yeah,” he whispered, squeezing your hand again. “That’s more than okay. We can come back whenever you want. As many times as you want.”
The rest of the evening passed in a soft, golden blur.
After the diner, Jo walked you home slowly, your new clothes tucked in a bag between you, fingers still loosely linked. The sky had turned soft lavender by the time the cabin came into view, smoke curling gently from the chimney. Neither of you spoke much on the walk back — you didn’t need to. The quiet between you felt full instead of empty.
Once you were home, the routine felt easy.
Jo started the fire while you changed into one of your new sweaters and a pair of soft leggings. He made tea without being asked, setting a mug beside you on the couch before disappearing into the bathroom to wash up. When he came back, hair damp and wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, he looked shy all over again.
You were already curled up on the couch, hooves tucked under the blanket. When he sat down beside you, you turned to him, ears flicking softly.
“Thank you again,” you whispered, voice quiet but warm. “For today. For everything.”
Before he could answer, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek. Your lips barely brushed his skin, but it was enough to make Jo go completely still. The blush exploded across his face so fast it reached the tips of his ears.
He didn’t say anything for a long second. Just stared at you, wide-eyed and flustered, one hand coming up to touch the spot you’d kissed like he was trying to hold onto the feeling.
“…Y-You’re welcome,” he finally managed, voice cracking.
Two days passed.
The cabin stayed warm and quiet. You helped Jo cook. He read to you in the evenings. You drew together on the floor like always. The kiss on the cheek lingered between you like something sweet and unspoken.
It was late afternoon when it happened.
You were sitting on the floor with the sketchbook in your lap, carefully shading the curve of a leaf the way Jo had taught you. He sat across from you, supposedly working on his own page, but his pencil had stopped moving minutes ago.
He was just… staring.
Not in a bad way. Soft. A little dazed. Like he was trying to memorize the way the afternoon light caught on your ears and the small furrow of concentration between your brows.
You felt his gaze and looked up.
Your ears twitched.
“…What’s wrong?” you asked gently, tilting your head. “You’re staring.”
Jo’s face went bright red instantly. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. His pencil slipped from his fingers and rolled across the floor.
“I—” he blurted, voice cracking high and flustered. “I want to kiss you.”
The words tumbled out before he could stop them. His eyes went wide the second they left his mouth, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it out loud. The blush spread down his neck as he ducked his head, ears burning.
You blinked at him for a second.
Then, soft and simple, you answered.
“…Oh. Okay.”
Jo’s head snapped up.
He looked at you like you’d just handed him something precious and fragile. His hands trembled slightly where they rested on his knees. He swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper.
“Wait…Can I?” he asked, shy and earnest all at once. “Like right now?”
You gave the smallest nod.
Jo moved slowly, like he was afraid the moment might shatter if he rushed. He leaned across the small space between you, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek with the gentlest touch. His thumb brushed your skin once, trembling.
When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was soft. Careful. A little clumsy with how badly he wanted to be gentle. He tasted like the tea you’d shared earlier and something warm that was just him. He didn’t push—just stayed there, breathing you in, like he still couldn’t quite believe you’d said yes.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded.
“…Thank you,” he whispered, voice cracking small and honest. “For letting me.”
His hand stayed on your cheek, thumb brushing slowly over your skin.
“I’ve been wanting to do that again since the cheek kiss,” he admitted, barely breathing. “I just… didn’t know how to ask.”
You smiled, small and soft, and leaned in to brush your nose against his.
“You don’t have to ask next time,” you whispered back, clearing your throat. “You can just… do it.”
Jo let out a tiny, shaky laugh, the sound warm and disbelieving, before he kissed you again—slower this time, sweeter, like he finally believed he was allowed to keep this softness for himself.
The next two days passed in a warm, quiet haze. The kiss lingered between you like something new and fragile. Jo was even shyer than usual — blushing every time your hands brushed, stealing soft little kisses when you were drawing or cooking, but never pushing for more. You slept in the bed. He slept on the couch. The cabin felt smaller in the best way.
The storm rolled in hard and sudden.
Thunder cracked like something splitting open above the cabin, rattling the old windows and shaking the walls. Lightning flashed bright and violent, turning the bedroom stark white for half a second before plunging everything back into darkness. You woke with a sharp inhale, ears pinned flat, heart hammering so hard it hurt. The sound of heavy rain and another deep, rolling boom of thunder made something old and frightened twist tight in your chest.
You didn’t think. You just moved.
Bare hooves touched cold floorboards as you slipped from the bed and padded into the living room, the new pretty pink nightgown brushing against your thighs. Jo was already stirring on the couch when you reached him, sitting up fast the moment he saw your face in the dark.
“Hey—” His voice was rough with sleep, but soft. “It’s just thunder. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
You didn’t answer right away. You just stepped close and gently tugged at the front of his shirt with trembling fingers, the way you had that first morning in the woods when everything had felt too big and too frightening.
“…Can you come stay with me?” you whispered, barely loud enough over the rain. “In the room?”
Jo was on his feet in an instant, one hand already reaching for you before he caught himself.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Of course. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want. Or right by the bed. Whatever you need.”
You shook your head, ears still low against your hair.
“No,” you said, voice small but steady. “It’s okay. We can just… sleep in the bed together.”
He went very still.
For a long second he just looked at you, the blush already creeping up his neck even in the dark. Then he gave a small, shaky nod, like the words had stolen something from his lungs.
“…Okay,” he whispered. “If you’re sure.”
You led him back into the bedroom.
The storm kept raging outside, but once you were both beneath the blankets, the thunder felt a little farther away. Jo lay on his back, stiff and careful, arms tucked close to his sides like he was terrified of taking up too much space. You curled on your side facing him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body.
Minutes passed. The rain softened into a steady rhythm against the roof. Your breathing slowly evened out.
Then you shifted in your sleep, and your thigh brushed against him.
You felt it.
Hard. Hot. Pressing insistently against the front of his sweatpants.
Your eyes opened. You blinked in the dark, confused, ears twitching as you glanced down, then back up at his face. Jo’s eyes were squeezed shut, jaw tight, the tips of his ears burning even in the low light.
“…Jo?” you whispered.
He made a small, mortified sound and tried to shift his hips away.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. It’s—it’s normal. For guys. It just… happens. Especially when I’m this close to you. It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine, I swear. It’ll go away on its own.”
You stayed quiet for a moment, still processing the feeling of him against you. Then, without thinking, your hand shifted beneath the blanket and accidentally brushed against the hard line of him.
Jo let out a broken, trembling whimper—high and needy, his whole body jerking like the touch had gone straight through him. His hand flew up to cover his mouth, ears burning crimson.
“I— fuck— I’m sorry,” he gasped, voice shaking. “That felt—I didn’t mean to make that sound. I’m really sensitive and you’re so close and I’ve never—I’ve never been this close to anyone before and—”
You looked at him in the dark, heart beating fast for an entirely different reason now. His eyes were glassy, desperate, full of want and embarrassment and something painfully tender.
You reached out slowly and touched his cheek.
“…It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind. I just didn’t know it would feel like that for you.”
Jo swallowed hard, breathing unsteady.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice barely there. “Please? I really want to kiss you right now.”
You nodded.
The kiss started soft—careful, almost hesitant—but quickly deepened into something needier. Jo made soft, shaky sounds against your mouth as his hand slid to your waist, trembling like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this. When you pressed closer and your body brushed against the hard line of him again, he whimpered into the kiss, hips twitching helplessly.
“I’ve never…” he breathed between kisses, forehead pressed to yours. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I want you. So much it hurts. Can I—can we…?”
You nodded again, just as shy.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I want to. With you.”
Jo moved like every second was something sacred.
He helped you out of the nightgown with slow hands, pausing to press soft kisses to every new inch of skin he'd uncovered. When he finally settled between your thighs, both of you bare and breathing hard, he looked down at you like you were something he was terrified of breaking.
“I’ll go slow,” he promised, voice cracking. “Tell me if anything hurts. Or if you want to stop. I’ll stop. I swear on everything.”
The first push inside was careful, but it still hurt.
Jo moved slowly, trying his best to be gentle, but the stretch was sharp and unfamiliar. You sucked in a quiet breath, your body tensing beneath him as he tried to sink deeper. It burned—not unbearable, but enough to make your thighs tremble and your ears pin back slightly against the pillow.
Jo felt it immediately.
He froze the second your breath caught, eyes flying open to search your face in the dark.
“…Does it hurt?” he whispered, voice tight with worry. “I’m hurting you, aren’t I? I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”
You nodded once, small and honest, your fingers curling into his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” you breathed, even though your voice was a little shaky. “It just… stings. A lot. Um...and you're bigger than I thought.”
Jo made a soft, devastated sound and immediately started to pull back, but you tightened your grip on him, keeping him close.
“No—don’t—don’t pull out yet,” you said quietly. “Just… stay still for a second. Please.”
He obeyed instantly, staying buried only halfway inside you, his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself still. His forehead dropped to yours, breathing hard.
“I’m sorry,” he kept whispering, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should’ve gone even slower. I should’ve— God, I’m so stupid. Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything.”
After a moment, the sharpest edge of the pain eased into a dull, uncomfortable ache. You gave a tiny nod.
“…Its okay,” you whispered. “You can move a little. Just slow.”
Jo moved like you were made of glass.
Every thrust was shallow and careful, barely rocking his hips as he watched your face the entire time. Even so, a small, warm trickle of blood slipped out around him, staining the inside of your thigh and the sheets beneath you. Jo noticed it the moment it happened. His eyes widened with fresh panic.
“You’re bleeding,” he whispered, horrified. “I—I made you bleed. I’m hurting you too much. We should stop—”
You shook your head and pulled him down into a soft kiss, silencing him.
“It’s okay,” you murmured against his lips. “It’s normal. For the first time. It doesn’t hurt as much now. Just… keep going slow. Please.”
Jo looked like he might cry. He kissed you again, slower and sweeter, one hand cradling your cheek like you were something fragile and precious.
“I hate that I’m hurting you,” he whispered. “Even a little. I never want to hurt you ever again.”
But he kept moving when you asked him to—slow, careful, barely there thrusts that still made him tremble and whimper above you. Every time you made the smallest sound of discomfort, he would freeze and press kisses to your face, whispering apologies and soft praises until you relaxed again.
It didn’t last long.
Jo was already too overwhelmed, too in love with how close you were, too desperate to last. His rhythm stuttered, his moans growing higher and more broken against your mouth.
“I’m close—I’m so close,” he gasped. “I’m sorry—I can’t hold it—”
He pulled out at the last second with a shaky, high-pitched whimper, spilling warm across your stomach in thick pulses. His whole body shook as he came, face buried in your neck, soft apologies tumbling from his lips even as pleasure overtook him.
When it was over, he stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder and collarbone.
“…I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, voice small and guilty. “For the pain. For the blood. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve gone even slower.”
You reached up and cupped his flushed cheek, guiding him to look at you.
“It’s okay,” you said softly. “It was my first time too. It was always going to hurt a little. But you were gentle. You stopped when I needed you to. That’s what matters.”
Jo’s eyes were glassy as he leaned down and kissed you again—slow, grateful, full of quiet devotion.
He carefully cleaned you up afterward with a damp cloth, his hands still trembling as he wiped away the small smear of blood from your thighs and the mess on your stomach. When he was done, he pulled you into his arms and held you close, one hand stroking your hair like he was trying to soothe both of you.
“…Next time,” he murmured against your temple, “I’ll be even gentler. I promise. I’ll go as slow as you need. Even if it takes all night.”
You smiled tiredly against his chest, ears flicking softly as you tucked yourself closer.
“I know you will,” you whispered back.
Outside, the rain had finally softened into a gentle patter.
The morning after the storm was quiet.
Pale sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and gray, the kind that made the cabin feel wrapped in a gentle hush. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving behind the faint smell of wet earth and pine drifting in through the cracked window.
Jo woke first.
He was still curled around you, one arm draped carefully over your waist, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. For a long moment he didn’t move. He just lay there, breathing you in, replaying everything that had happened in the dark with a mixture of awe and lingering guilt.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes immediately went to your face, soft and worried.
You were still asleep, one ear relaxed against the pillow, the new pretty pink nightgown you’d put on after he cleaned you up now slightly rumpled. He watched the slow rise and fall of your chest for a while, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your hip through the fabric.
Eventually, he slipped out of bed as quietly as he could.
He returned a little while later with a warm, damp cloth and a glass of water. He sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. His free hand hovered for a second before he gently brushed a strand of hair from your face.
Jo’s voice was small and full of guilt as he sat on the edge of the bed, the glass of water held carefully in both hands like he was afraid even that might be too much.
You blinked up at him, still half-asleep, ears flicking softly at the sound of his voice. The ache between your legs was dull and present, but not sharp anymore. When you shifted slightly under the blankets, you felt the faint stickiness of where he had cleaned you the night before.
You reached out slowly and took the glass from him, fingers brushing his.
“…I’m okay,” you said quietly, voice still a little rough from sleep. “A little sore. It feels… strange. But not bad. Not like something’s wrong.”
You took a small sip of water, then set the glass on the nightstand before looking back at him. Your eyes were soft, honest.
“You didn’t hurt me on purpose,” you continued, voice gentle. “You were careful. You stopped the second I needed you to. And you kept asking if I was okay. That’s more than I ever expected from anyone.”
Jo’s ears burned brighter. He looked down at his hands, fingers twisting together in his lap.
“Still,” he mumbled. “There was blood. And you made that sound when I first pushed in… like it really hurt. I hated it. I hated knowing I was the reason you were in pain, even for a little while.”
You reached out and gently took one of his hands, pulling it into your lap. Your thumb brushed over his knuckles.
“It was my first time too,” you reminded him softly. “It was always going to sting. And yeah… it did hurt a bit. But it also felt good in other ways. Because it was you. Because you were shaking and trying so hard to be gentle and kept kissing me like I was something precious.”
You gave his hand a small squeeze.
“I don’t regret it,” you said, quieter now. “Not even a little. I’m glad it was with you.”
Jo finally looked up at you. His eyes were glassy, the blush still high on his cheeks, but there was something warm and relieved in his expression now.
“…Really?” he whispered.
You nodded.
“Really.”
He let out a shaky breath, then carefully leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a long moment.
“I’ll run you a bath after breakfast,” he murmured against your skin. “With warm water. And I’ll make something easy to eat. You should rest today. I can do everything. You don’t have to move if you don’t want to.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand still holding yours.
“And… if you want, later… we can talk about it. Or not talk about it. Whatever you need.” His voice dropped even softer. “I just want to take care of you. However you’ll let me.”
You smiled, small and tired but genuine, and tugged him down until he was lying beside you again.
“Breakfast sounds nice,” you whispered, curling into his chest. “And the bath. But right now… just stay here a little longer. With me. Please…?”
Jo wrapped his arms around you carefully, pressing another kiss to the top of your head.
“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Four weeks.
Four quiet, golden weeks had slipped by since the night of the storm.
The cabin had settled into something that almost felt like a real home. Mornings started slow—Jo waking first, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder before slipping out of bed to make breakfast. You would join him eventually, still sleepy in one of his hoodies, ears flicking as you stood beside him at the stove. He was gentler with you now, always checking in with soft touches and quieter questions, especially after sex. And there had been sex—slow, careful, and achingly tender. He still got overwhelmed every time, still finished too quickly more often than not, but he always stayed close afterward, kissing every inch of you he could reach while whispering how much he cared.
Some afternoons you walked into town together. You held hands the entire way. You ate grilled cheese at the diner, shared milkshakes, and wandered into the little shop where Mrs. Satō always smiled knowingly when she saw the two of you. Jo bought you colored pencils and a new sketchbook without you even asking. You bought him a simple card game one day, just because it made him light up when you suggested playing it by the fire at night.
The sex had gotten a little easier. The pain had faded after the first few times, replaced by something warmer, something that made you both breathless and shy and close. Jo was still careful—almost painfully so—but he was learning your body the same way you were learning his. Every time he touched you, it felt like he was still surprised he was allowed to.
And through it all, there had been no word from his father.
Not a single call.
Jo wasn’t the type to worry about his father. He had spent most of his life learning how to exist in the spaces between that man’s moods. But four weeks was too long. Even for him.
It was late afternoon when the thought finally settled heavy in his chest.
You were both on the floor again, sketchbooks open between you. The fire crackled low. You were carefully coloring in a small cluster of flowers you’d drawn earlier, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Jo had his pencil in hand, but he hadn’t drawn anything in nearly twenty minutes.
He was just watching you.
But this time, the look in his eyes was different. Softer in some places. Tighter in others.
You glanced up and caught him staring again. Your ears twitched.
“…You’re doing it again,” you said gently, setting your colored pencil down. “Staring like something’s wrong.”
Jo blinked, like he’d been pulled out of a fog. He rubbed the back of his neck, ears burning faintly.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to. I just…” He hesitated, then let out a quiet breath. “It’s been four weeks. Since he last called.”
The words hung in the air between you.
Jo looked down at his sketchbook, though he wasn’t really seeing it.
“I keep telling myself it’s fine. That he’s just caught up with the hunt. That he’s probably drinking with his friends somewhere in the mountains and forgot about me. He’s done that before.” His voice dropped lower. “But four weeks is a long time. Even for him. And I keep thinking… what if something happened? What if he got hurt? Or what if he’s on his way back right now and we don’t know?”
He finally looked up at you, eyes soft but uneasy.
“I’m not worried about him,” he said honestly. “Not really. But I’m worried about what it means if he suddenly shows up. About what that would do to this.” His gaze flicked around the cabin—to the shared blankets, the second sketchbook, the faint traces of your scent now woven into everything. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”
Jo reached across the small space between you and gently took your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“…I don’t know what to do,” he admitted quietly. “Part of me wants to keep pretending everything’s fine. That we have all the time in the world. But another part of me is scared that the second I let my guard down, everything’s going to change again.”
Jo's worries shattered on a Monday night.
The banging came just after midnight.
It was loud. Violent. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in the quiet of their little cabin. Jo shot upright in bed, heart slamming against his ribs. You woke with a sharp gasp beside him, ears pinned flat as another round of heavy knocks rattled the front door.
Jo was already moving before his mind fully caught up. He grabbed the first thing he could find—an old hoodie—and yanked it on as he stumbled out of the bedroom. You followed close behind, the new pink nightgown brushing your thighs, still half-asleep and confused.
When Jo opened the door, cold night air rushed in.
Two police officers stood on the porch, their faces grim under the porch light. One of them—an older man with tired eyes—stepped forward slightly when he saw Jo.
“Jo?” he asked carefully. “Jo, son of Rokujo?”
Jo’s throat felt dry. He nodded once, still gripping the edge of the door.
The officer’s voice was low, steady, but there was no easy way to say what came next.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” he said. “Your father was found earlier today. Up in the mountains. Looks like he was tracking a buck… and it turned on him. Gored him. He didn’t make it. We aren't sure how long it had been since the attack. He was cold when we found him.”
The words landed like stones.
Jo didn’t speak right away. He just stood there in the doorway, barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, staring at the officer like the man had spoken in a language he didn’t understand. Behind him, you had gone completely still, one hand lightly touching the back of his shirt.
The second officer, a younger woman, spoke softer.
“We’re very sorry for your loss. We know this is sudden. We’ve already handled the… remains. There’s some paperwork that needs to be filled out, but it can wait a few days. We just wanted to let you know in person.”
Jo’s fingers tightened on the doorframe until his knuckles turned white. His ears were ringing. He could still hear the last phone call in his head—his father’s voice bragging about the big buck, saying he was staying longer.
And now he was gone.
Killed by one.
Jo swallowed hard. His voice, when it finally came, was quiet and rough.
“…Are you sure it was him?”
The older officer nodded once.
“His things were with him. We confirmed it.”
Silence stretched between them.
Jo didn’t cry. He didn’t yell. He just stood there, breathing slowly through his nose, eyes fixed somewhere past the officers’ shoulders. You could feel the tension in his back beneath your fingertips—the way his shoulders had gone rigid, like he was trying to hold something enormous inside his chest.
After a moment, he gave a small, jerky nod.
“…Thank you,” he said, voice barely there. “For coming to tell me.”
The officers exchanged a glance. The woman spoke again, gentler this time.
“If you need anything—grief counseling, help with arrangements, anything at all—you can call the station. We’ll check in on you in a couple days.”
Jo nodded again, but it was clear he wasn’t really hearing them anymore.
When the officers finally left, the cabin felt too quiet.
Jo didn’t close the door right away. He stood there in the cold night air for a long moment, staring out into the dark trees like he was waiting for something else to appear. When he finally shut the door, the click of the lock sounded final.
He turned to look at you.
His face was pale. His eyes were glassy, but no tears had fallen yet. He looked lost—like the ground had suddenly shifted beneath his feet and he didn’t know where to stand anymore.
“…He’s gone,” Jo whispered, voice cracking on the words. “He’s actually gone.”
He just stood there for another second, staring at nothing, before his legs gave out beneath him.
He dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the living room, the impact soft against the old wooden floor. His hands came up to cover his face as his shoulders started to shake—not with loud sobs, but with the kind of quiet, broken trembling that looked like it hurt to hold in. His breath came out in short, uneven gasps.
You moved without thinking.
You knelt down in front of him, the hem of your nightgown pooling around your legs as you reached for him. Your hands found his wrists gently, trying to coax his hands away from his face.
“Jo…” you whispered, voice soft but steady. “Hey. Look at me.”
He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lift his head either. His fingers stayed pressed over his eyes like he was trying to hold himself together by force.
You shifted closer, knees touching his, and carefully pulled one of his hands down so you could see his face. His eyes were glassy and red, but still no tears had fallen. He just looked completely lost.
“…He’s gone,” he choked out again, voice raw. “He’s really gone. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.”
You cupped his cheek with one hand, thumb brushing just beneath his eye.
“I know,” you said quietly. “I know it’s a lot. Even if he was… even if things were bad between you, he was still your father. That doesn’t just disappear.”
Jo let out a shaky breath and finally looked at you. His eyes were wide and wet, full of something heavy and confused.
“I keep thinking I should feel something bigger,” he whispered. “Grief or relief or… I don’t even know. But mostly I just feel scared. Scared of what happens now. Scared that everything we’ve had these last few weeks is about to get ripped away. Scared that I’m going to have to become something I don’t want to be because of this.”
You leaned in and rested your forehead against his, your voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to figure everything out tonight,” you told him gently. “You don’t have to feel one specific way. You can be sad. You can be relieved. You can be angry. You can feel nothing at all. All of it is allowed.”
Your fingers threaded gently through his hair as you continued, soft and honest.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “No matter what happens with the cabin or anything else. I’m right here. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
Jo’s hands finally dropped from his face. He reached for you instead, gripping the fabric of your nightgown like he needed something solid to hold onto. His forehead stayed pressed to yours as he let out another shaky breath.
“…I don’t want to lose this,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I don’t want to lose you.”
You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest as he stayed kneeling on the floor. One of your hands stroked slow, soothing lines down his back while the other cradled the back of his head.
“You’re not losing me,” you murmured against his hair. “We’re still here. You and me. That hasn’t changed.”
Jo didn’t say anything else for a long time.
He just stayed there on his knees, clinging to you in the middle of the quiet cabin, while the weight of everything finally started to settle over both of you.
The next two weeks were quiet in a way that felt wrong.
The police came back three days after that night. They brought boxes—his father’s belongings from the mountain trip, along with the old truck that had been sitting in impound. Jo signed the papers on the kitchen table without saying much. His signature was steady, but his eyes stayed blank. When they handed him the keys to the truck and told him the cabin and land were now legally his, he just nodded once and closed the door behind them.
After that, Jo moved through the days like a ghost.
He still got up in the mornings. He still made coffee. But he did it all in silence, his movements slow and mechanical. Most days he sat on the couch for hours, staring at nothing, sketchbook unopened on the floor beside him. When you tried to talk to him, he answered in short, quiet sentences. When you touched him, he leaned into it, but the warmth in his eyes was dimmed. It seemed that even his father death had broken something soft. The light in his eye dimming the same way his mother had.
You did your best to stay close anyway.
You cooked when he forgot to eat. You sat beside him on the couch even when he didn’t speak. At night, you pulled him into bed and held him until he eventually fell asleep, your fingers carding gently through his hair. Some nights he reached for you in the dark, desperate and wordless, and you let him bury himself in you—slow, quiet—like he was trying to remember how to feel something again.
But most of the time, he was just… gone. Present in body, but somewhere far away in his mind.
It was late one evening, nearly two weeks after the police had come, when he finally spoke.
You were both on the couch. The fire had burned low. Jo was sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together, staring at the floor. You had been gently rubbing slow circles on his back for a while, not expecting anything.
Then, without looking up, he said quietly,
“…My mom used to hum when she did the laundry.”
His voice was rough, like it had been sitting in his throat for days.
“She had this soft voice. It wasn’t loud or anything, but it filled the whole cabin. I used to sit by the door and just listen to her while she folded my clothes. She’d smile at me sometimes… but it never really reached her eyes. Not after a while.”
Jo swallowed hard. His fingers tightened around each other.
“My father hated when she hummed. Said it was annoying. Said it made her sound weak. One day he came home and she was humming, and he grabbed her wrist so hard the laundry fell everywhere. She didn’t cry. She just… went quiet. Like she always did. And I sat there watching, too scared to say anything.”
He let out a shaky breath and finally looked over at you. His eyes were glassy, but no tears fell.
“I think that’s when I learned it,” he said softly. “That softness gets punished. That if you care too much, or feel too much, someone will take it from you. My father made sure I knew that every single day. And my mom… she tried to protect me from it. In her own way. But she couldn’t even protect herself.”
Jo’s voice cracked a little as he continued.
“Now he’s gone. Killed by the same thing he spent his whole life hurting. And I don’t know how to feel about it. Part of me is relieved. Part of me feels guilty for being relieved. And part of me just… misses the idea of having a father, even if the one I had was never really mine.”
He turned toward you fully then, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
“I don’t want to become him,” Jo whispered. “I’ve spent my whole life terrified that I would. But now that he’s gone… I don’t know who I’m supposed to be without that fear hanging over me. Without him.”
He reached for your hand and held it tightly, like it was the only thing keeping him steady.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a breath. “Scared that without him here, I’ll still find ways to ruin the good things. Like you. Like this.”
You squeezed his hand gently and leaned in closer, resting your forehead against his.
“You’re not him,” you said softly. “You’ve never been him. Even when you were scared. Even when you didn’t know how to be gentle… you still chose to be. With me.”
You brushed your thumb over his knuckles.
“Your mother sounds like she loved you the best way she could,” you continued quietly. “And I think she’d be proud of the way you’re trying so hard not to become like him. You don’t have to have all the answers right now. You’re allowed to grieve him and still be angry at him. Both things can be true.”
Jo closed his eyes and let out a long, tired breath, leaning into your touch.
“…Thank you,” he whispered. “For staying. For listening. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”
You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a quiet hug, letting him rest his head against your shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured. “We’ll figure out who you are now… together.”
A week passed.
It moved slowly, like the cabin was learning how to exist in this new quiet. The grief didn’t disappear, but it settled into something heavier and more constant, like snow that refused to melt.
Jo was still quiet most days, but he wasn’t completely gone anymore. He started eating the meals you made without needing to be coaxed. He showered without you having to gently remind him. Some mornings you would wake up to find him already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, just breathing. Other mornings he would reach for you in his sleep, pulling you closer without saying a word.
He still hadn’t touched his father’s truck.
It sat outside like a ghost of its own, keys hanging on the hook by the door where Jo had left them. Every time he passed them, his eyes would linger for a second before he looked away.
One quiet afternoon, you found him in the living room with the sketchbook open on his lap for the first time in weeks. He wasn’t drawing anything new—just slowly shading over an old drawing of yours, like he needed something to do with his hands. When you sat down beside him, he didn’t speak right away. He just leaned his shoulder against yours and kept shading.
Later that evening, after dinner, he finally said something.
“I keep thinking about the truck,” he admitted quietly, staring at the fire. “It’s mine now. Everything is. The house. The land. All of it.” He let out a slow breath. “Part of me wants to sell it. Drive it into town and never look back. But another part of me… I don’t know. It feels wrong to just get rid of it like it never existed.”
You reached over and took his hand, threading your fingers through his.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” you said softly. “There’s no rush. You can sit with it for as long as you need.”
It took another week.
A quiet, heavy week where Jo seemed to be turning something over and over in his mind. He was still gentle with you—still reached for your hand in the evenings, still let you curl against him at night—but there was a new kind of stillness in him. Like he was finally starting to look forward instead of just surviving the present.
Then one quiet morning, while you were both sitting at the small kitchen table with half-finished mugs of tea, he spoke.
“I sold the house.”
His voice was low, careful, but steady. He wasn’t looking at you when he said it. His eyes were fixed on the steam rising from his mug.
You blinked, caught off guard.
Jo continued before you could respond, his fingers tightening slightly around his cup.
“I didn’t want to keep it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t keep living here. Not after everything. Not with all of his things still in the walls. Not with the way the woods feel like they’re still watching me. I almost killed you on this land.” He finally looked up at you, eyes soft but determined. “I want to go somewhere else. Somewhere we can start over. Just us.”
He swallowed, voice dropping even quieter.
“Maybe the city. Or… or even just the town. Somewhere closer to people. Somewhere that doesn’t feel like his.” His thumb brushed anxiously over the rim of his mug. “I already signed the papers. The buyer is paying cash. We can leave whenever we’re ready.”
Jo’s ears were faintly pink, like he was nervous about how you’d react. He reached across the table and gently took your hand, holding it like he needed the contact to keep going.
“I know i should’ve talked to you first,” he admitted, voice cracking a little. “I know that. I just… I needed to make the decision before I lost the nerve. This place… it’s never going to stop feeling like his. And I don’t want to raise a life here. Not with you. I want something that’s ours. Something that doesn’t carry all of that weight.”
He looked at you then, eyes searching, vulnerable.
“I want to start new with you,” he said softly. “Somewhere we can just… be. Without ghosts. Without having to look over our shoulder every time we hear boots on the porch that aren’t there anymore.”
Jo squeezed your hand gently.
“Only if you want to,” he added quickly, almost shy. “If you don’t want to leave, we can figure something else out. I just… I couldn’t stay here anymore. Not and still feel like I could breathe.”
He waited, thumb still brushing over your knuckles, his expression a mix of hope and quiet fear.
You were quiet for a moment after he finished speaking, your fingers still loosely curled around his. The words settled slowly between you—heavy, but not unwelcome.
Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at your lips.
You looked at him with soft eyes, ears flicking once as you gently squeezed his hand in return.
“…Okay,” you said quietly.
Jo’s head lifted a little, like he hadn’t expected it to be that simple.
You continued, voice gentle but steady.
“I understand why you did it. This place… it holds too much. Too many shadows. Too many memories that don’t belong to us.” Your thumb brushed over his knuckles. “If selling it helps you breathe again, then I’m glad you did.”
You tilted your head slightly, thinking for a moment.
“We don’t have to go far if you don’t want to,” you said. “The town is nice. We already know some people there. Mrs. Satō is kind. It wouldn’t feel completely new.” Your voice softened a little more. “Or… we could go a town or two over. Somewhere close enough that it still feels familiar, but far enough that it doesn’t carry the same weight. Somewhere we can still walk to the diner. Still have quiet mornings. But start fresh.”
You smiled again, smaller this time, but warm.
“I don’t mind where we go,” you told him honestly. “As long as it’s with you. I trust you.”
Jo stared at you for a second, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. His ears burned pink as he let out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it since he first said the words.
“…Really?” he asked, voice cracking just a little. “You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you first?”
You shook your head.
“I’m not mad,” you said softly. “I know you needed to do it this way. And… I want a new start too. Somewhere that’s ours. Somewhere we don’t have to keep looking over our shoulders.”
You leaned forward slightly, resting your free hand over his on the table.
“We’ll figure it out together,” you promised. “Whether it’s the town, or the next one over, or somewhere else entirely. I’ll go wherever you want to go.”
Jo’s eyes softened, glassy with quiet relief. He turned his hand over so he could properly hold yours, squeezing it like he was anchoring himself to the moment.
“…Thank you,” he whispered. “I was so scared you’d think I was rushing. Or that I was making decisions without you again.” He let out a small, shaky laugh. “I don’t want to do this without you. Any of it.”
You smiled again, gentle and sure.
“You’re not,” you said. “We’re doing this together.”
Jo brought your hand up and pressed a slow kiss to your knuckles, lingering there for a moment like he needed the reassurance.
“Okay,” he murmured against your skin. “Then… let’s start looking. Together.”
It took a week to pack everything.
Most of his father’s things were quietly sorted through and let go. Jo moved through the cabin slowly, like he was walking through rooms that no longer belonged to him. You stayed close the entire time, helping when he asked, and giving him space when he needed it. When he found an old photograph of his mother, he held it for a long time before carefully tucking it into the small box of things he wanted to keep.
On the morning you were supposed to leave, Jo stood in the middle of the living room with the truck keys in his hand. He didn’t move for a while. You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back.
“We don’t have to rush,” you said quietly.
He let out a slow breath and covered your hands with his.
“I know,” he murmured. “I just keep thinking that once I lock this door, it’s really over.”
You didn’t push. You just held him tighter until he was ready.
When he finally turned around, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment.
“I’m ready,” he whispered. “I think I’ve been ready. I just needed to say goodbye.”
He locked the cabin for the last time.
The truck was already packed with everything the two of you were taking. Jo helped you into the passenger seat like he always did, then climbed in beside you. For a long second, he just sat there, staring at the cabin through the windshield. Then he started the engine and pulled away without looking back.
The drive took just under two hours.
You sat in the passenger seat with your hands folded in your lap, watching the trees thin out and the roads become wider and smoother. Jo drove in silence for most of the way, one hand resting on the gear shift, the other loosely holding the steering wheel. Every now and then his fingers would twitch, like he was still getting used to the idea that this truck—once his father’s—now belonged to the two of you.
When you finally pulled up in front of the small house, the sun was already starting to dip low.
It wasn’t much—a modest two-bedroom with faded blue siding and a small porch that creaked when you stepped on it. But it had a little yard, and the windows let in plenty of light, and most importantly, it didn’t carry the weight of the cabin. No antlers on the walls. No memories soaked into the floorboards.
Jo turned off the engine and just sat there for a moment, staring at the house through the windshield.
“…This is it,” he said quietly, almost like he was testing the words out loud.
You reached over and gently placed your hand over his on the gear shift.
“It’s nice,” you said softly. “It feels… calm.”
Jo let out a slow breath and nodded. He looked over at you, ears faintly pink, eyes soft but still carrying that tired, careful look he’d had ever since his father died.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked. “With leaving everything behind? With… starting over with me?”
You smiled, small and warm, and squeezed his hand.
“I’m sure,” you said. “I want this. I want to start somewhere new with you.”
Jo’s shoulders relaxed just a little. He brought your hand up and pressed a slow kiss to your knuckles before finally opening the truck door.
The first night in the new house was quiet.
Most of your things were still in boxes, stacked in the living room. The two of you ended up sitting on the floor together, eating takeout from a small diner down the road. Jo was quieter than usual, but not in the heavy, distant way he had been before. This silence felt different—thoughtful, almost peaceful.
After you finished eating, he leaned back against the wall and looked around the empty room.
“It’s strange,” he said after a while, voice low. “Not hearing the wind through the trees. Not wondering if my father’s boots are about to hit the porch.” He glanced at you, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “I keep waiting for the fear to come back. But it’s not here.”
You shifted closer and rested your head against his shoulder.
“It’s going to take time,” you said gently. “For both of us. But we don’t have to rush. We can just… be here. Together.”
Jo was quiet for a moment. Then he turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured. “But I’m really glad you’re here.”
You reached up and gently touched his cheek, guiding him to look at you.
“You chose to be kind,” you said. “Even when it was hard. Even when you were scared. That’s why I’m here.”
Jo’s eyes softened. He leaned in and kissed you — slow, warm, and a little shy, the way he always kissed you when his heart felt too full.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“…Thank you,” he whispered. “For choosing me too.”
The house was still mostly bare, but the bedroom was one of the few rooms that felt somewhat ready. Before leaving the cabin, you and Jo had quietly ordered a bed, mattress, and a few other basics to be delivered ahead of time. When you stepped inside earlier that evening, the simple wooden bed frame and fresh sheets had already been set up in the center of the room, waiting for you.
After finishing the takeout on the living room floor, Jo stood up and gently pulled you to your feet. He didn’t say anything at first—he just laced his fingers through yours and led you down the short hallway.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow from the hallway light spilling through the open door. Jo turned to face you, his cheeks already faintly pink as he reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.
“…Can we go to bed?” he asked quietly, voice low and a little shy. “I want to be close to you. Properly.”
You nodded.
He guided you to the bed, and helped you out of your clothes slowly, his hands warm and careful. When you were both bare, he pulled back the covers and laid you down on the new bed before climbing in after you. For a while, he just held you, his fingers loosely laced with yours as he traced slow patterns over your skin.
Eventually, he turned his head to look at you. His eyes were soft, tired, but warm in a way they hadn’t been in a long time.
“…Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “I just really want to feel close to you right now.”
You smiled and nodded.
Jo leaned in slowly, one hand cradling your cheek as he kissed you. It started gentle — warm and unhurried—but deepened as your fingers curled into his shoulder. He made a soft sound against your mouth, his hand sliding down to rest at your waist.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I don’t think I’ve said it out loud yet… but I do. So much.”
Your chest tightened at the quiet honesty in his voice.
“I love you too,” you whispered back.
Jo’s ears burned pink, but he smiled—small and shy—before kissing you again. This time it was slower, deeper, full of everything he’d been holding in.
His mouth moved down your neck, then lower, kissing along your collarbone and the curve of your breast with slow, lingering presses of his lips. His hands stroked your sides, your waist, your thighs—gentle and warm, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you beneath him. Every so often he would pause to look up at you, checking your face with those soft, worried eyes, as if making sure you were still okay.
When he finally settled between your legs and pushed inside you, it was slow and careful, just like always. He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his arms trembling slightly as he sank deeper.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ll go slow… I promise.”
He kept his word.
Jo moved in deep, unhurried strokes, his forehead resting against yours as he rocked into you. One of his hands found yours, fingers lacing together beside your head while the other cradled your cheek. He kissed you between every soft thrust—sweet, lingering kisses that made your chest feel warm and full.
You could feel how much he was trying to make it last for you. His breathing grew heavier, and quiet, desperate little sounds kept escaping him every time you clenched around him, but he didn’t rush. He stayed slow, sensual, focused entirely on you.
When you finally came, your back arching softly off of the sheets—jo kissed you through it, swallowing your soft moans as his hips kept moving in that same steady rhythm.
Only after you had come down did he let himself go.
His thrusts grew slightly faster, more desperate, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he whimpered your name.
“I’m close—I’m so close,” he gasped.
You nodded, and he pulled out at the last second with a broken, shaky moan. He came across your stomach in warm pulses, his whole body trembling above you as he rode it out. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, breathing hard, one hand still tightly holding yours.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Jo eventually lifted his head, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. He looked down at the mess on your stomach, then back at your face with a soft, embarrassed expression.
“…Sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I still can’t last very long with you.”
You reached up and gently touched his cheek, smiling.
“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I like it when you lose control a little.”
Jo let out a small, shaky laugh and leaned down to kiss you again — slower this time, sweeter. He carefully cleaned you up before pulling you into his arms, tucking you against his chest.
He held you close, one hand stroking gently up and down your back— fingers traced slow patterns along your spine.
“…I think we’re going to be okay,” he whispered into the quiet. “For the first time, I really believe that.”
You smiled against his skin and pressed a soft kiss to his neck.
Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Smut (Very Passionate, Much Desire)
Pairing: Yuta X Reader
Words: 23,040
Warnings: Minor Fatphobia, Self-Esteem Issues, a long ass rant about beauty standards, mentions of mental health and a brief mention of suicide (in passing, really), a few instances that could be interpreted as eating disorders. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.
A/n: I am both super excited and nervous about this one! I will say, I am really proud with how this one turned out, and as this is the third time I am writing this post out, I really hope it works this time lol. I do apologize for taking so long to post, it turned out way longer than I anticipated, but I think it’s well worth the wait. I do not think Yuta would ever act like this, this is just my interpretation of the archetype (and also a very self indulgent fic). As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~
Disclaimer: Everyone has their own definition of what they consider to be chubby. As a chubby person myself, I kept this in mind while writing, and did my best not to incorporate specific markers on the OC’s appearance. Just know that while there aren’t many explicit physical markers of the how chubby the reader is (other than the mention of plush thighs once, I think), this fic is meant to be read with the intention that the reader is chubby. Does this mean you cannot read this fic if you are not chubby or do not consider yourself chubby? Of course not!! I just thought that this was important to let you know. I also 1000% do not condone yandere behaviour.
This one is for the ones who feel like they cannot fit into a certain ideal or beauty standard society has deemed the norm. This one is for the ones that have felt, or continue to feel unworthy or deserving of love because of their weight, and/or how they look. This is for anyone who needs it.
summary - Zoro takes great pride in the fact that you openly seek comfort from him when you need it
warnings - SPOILERS for season 2
a/n - this was mostly borne from my own vulnerability, not meant to make anyone feel weak or pathetic or anything, so please don't think you're weak in this fic
It was no secret that Zoro was the second strongest Straw Hat. He had proved it time and time again, surpassing everyone except maybe Luffy in raw strength.
But surpassing everyone including Luffy in brutality.
Everyone but you found that terrifying. While they were all afraid of his very aggressive nature, you found comfort in it. In fact, he was the crewmember that made you feel the safest.
And not just because he was your boyfriend.
The Merry made it to Reverse Mountain. After a very eventful visit to Loguetown, your crew had reached the most dangerous entryway into the Grand Line, and your captain faced the dangers head on while the rest of you scrambled around behind him.
And then came the drop.
You felt your heart sink when you saw the steepness of your descent, your eyes widening enough to betray your nervousness.
But as soon as his familiar arm wrapped around your waist, anchoring you firmly to his broad chest, you felt your entire body relax. Because you knew his grip was iron-clad - he would never let you fall.
Zoro watched your body relax against his, and a profound sense of satisfaction filled him. He would never openly admit it, he didn't do earnest emotions, but making you feel safe was his biggest pride.
"You okay?" He murmured into your ear, instinctively lowering his face into your neck as your familiar scent filled his nose.
"Yeah, great," you answered with a shaky smile, though your voice came out a little high-pitched. Your hand came to rest atop his on your stomach, his skin warm and soothing under your touch.
"Hmm," he hummed, then pressed the softest kiss to your shoulder - an act that belied his usual aggressive behaviour.
The next time you instinctively sought him out was when the two assassins had escaped while the crew was distracted by the appearance of an island ahead. As you turned to look at the pair, your hand found his and you laced your fingers together, a gesture that spoke louder than any verbal cry for reassurance.
He turned to look at you, and when no one was looking, the smallest of smiles touched his lips as he noticed the ease in your posture when your hand gripped his.
Pride swelled in his chest once more.
You felt his gaze and turned to look at him, your cheeks getting warm, "What?"
"Nothing," he murmured, "You're cute when you rely on me."
Your cheeks burned hotter, your heart skipping a few beats.
In Whiskey Peak, you stuck to his side like glue. Walked side by side, hand in hand, through the streets. Sat at the bar with you on his lap, one arm hooked around your waist while the other held a bottle. If he needed to use a hand, he'd sooner let go of the alcohol than you - which spoke volumes.
During the fight with the hundred Baroque Works agents, Zoro was flying across the tavern cutting them down like they were nothing but air. You tried to join him, but he was a blur of silver and green, and before you could even get to an agent, they were dead.
And then there was the big one.
"Zoro!"
The minute he heard you call him, he cut down the agent in front of him, vaulted over the stairs railing, and put himself between the big guy and you. One hand reaching behind him to make sure you were a safe distance away.
"Go help those two idiots," he nodded towards where Usopp and Sanji sat tied up, without taking his eyes off the massive agent that had threatened you.
You ran over to cut your crewmembers loose without argument, but looked over your shoulder to watch your boyfriend swiftly dispatch that agent too. You were about to take care of the ones who'd tied Usopp and Sanji up, but Zoro cut them down on his way back up to Mister 9, glancing back once to make sure you were okay.
The one rare moment where you protected him came when he faced off against Miss Monday and Mister 9. You let yourself be caught by Mister 9's ropes that shot out from his bats, flinching when he tugged hard enough to string you up like meat.
Zoro growled, "Big mistake."
And swiftly took care of both of them. And another who seemingly came out of nowhere. When it was done, you immediately moved into his arms and he already knew what you needed. With a vulnerability he only showed to you, he wrapped his arms around you and practically crushed you against his chest, his breathing slightly heavy but otherwise unharmed.
Little Garden was...complicated.
But when Mister 3 wiped the paint off your boyfriend's leg, his immediate reaction was to find you. His eyes darted around until they landed on you, standing next to him also half-encased in wax.
"You're okay," he mumbled, more to himself than you, completely ignoring the assassins in front of him.
When you broke free, courtesy of Usopp, you barely ducked a bomb thrown your way by Mister 5. Zoro growled low in his throat, knocking another aside with one of his swords.
"Coward," he glared at the Baroque Works agent. "Focus on me. Unless you're scared, even with me trapped in wax."
That seemed to work, getting Mister 5's attention off you long enough for you to rush to Usopp's aid. Behind you, your boyfriend skillfully held Mister 5 at bay, not even breaking a sweat. As you propped your sharpshooter friend up, however, he insisted on helping Zoro and called out to him to fire a flaming star.
You were left in awe at the sight of Zoro leaping from the wax cake with his swords aflame, before promptly slicing Mister 5's abdomen deeply enough to instantly kill.
But it wasn't just during attacks.
On the ship after your adventure in Little Garden, you would go up to him and just wrap your arms around him or bury your face in his neck. Sometimes burrow into his chest like a kitten seeking warmth.
"Hmm," Zoro would hum in satisfaction, strong arms engulfing you in warmth, safety and comfort.
"You're the embodiment of safety and security, you know that?" You mumbled into his chest, tightening your arms around his bulky torso. "Any time I see you, I know I'm safe."
Zoro's breath caught, any thoughts he had dissipating in his mind at your sincere, heartfelt words. Then he held you a little bit tighter, conveying silently how much your words meant to him, in a way he could never put into words.
Then again in Drum Kingdom, the swordsman was your safety net.
"What the hell are those?" Your eyes widened as you handed Zoro the binoculars, your heart thundering in your chest.
The swordsman settled on hand on the small of your back, a gesture you found to be very calming. Even without words. He pulled you back, settled both hands on your waist, and kissed you. Not for long, but just enough.
So when the monsters came knocking, you didn't feel so afraid.
Every time you thought your strength was waning, every doubt that crossed your mind about getting out of this...you looked over at him fighting his hardest and were instantly motivated to push onward.
And after everything, he still insisted on carrying you through the tunnel up to the castle. He still insisted on lifting you up into Chopper's sleigh.
These weren't acts of service. He believed that word implied obligation. But he did it because he wanted to. Because he needed to. Because it was now a basic instinct to protect you, to care for you, to ensure you could always depend on him.
As you watched him lift Chopper onto his shoulder, your heart felt full. Your chest felt warm. Your stomach fluttered.
Because you knew you'd fallen in love with the right man.
⋆˚꩜｡author's note requested, have a soft jaehyun for the holidays! listened to my love mine all mine on repeat while writing so that's the title now LOL enjoy and happy reading <3
⋆˙⟡ synopsis long hair on your boyfriend? of course it's not escaping your hands at all.
♬⋆.˚ listen to my love mine all mine (mitski).
⋆⭒˚.⋆ reblogs + feedback very much appreciated! ^^
“jaehyun, sit still.”
the boy with his head in your lap giggles, tilting his head back to look up at you with sparkling eyes. “okay, okay, i’m sorry.”
you give him a small smile, pushing his head back gently upright. he’s sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crisscrossed on the rug you’d picked out together for your shared apartment not so long ago. he leans back against the couch in between your legs, resting his head against your knee. “hurry up, i want to see what you do.”
you’d realized a while back that his hair had grown so long, now. you push your fingers through the thick black strands, scratching against his scalp lightly. with your other hand, you pick up his comb from where you’d placed it on the armrest and twirl it in your fingers, eyes roving over the many colored rubber bands at your side. “mm, you won’t have to wait too long.”
you hear jaehyun’s smile in his voice. “okay.”
section by section, you drag the comb through his hair. the teeth of the tool rake past the nape of his neck gently, and you feel jaehyun relax, limp and boneless against your leg. you part some of his hair near the top of his head and brush it smooth, picking up a rubber band and looping it around his hair.
“doing okay, jae?”
it takes him a moment to respond. “mhm.”
you do the same to his bangs, brushing them out of his eyes with your fingers. and the same to the crown of his head. soon, you have all of his hair tied up in tiny pigtails with rubber bands in all colors of the rainbow, several of them sticking straight up from the top of his head. you lean back, admiring your handiwork.
“i wanna see,” jaehyun murmurs, leaning back and looking up at you with sleepy eyes. you smile, kissing his forehead before you pull out your phone and open the camera app, handing it to him. he turns his head from side to side, looking at all the pigtails you’ve tied, little fountains of hair spouting from his head. “i look like… like rambutan.”
“what?” you laugh, shaking your head. “no, you look like an adorable jaehyunie.”
jaehyun sets the phone aside, getting up from his place on the floor. he pushes the comb and rubber bands aside, sitting next to you on the couch and resting his head against your shoulder. the pigtails tickle your neck, but you smile, leaning against him as well.
“i’m your rambutan,” he mumbles, and you can hear the drowsiness in his voice as he nuzzles into your warmth. “rambutan jaehyun.”
you take his hand in yours and squeeze it gently. “alright, jae. you’re my rambutan. my spiky-haired baby.”
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ want to check out the planetarium's other exhibits?
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ NERDY 🧸ྀི — seobi tries explaining his killin' it rap to you... to bad he looks too good while rambling ( wc 787 )
[ extras ] KISSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hes a nerd and lowk a loser, reader is down BAD. also im no music genius so everything he says in here is based on this tiktok i saw... which btw. seob u r INSANE.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! LIVE LAUGH LOVE NERDY SEOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! first work of 2026, enjoy <
@kstrucknet ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ @fish-and-cake-net
to say you were nervous was a misunderstanding. you were shaking, anxiety buzzing through your veins.
you've been dating jongseob for three months and with this being your first relationship, you were taking everything really seriously. and your beloved boyfriend invited you to 'chill out in his studio'.
so here you were, squished in the small studio. your knees were touching, shoulders brushing. sure, you've kissed and cuddled before. but this felt more intimidate: being so close to him, in the studio that not everyone can visit.
you looked at jongseob's profile as he was explaining something. actually, that was what calmed your nerves down - how cute he was, ranting about his interests.
"—just basic music theory, you know? once you grasp the core elements, you know melody, pitch, rhythm, form… harmony. it's like a puzzle, really" he hummed, opening a file in one of the music programs.
you smiled, nodding. 'what a nerd', you thought. but that was what made you fall in love with him even more. he was in his own world, talking about it so naturally and with great knowledge, you were impressed.
"i obviously wrote the rap in killin' it myself, duh. so coming up with it was the first part of the struggle. but the rhyme scheme was another, you know? because i started the flow out of time, off time beat—" jongseob started explaining and you leaned your head against your hand, not peeling your eyes off him.
the way his brown eyes were tracing the music sheet as he continued to explain. you swallowed hard, observing how his lips moved and revealed his pink tongue, along with his snuggle tooth poking out.
ah, his snuggle tooth.
"—then i used the quintuple rhythm, which is… well, rarely used to be honest. but the most fun part was to rhyme syllables, alliterating them. you know, six-piece, bichi ping stylish. s in six, c in piece, then p in piece and p in bichi—"
you felt blood rushing to your cheeks. why were you blushing? he was just being passionate about his hobby, something he loved.
but why did he have to look (and sound) so good at that? his black hair was tied into a small ponytail, loose hairs framing his face cutely. it was your favorite hairstyle on him. so simple yet—
"right?"
your eyes snapped back and you realized you were caught red handed. you felt your face reddening in shame, while jongseob's lips stretched into a lazy smirk.
"i'm that boring?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow. your eyes widened as you straightened your back, shaking your head.
"no! quite the opposite, it's really interesting i just don't get it well… and you look so cute, all passionate about music" you mumbled shyly, playing with your fingers. your boyfriend tsked.
"cute?" he repeated. a pout formed on his lips. "unbelievable, i'm not cute. i'm—"
"nerdy. and it's really hot." you murmured.
suddenly, you felt him grab your chin and face him. you stared at him, flustered. pink dust adorned his cheeks, lips parted.
"unbelievable" he repeated, a smile growing on his lips, his snuggle tooth showing. "cute, nerdy, hot… that's a lot of things at once. and all of that because i was yapping about music. you're so… adorable"
you pursed your lips into a small smile, feeling a sudden rush of courage.
"can you kiss me and then—" you started but jongseob took your words really seriously. his lips were on yours in no time, pressing a sweet kiss.your chin was still in his hold, neck twisted uncomfortably. he leaned away, only to let out a shaky, nervous breath and kiss you again.
you broke into giggles, wrapping your hands around his neck.
"seobi—" you mumbled, only to be silenced again by his plush lips. "you can—mpf"
he hummed into your mouth, making it his personal goal to not let you finish a full sentence.
"—talk about—" his lips brushed the corner of your lips dauntingly. "—music, i like learning…mpfh!"
jongseob leaned away and peeled his hands off you, only to grab you and place on his lap. you shrieked, taken aback. before he could continue teasing you, you slapped a hand over his lips. you just realized how red his ears got.
"just for the record, i don't find you boring. me calling you a nerd was not an insult. that's what i like about you. please keep talking about music… or kissing me. i don't mind which one first" you chuckled breathlessly. his eyes sparkled with mischief.
jongseob licked your hand.
you squealed and started wiping it on his shirt, the sound of giggles audible even on the corridor outside of the studio.
okay hi it's me again with the ideas cuz I think its kinda cute and could really be just a timestamp: saw these pics and was like OH MY GOD IMAGINE TAKING A STUDY BREAK AND WALKING ON YOUR BOYFIE JENO PEELING AN APPLE FOR YOU CUZ HE KNOWS YOU DONT LIKE THE TEXTURE AND THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO KEEP YOUR BRAIN FUELED WITH A HEALTHY SNACK WHILE YOU STUDY HARD FOR YOUR EXAMS AAAAAA
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ APPLE PEEL 🧸ྀི — what ola said <3 ( wc 622 )
[ warnings ] reader is in a writing haze n doesnt eat a proper meal (dont do that guys)
ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! im so JENOrous (haha get it...) bc wdym 3 jeno works in a month. anyway shout out to @loserlvrss & @seokminfilm bc its all thanks to u i wrote it. and ola im so sorry it took me a literal year to write it LMJMADIJGAGJH but u always deliver with reqs<3
@kstrucknet ˗ˏˋ 🍎 ˎˊ˗@neocity-net ; div by @pixopix 🍏
the sound of your keyboard frantically clicking was almost driving jeno insane. you said you had to lock in to write your thesis and jeno didn't complain. he knew it was a hard task to do, he didn't want to bother you. but he also didn't expect you to stay so focused for so long.
the first two hours he busied himself on his phone: texting his friends, playing crash royale (or every single game he had on his phone, really. he discovered some shitty games that probably jisung downloaded from those stupid ads. jeno gave them a try but they sucked… as expected), clearing his gallery. while doing that he stared and judged all of the plushies on your bed.
then, when the clock struck 1pm he announced he would go out. you just rumbled something in response. probably didn't hear him asking you to at least eat something. he managed to go to the gym, go grocery shopping, and tank his car. by the time he came back it was already dark outside, street lights illuminating the roads in a yellow shade. when jeno opened the door to your apartment, he grinned.
no maniac clicking.
were you finally done? after… he glanced at his watch and almost let out a gasp. it was 5:37pm. you started around 10am, after breakfast. you were surely done.
he started unpacking the groceries. putting food in the fridge, a bunch of red apples rolled out of the bag. he grabbed them and put under running water, rinsing it thoroughly. then, he grabbed a small knife. he started to peel it swiftly, keeping the skin as a one, swirly part. he was so focused on not breaking it, making the apple skin stripe as long as possible, that he didn't realize you walked into the kitchen.
you watched him, leaning against the wall. his brows were furrowed, pink tongue slightly peeking out. you didn't know for how long you were observing him, only when the peel finally fall off in one piece and jeno sighed heavily, he saw you.
"oh!"
his face broke into a huge smile, dimples poking out.
"thought you could use a snack! did you even eat dinner?" he asked, beginning to slice the apple into quarters with laser-alike precision. you just sighed and walked up closer, gluing yourself to his back like a koala.
"ramyeon. i ate ramyeon. i reached my flow state, jen, i couldn't be bothered to spend a minute longer in the kitchen or i'd lose it" you whined, wrapping your hands around his waist. you cheek was squished against his broad back, your speech slightly slurring.
"y/n…" he sighed, making a mental note to himself to just prepare you dinner next time. "you worked really hard today. and for a long time, too. are you finished?"
"yeah. writer's block. and also my battery ran out, i really locked in." you mumbled, eyes closing. "i'm sorry you were hanging out by yourself"
jeno hummed, small rumbling going through your body. he slowly turned around, one of his hands going to rest on your waist. the other poked your cheek before feeding you a piece of the fruit.
"i don't mind" he smiled softly. "i knew you had word to do. and i did some useful stuff too." he shrugged and with care in his eyes he watched you chew on the healthy snack. you swallowed and pointed at the swirly apple peel.
"are you going to show it—" you were interrupted with another piece in your mouth.
"i already did. chenle said it looks like a worm" jeno giggled upon your tired face finally lighting up with joy as you broke into chuckles.
Summary: Danny is hit by Ember's guitar in its love section and you are so lucky to be the first person he sees
[Characters are 16+]
[I've been working on this for months, so I hope you guys like this]
It all happened so fast. You didn't realize the danger you put yourself in when you held Danny in your arms, trying to get him to wake up. You could hear Ember's mocking laughter since she knew that he wouldn't be bothering her anytime soon. In fact, he was going to have other things on his mind.
"Y/n-"
You look down at Danny, who had his eyes barely open. He reached out his hand towards your face and pulled you closer, as you looked worriedly at him. His eyes twinkled for a brief moment, before practically going all heart-like.
"You're very pretty."
"Uh-Thank you?" you look around, trying to find Tucker or Sam.
"Like really pretty," he now has both of his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, which in turn caused you to blush out of embarrassment.
"Oh-Well, uh... You're very pretty, too?"
He looks down at your hand, intertwining them both, before smiling lovingly.
"I think I love you Y/n."
You looked at him wide-eyed, "Excuse me?"
---
He clung to you like a panda, not wanting to let go as you pleaded with him. His eyes were dilated and he wasn't taking them off you. But it's also because he doesn't want you to leave his sight for even a second. You were starting to worry he wasn't blinking. He wants to be the center of all your attention, too, but with the way you were looking everywhere BUT him was irritating.
"Y/n."
You were now making eye contact with him. Your face was, in his opinion, a cute pink and your cheeks were turning a crimson red.
"Why won't you look at me?"
"I am-" You quickly defended.
"Then don't look away."
You sighed and leaned on his chest, "How about we go to my car?"
"But I don't want this moment to end."
---
You finally were able to get Danny into your car, after having struggled for a good 20 minutes with the way he clung to you. You groaned when finally losing the 150+ extra pounds of the male, not used to carrying so much. Maybe you should work out more? You shook your head, trying to focus. Danny's eyes were on you when you got into the driver's side and started your car.
You froze your hands on the wheels, uncomfortable with how close Danny was.
"Uh- Danny?"
"Yeah...?" He sighed happily, leaning his chin on his hand.
"Can you not stare at me? It kind of makes me a little uncomfortable," You awkwardly laugh.
"But you're so pretty. Besides, I like looking at you."
You turn towards Danny, grabbing his face, "You like me right?"
"I love you."
"Okay," you nodded, not taking him seriously, "If you 'love me' you'll stop staring at me and sit there quietly."
He seemed to think about it before grabbing your hands. "But I like looking at you."
"You can look at me all you want once we get to your house. How's that sound?" You felt stupid saying this, but it surprisingly worked.
He groaned and crossed his arms. Though, at least he wasn't staring at you. You were just content with the short-lived privacy.
---
"Okay, Danny." You sat him down on his bed. "I'm going to help you."
"Help me? I don't need help."
You grabbed his shoulders, causing him to blush, "You need to snap out of it. You're only like this because of Ember."
"Snap out of what?" He looks confused, even tilting his head cutely.
You rolled your eyes. In any other situation, you would have thought he was cute, "This!" You gesture at him, as he looked at himself.
"Is something wrong with me?"
You felt bad when hearing his sad tone and sighed. "Oh, Danny... Yes, yes there is."
"Oh. I'm sorry," he grabs your hand, pulling you closer, "I'll change for you. I can be the perfect boyfriend. Your perfect boyfriend."
"I'm calling Tucker-"
You didn't even see it coming, but Danny grabbed your hand, flipped you over onto the bed, and straddled you, while also getting closer to your face. You leaned on your elbows but he pushed you back down.
"Why do you want to call Tucker? Am I not good enough for you?"
"What are you talking about Danny? He knows all about this tech stuff and will know how to fix you."
"Fix me? Why do you need me to be fixed? Am I not good enough? Do you like Tucker better than me?" He was twisting your hair between his fingers.
"Would you prefer if I called Sam?" You angrily retort, annoyed by Danny's sudden jealousy.
"Why call anyone? Why can't we just stay like this?"
"I'm only letting this slide because I know you're under the impression of Ember's guitar powers."
He was now caressing your cheek, seemingly not paying attention to what you were saying. He was humming to himself and it was beginning to freak you out. You pushed him away, as he looked at you shocked. You sat up, while he was still sitting on your legs.
---
"Okay, Danny, we're going to snap you out of it."
"Snap out of what?"
Tucker frowned at his best friend and gestured to the ghost boy's room which was covered in pictures of Y/n.
"What? I like looking at her."
"Danny. It's creepy."
"What's creepy about being in love?"
Tucker shook Danny, "You are under a spell, Danny. This isn't real!" Tucker now made direct eye contact with him, "How would you feel if Y/n's room was covered in pictures of you?"
Danny sighed in bliss, "That'd be so hot-"
"Wrong! Danny, you have to snap out of it, so we can put Ember in the ghost portal."
"Ember? Who's Ember again."
Tucker pulls out a poster out of his bag, shoving it in Danny's face, "THIS is Ember!"
"Oh." Danny leans back, bouncing his back on the bed, "She made me realize I was in love with Y/n-"
Then Tucker got an idea. It wasn't a good idea and it could backfire, but if Danny loved Y/n so much, he was going to have to crush the love at the source. "Ember kidnapped Y/n."
Danny quickly sat up, "What? I thought Y/n was home?"
"No- Ember just took her, because she knew you loved her-"
Danny was standing up straighter and Tucker could tell he hit a string. "Where is she?"
"Well, she has a show tonight-"
--------
Danny glared at the blue-haired lady, not paying much mind to the people around him, who were white-eyed and dazed. He didn't care if the whole world was being controlled, but the minute Ember hurts Y/n, he was going to kill her.
"Where's Danny?"
You looked over Tucker's shoulder, who was rubbing his neck. "About that-"
You catch Danny's eyes and his widen as he rushes to you. He quickly hugs you and turns to Tucker.
"You said EMber kidnapped her-"
"You said WHAT? Why?"
"I'm so glad you're okay!" He hugs you tighter and you barely are able to get him off.
"Danny, you have to fight-"
He covers your mouth and caresses your cheek. "Shhhh... Who cares about her?" He tilts his head, giving you this look of love.
You were starting to feel smothered and you could see Ember getting stronger and you looked around before spotting Flash. An idea popped into your head, granted it was risky, but you had to snap Danny out of it.
"Flash!"
Said male turns around before walking over to you both. You knew you were going to regret this, especially when Danny was giving you a confused look. You pulled Flash down, kissing him and Danny watched wide-eyed.
You turned to the male who was glaring at you as if you had killed his pet. "Are you okay, Danny?"
"Am I okay? You just tore out my heart, stomped on it and then kicked it into the trash. No, I'm not okay." He looked up to Ember, who was glowing brightly, "And I know exactly who's fault it is."
Danny turned Ghost, before going to fight Ember, but you could see that he was losing. You looked over for Tucker, Sam quickly helping you. You found the male hooked to his cds and you grabbed him, pushing him on stage. He looks confused, as you and Sam tell him to just sing
And boy did he sing. Ember's power quickly drained as everyone snapped out of the mind control and Danny was finally able to suck her up.
-------
Danny scratched his neck as he avoided eye contact. He didn't know what to say and the photos were not helping him. He finally looked up at you, before sighing. You looked over towards him.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm sorry... You know- For the creepy stuff."
"It's cool. I could never be mad at you, besides, you were under Ember's control."
Danny knew that was true, but he also knew that there was a part of him that liked you, a lot. He wanted to tell you about these feelings, but after this situation, he knew he'd have to wait.
AN: Woah this ended up being really long and kind of a wild ride. It switches POV a lot so I am sorry if it gets confusing at any point.
Word count: 6.1k
Based on the request here! Masterlist!
EARTH-616
Ever since Thanos left and Tony snapped his fingers, you’ve felt empty. People rejoiced in getting their loved ones back, getting their lives back. But you lost everything. You were raised in a lab somewhere on the other side of the world. No family, and definitely no friends. When you became an Avenger you felt like you had everything, for the first time you felt like you belonged. Now there was no Steve, Natasha, or Tony, and you felt that same loneliness you had worked so hard to move on from.
On top of all of that trauma, you have spent your whole life feeling a void you couldn’t quite explain. You always equated it to your loneliness. Sometimes, you felt like your dreams weren’t your own, or like your memories were jumbled with someone else's. You never quite had an explanation for feeling this way. When you gained your powers due to rogue lab experimentation related to the infinity stones, you thought those feelings would go away, but they only became stronger. When you turned twenty-five, weird things started happening around you, so you turned to the only person in New York you thought would be able to help, Doctor Strange.
“You’re telling me there’s nothing you can give me? Not even some information?”
He sighed, not even looking in your direction. You were currently following him around the Sanctum he resided in downtown Manhattan begging him for insight.
“I keep having these dreams, they’re of a man, I don’t know who he is, or how I know him, but they’re real Steven, they’re not dreams, I think they're memories, or the future? Sometimes I wake up and I swear the dreams feel more real than my actual life. I don’t know maybe - “
He stopped walking and held a hand in your face, he closed his eyes in frustration and took a deep breath, “the only reason I am going to tell you what I am about to tell you is because your powers could have strengthened this theory…”
You looked at him impatiently, “alright well tell me then…”
“Do you believe in soul mates?”
“I don’t want to play your riddles right now” you snapped back, brushing his question off.
“It’a not a riddle, do you?”
You looked at him curiously, “I don’t think I do, can’t say there’s any science to support that theory.”
He chuckled, “you Avengers and your science, what if I told you it had nothing to do with science? A supernatural, mystical bond in the sense of telepathy, past lives, cosmic design, is not something science can reliably measure or verify.”
You scoffed, “a super natural ‘mystical’ bond, where is this going?”
“You always have felt a void, you say? And then your powers came along and it’s stronger than ever. You are feeling your soul mate in ways that the average person, without powers, cannot. If your soul mate, who I will not disclose at this time, is also a mutant of sorts, they probably feel the same way.”
You looked at him with your jaw dropped, “so you’re saying my dreams… is my soulmate communicating with me? And you know who it is… but you cannot tell me… at this time?!”
He shrugged, “you don’t have to believe me, but need I remind you, you came in here, begging me for reprieve?”
You squinted at him, “alright Steven. Thank you,” you said, slightly sarcastically.
“I want you to think about how powerful you truly are, think about your powers and what you’ve grown to be capable of, harness it, use it, and see what you can do with that. You might be the only one other than me who can bend time…”
“Woah.. okay that was ominous, but I guess I have a lot to think about Steven….”
You walked out of his home feeling more confused then when you entered. You know he knew more than he was letting on, he literally knew everything, so that had to mean something.
EARTH-828
“Every test came back normal, Johnny, can you leave the lab now?” Reed said without looking up from the results. Johnny groans dramatically, “something has got to be wrong with me, bro”
“Well, ‘bro’ your symptom of having dreams about a pretty girl you’ve never met, doesn't exactly have a scientific reasoning.”
“But aren’t you supposed to be like a genius or something, can’t you figure this one out?” Reed glared at him, and Johnny threw his hands up in defense.
“Why don’t you try talking to your imaginary girlfriend, Johnny?” Ben said from the couch behind them.
“I know it sounds nuts, but for the last year, since our little accident, I have had these super vivid dreams, and I swear I can feel her. She’s real and she’s in my head. I need to find out why.”
Ben bit back a laugh, and Reed ignored him completely.
Johnny rolled his eyes, “you’re both useless.”
He walked back to his room and plopped into his chair that faced his view of the city. “I know I’m not crazy, give me a sign” he whispered to himself.
EARTH-616
You were in the lab with Bruce, one of your last standing friends, distracted.
“What’s on your mind?”
You looked at him, and sighed. “Nothing, just some stuff Strange said.”
He smiled, amused, “well, try not to think about it too hard, he says some pretty crazy stuff.”
You laughed, lightly, but it wasn’t funny to you, because you were starting to actually believe him.
That night, you were in your bed, eyelids growing heavy, when it happened. It was just a whisper, but it was like someone was right in your ear… “give me a sign..” in the same deep voice from the blond man in your dreams. You nearly jumped up when it happened, in your sleepy state, it felt like someone was in your bed, whispering directly into your ear.
You shot up, heart pounding. When you turned the lights on, no one was there. It must have been in your head, you thought. But what about everything Strange said? As your mind spiraled, sleep didn’t find you, and you decided to go see Strange in the middle of the night.
When he opened the door in his silk robe, cape following, you didn’t let him speak before you simply said “help me.”
He smirked, “I knew you would come back eventually.”
You rolled your eyes, “yea yea, you know everything. Help me do this.”
He moved to the side and you walked in, you followed him up to the roof.
“I think you contain the power to crack my timeline, just enough to see through, but not enough to cause an ongoing ripple…”
He began making his circles in the sky like he does, “woah woah woah, why would I need to do that? Are you saying my soulmate is from a different universe? That’s kind of unfair…”
He reached into one of his circles and grabbed two small stones. He opened his hand and showed them in his palm. You furrowed your brows.
“These are lumens, they allow you to communicate with someone in a different universe, given cosmic alignment. A full moon, the stars, etcetera. If I am right, you will be able to crack time, literally, and see this person you are connected with, you can drop the stone.”
You looked at his palm, the two dark red stones glistened in the moonlight.
“Do you know this will work? I mean you’re literally the keeper of time or whatever, so you know it plays out right?”
He looked at you, “I am the keeper of this universe, I cannot say what will happen to him when he sees this stone”
“I think he spoke to me today..” you said quietly, unsure of yourself, "I want to send him a sign that I know about him too.”
“Okay, let's get to work then.”
You stood with your hands out, palms up. Strange placed a stone in each of them.
“I don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold this, so when you see it, place the stone in and get out.”
You nodded in confirmation and closed your eyes. You could feel the magic coursing through you slowly, it was like a light burning in your veins, but you had grown to like it. You had worked with Strange for years to gain full control of your powers, but he constantly reminded you that no one really knew what you were capable of, not even him.
You closed your eyes, thinking about all of the dreams you had, one in particular, sitting in a blue and brown retro looking room with a big circle bed. The blond man laying across from you, both of you just looking at one another. You kept the dream at the front of your mind and the icy feeling moved down your arms until you could feel it in your palms, you took a deep breath, trying to remain relaxed and controlled, then you gasped. You opened your eyes - and you saw it. A literal crack in front of you, like one of Strange’s portals, but not as perfect. And then you saw the retro interior, and then him. There was a blond man in a plush blue chair, headphones on. Him.
You felt your heart rate increase, but you tried to focus on the stone in your hand. You dropped it behind his chair and it landed with a “clink”. He stirred in the chair, and you jumped back out of his room. With a snap, the crack closed just as he was turning around.
You were breathless, standing on the roof where the crack in time you created had just been. You looked down and saw the small red stone you kept start to glow.
EARTH-828
CLINK, Johnny startled to the noise behind him. Before he could turn around he heard a POP and felt a light breeze. When he stood up, he saw nothing, except for a small stone in a dark red color on the ground. He picked it up and it began to glow, he swore he could feel it beating in his palm.
EARTH‑616
The days that followed were confusing, you never let go of the stone, and it glowed often. Did that mean he was feeling it too? Was he holding it? Maybe Strange was mistaken and it’s broken. Nights had become both refuge and torment. After your meeting with Strange, you found yourself drifting to sleep sometimes thinking only of him—the blond man you saw in your dreams. You tried to will something more: a word, a touch, anything to convince yourself you weren’t alone.
Then, one night, as the full moon hung low, you slipped into that dream‑state more vividly than ever. The room was retro blue and brown, warm lamplight pooling in corners, the velvet chair soft beneath you. The circle bed was just in view, and he—the blond man—sat across the room, headphones around his neck. It was just like the crack you stepped into with the stone.
He looked up. You felt him look, felt a warmth you couldn’t explain. Without thinking, you rose and walked across. As if gravity pulled you both. He extended a hand.
You reached forward, fingers trembling. In your dream, you placed something small into his palm: a locket. You’ve had that locket for as long as you can remember, you aren’t even sure where you got it from, but it’s the only thing you have from your life before the lab, a heart‑shaped locket with an engraving you couldn’t read—just symbols. You whispered, “This is for you.”
He put the long chain around his neck, eyes soft. In his free hand, he held something too: a simple gold ring, soft and trembling. He pressed it into your palm and you closed your fingers around it. You woke up with a gasp, sitting up in bed. While you were catching your breath, you felt something. You pulled your hand out from the sheets and opened your palm, you were holding the small gold ring.
EARTH‑828
Johnny woke up suddenly, a locket around his neck, soft and real. He stared at it, eyes blurry in the pre‑dawn light. He put the locket between his fingers and felt the weight of it, he placed his palm over it. Later that day he went down to the lab and explained.
“I am not going crazy and this is not a prank. The stone showed up in my room, that night I could feel her in my dreams, then last night she gave me this,” he holds up the locket from under his shirt, “then I wake up and it’s physically on my neck.”
“Johnny, do you seriously hear yourself right now?” Ben asked, laughing.
“Okay okay I know how it sounds. I also gave her the ring I wear on my right hand, and guess what,” he holds up his naked hand, “gone.”
Ben and Reed looked at each other then, exhausted.
EARTH‑616
You began to anticipate the dreams. You practiced meditating during the day, trying to call out to him: Show me a sign. Sometimes you felt goosebumps on your arm, sometimes heard him whispering—always when the sky was darkest, or when you touched the ring you put on a chain around your neck.
Another night, you dreamt of him again. This time he held something different: a sketch. He drew you—delicate lines showing the chair, the lamp, the retro room, you sitting on the edge of his bed. You traced the lines with your index finger in your dream. You looked at his blue eyes, and before you could say anything, you startled awake. You woke with a small drawing in your hand, ink that wasn’t there before, a perfect mirror of what he showed you. You stared at the paper, heart pounding.
EARTH‑828
Johnny went to the lab again, waving around the sketch book with a torn page.
“Johnny, you realize something weird is going on, and if you’re playing a prank on me, you need to tell me now, before I waste my time and resources on this,” Reed said, adjusting his glasses, and leaning over his magnification tools. “Reed I swear, please, you gotta help me,” Johnny was begging, that’s when Reed knew he was serious. He tested the locket; nothing anomalous in the DNA, but the structure was strange—nothing he had seen in his lifetime.
Reed frowned. “Could be hallucination… or quantum imprint. Or some cross‑dimensional bleed. I’ve been building a prototype portal device. If we can stabilize it, maybe it’s possible to open a window between universes so you two can really see each other.”
Johnny’s heart leapt. “You mean… physically?”
Reed nodded, though cautiously. “If the energy is aligned. But risky. It might destabilize you both, cause memory loss, or worse. But it’s something.”
“I want to try.” Johnny said, without hesitation.
EARTH‑616
Strange guides you through your earlier instincts. He teaches you how to harness your power to “listen” more deeply, to project subtle signals. You learn to send small pulses of energy, thoughts, almost whispers—to him in dreams: I know you. You are safe.
Each time you wake up, you wonder, did he hear? Did he feel it?
One night, under the sky, Strange places the stone in your hand. “This will amplify your signal that we’ve been working on. In the right moment, it can anchor the portal Reed is working on.”
You furrowed your brows, “who is Reed?” He shrugged, “just focus.”
You clutch it, the smooth stone warm, humming in your palm, you closed your eyes and thought of him. “His name is Johnny.”
Your eyes snapped open towards him, “Johnny” you repeated. Strange nodded. You closed your eyes again, whispering his name with the stone in your hand.
EARTH‑828
Johnny begins trying to return signals whenever he sleeps. He starts to hear you say his name, and he can’t figure out how you would know it, but all he knows is he never wants you to stop saying it. In dreams, he hears your voice—softer, closer. He tries sketching places, sending little drawings back, showing the chair, your face. Reed helps him record these, collect them, calibrate his machines to pick up residual energy in Johnny’s room at night.
“If you can collect enough of these dream signals, the portal might focus between those data points—your room, her space in her universe, wherever she usually is.” Reed says while typing away.
Johnny stands in front of the portal, clutching the locket and his sketchbook. He imagines you beside him, eyes closed, hands touching. He sends out a thought: Meet me.
Reed's lab buzzed. Blueprints lined walls. Machines hummed with power. He thinks the portal is finally ready. Johnny stood there, protective glasses on, and nodded to Reed.
“Be safe, Johnny,” Sue said from behind Red. He saluted her and smiled.
EARTH-616
You stood on Strange’s rooftop, fiddling with the ring on a chain around your neck, and holding the glowing stone in your hand. You could feel the stone pulsing lightly against your palm, like it always did. The moon’s light was filtered by clouds; the air tasted like charged metal.
As you focused on sharing some sort of contact with Johnny, everything went white and cold. You felt a pull, like stepping through water and space at once. Shapes warped, the rooftop spun, the hum of machines and portal energy mingled with magic.
Then it all went quiet, like you were floating for a moment before getting your bearings, then you saw him. The blond man, Johnny, standing in what appeared to be a lab, through a portal, surrounded by wires and softly humming monitors. He was shaking slightly as though waking—looking more real than in any dream.
You stepped forward, closer to the portal. He blinked, eyes wide.
“Johnny,” you breathed.
He swallowed. “It’s you.”
Your hand reached out, testing the portal, touching his arm, feeling warmth, the soft brush of real skin—not a dream.
He looked at the ring on your neck that sat right above the collar of your sweater. He reached through and held it gently between his fingers.
He raised an eyebrow, voice soft. “This was yours,” he pulled the locket out from underneath his shirt.
You nodded, tears in your eyes.
He moved his hand from the ring around your neck and touched your hand. His thumb grazed your locket on his neck. “I felt you… I saw you… I sketched you.”
You smiled, shaky. “I sent the locket in my dreams. I wanted you to know I was there.” You said with a soft smile.
Johnny’s eyes glistened. You whispered your name to him, and he whispered it back, confirming that you were real.
Reed’s portal device flickered, stabilizing and he watched with Sue from the console.
You looked at the portal—light and shadow swirling. Something hums, a faint boundary line between your universe and his.
Then, with a soft gasp, you stepped through—just enough so your feet touch the floor on his side. You both wince, as if moving through thick air, but the connection is solid.
Johnny reaches out, both of you bridging the last few inches. Your foreheads touch.
His voice is dangerously soft: “I’ve been waiting.”
You whisper, “So have I.”
You pull back slightly, just to look at him. He’s real. Breathing. Alive.
Reed steps forward, solemn. “You two — careful. The portal only holds for so long. You might feel aftereffects: memory echoes, disorientation.”
Strange nods, placing a hand on your shoulder. You startled, you had completely forgotten he was there. “But you did it. You crossed universes. You met.”
Johnny takes your hands in his.
He smiles, awe in his eyes. “All the dreams, all the waiting… it was worth it.”
You rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in the strange new reality. Together, you stand between two worlds, holding gifts and dreams, knowing this is only the beginning. Stange pulls you back and separates you from Johnny, the portal snaps closed, your hand still extended, burning from the touch he left.
Ever since that night on the rooftop, or in the lab, you still weren’t really sure where you were, you wake most mornings with the taste of him still in your mouth: laughter, the soft rasp of his voice, the echo of him whispering your name. Some mornings there’s a token: a short ribbon, blue with silver thread, placed in a bow on your wrist, or a sketch folded in two under your pillow. You stare at these gifts, heart pounding, wondering how he was leaving them for you in your dreams.
You carry these small things with you through the day. The ribbon tied in your hair, silver thread glinting; the sketch held close in a notebook you hide in your jacket. They anchor you, reminders that what you share isn't just in your head like you originally thought it was.
EARTH‑828
Johnny wakes sometimes and catches himself reaching toward the air, as though you just slipped from his grasp. But in those dark hours, he holds the ribbon around his wrist, the locket glinting in the moonlight, and sketches the edges of the dreams still vivid: the curve of your jaw, the way moonlight pools into his room, the way your words soothe him before he drifts awake.
He writes un-sent letters—sentiments that no one else will see: “You make parts of me I didn’t know missing whole,” “You laugh like sunrise, bright and hopeful.” He folds these letters and puts them in a box under his bed.
One particular dream night, the room is quiet, warm, colors richer than ever. You sit on the edge of that circle bed, the moonlight falling in stripes across the floor. Johnny lies across the bed, headphones off, the soft hum in his throat, eyes closed. You smooth your dress fabric with your fingers, gathering courage. “Johnny,” you say. The sound of your voice echoes like a ripple in still water. He opens his eyes, surprised to see you so near.
He reaches out, and you close the gap between your hands. Fingers interlaced. You notice small details exaggerated by dream‑logic: the way his eyelashes cast shadows, the warmth of his skin, the faint scent of lavender and rain.
This particular night he tells you about his powers, and you tell him about yours. “Strange said you might be a mutant, he said our connection reaches across universes because we aren’t like normal people..” He nods, almost in realization, like that made complete sense.
“What’s your favorite song?” you ask randomly one night, voice barely above a whisper.
He smiles sideways. “I think it’s one I haven’t heard yet, it’s the one I hear you humming sometimes when we sit together.”
You laugh — soft and disbelieving. “Is that your dream‑you, or real‑you’s favorite song?”
He seems uncertain, but then tilts his head. “Does it matter? If I feel you, it’s real to me.”
You shake your head, heart full. “No. It doesn’t matter.”
The next night, you drift into sleep, the whisper of summer wind carrying the faint scent of rain. The dream paints itself in vivid blues and browns—the retro room, the velvet chair, the soft glow of the lamp. Johnny rises from the chair when he sees you. He’s slower than usual, as though he’s afraid you might vanish if he moves too quickly. He holds something in his hands—a single yellow marigold, its petals trembling, fragile.
“Thought you might like this,” he says, voice quiet as the spaces between heartbeats.
Your breath catches. You take the flower, the petals soft against your fingers, and bring it to your nose. The scent is floral, rich, something you only associate with hope.
He smiles—warm, shy. You laugh, and the sound echoes in the room, like something released after a long wait.
Without thinking, you reach out, fingers brushing his hand. The touch sends a shock of warmth through your dream‑limbs. In that instant, everything else—your fears, the void that has followed you all this time—falls away.
He looks at you, eyes bright. “I see you,” he murmurs.
You find your voice too. “I see you,” you say softly.
For a moment, the world holds its breath. The marigold’s glow pulses, casting golden light against your skin.
It’s then you understand: this is love. Not just the ache in your dreams or the longing in your waking hours—but something real, fierce, tender, and bright enough to be carried across Earths, across the boundary between sleep and waking.
When you awaken, your lips curved in a smile that doesn’t fade with morning light.
EARTH‑616
Doctor Strange is watching. Not every night, but the energy fluctuations, the dream‑echoes, the objects that appear in waking life: the locket, the ribbon, sketches. He studies them in his Sanctum. He monitors your dream‑sent signals — the hum your power makes when you whisper into sleep. One evening, he approaches you gently, as you sit on the rooftop beneath the silver moon. You hold the ribbon, twirling its silver thread between your fingers.
“I’ve been observing,” Strange says. His voice is soft, but carries gravity. “These gifts, the shared dreams — they are more than contact. They are building trust, anchoring your presence in each other’s subconscious.”
You look up at him, breath catching. “Is this dangerous?”
He considers. “Any bond across universes carries risk. The more real these dreams become, the more strain on your identity, on reality itself. But I believe you and Johnny can withstand much — because your power is rooted in empathy, memory, longing.”
You nod, heart pounding. “So, what do we do?”
He sighed, “I’m going to help guide you and we will figure this out. Your souls are completely intertwined, I know how this plays out…” He whisked away with his cape then, leaving you utterly confused.
The next day, the Sanctum was quiet. The air smelled of incense and old books. You stood in its high tower room, ring on its chain around your neck, pulsing faintly with that shared energy. Strange came in through the window, cape rustling quietly.
“You’ve summoned me Steven?” you said jokingly, but also slightly concerned.
He nodded, closing the window behind him. “Johnny’s signals, the gifts, your dream anchors—they’ve become too real to ignore. I believe the time has come for a covenant between universes: a spell that officially ties you two together—if you are both willing. Physically, not just through dreams.”
You swallowed. “What does that mean? A permanent connection?”
Strange paced slowly. “Permanent in the sense that you could cross over to his universe; he to yours. Not casually—a ritual. A magic‑science interface. It will use your powers, Johnny’s, the lumens, and Reed’s prototype portal device. The risk is high: memory bleed, identity confusion, possibility of cosmic imbalance if not done precisely. But I believe you can handle it.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, thinking of all the nights you drifted alone, the echoes, the drawing in your hand, his voice. This was your chance. “I want it,” you said. “With everything I have.”
Strange smiled softly. “Good.” He pulled a scroll from a shelf, ancient runes dancing in the candlelight. “We’ll begin preparations immediately. I’ll need your full cooperation—and Johnny’s. This ritual must align your dream‑patterns, energy signatures, emotional resonance. Once tied, the barrier between universes thins at the ritual site: Reed’s lab.”
EARTH‑828
You sent him a dream that night: not just your voice, but the ritual. The Scroll, Strange’s room, the words you’d speak, the place—Reed’s lab. You stood there, holding a stone in one hand, the ring in the other. You said, “Meet me here.”
He woke up gasping. The memory settled heavy in his chest. He ran to Reed—sketched it, described the scroll runes, the spatial geometry you showed: arc‑lines, circles within circles. Reed studied the sketch, his face rapt.
“Yes,” Reed confirmed. “That matches the portal design I’ve been building. If we channel your shared dream patterns through this, the special ritual Strange proposes, the portal could open permanently—for a time at least. You’ll be able to step through and see her. Officially.”
Johnny’s heart hammered so loud he thought Strange might have heard it across universes. “When?”
Reed replied, “Tonight. We build the framework, set the anchors, then Strange will cast the spell from your combined anchors—yours in your universe, hers in hers.”
Johnny began pacing, “But Johnny,” Reed said, Johnny stopped and looked at him, “I think one of you will have to pick.”
Johnny looked up at him, “let’s cross that bridge when we get there.” Reed nodded.
EARTH‑616
You prepared: that night you cleansed and meditated. You wore the ribbon Johnny gave you and the ring he once held. Strange walked you through breathing, centering.
Strange said your name seriously, breaking you out of your meditation, you looked up at him, “if this works, one of you will have to choose, one of you will have to step into a different universe and make it your home, it’s not a revolving door.” You sighed, “I know..” you said it softly, to let him know that was something you had taken into consideration. He searched your eyes for any bit of doubt or hesitation, but he came up empty. You closed your eyes and continued meditating.
He placed the lumen stone in your palm and set candles in runic circles. The scroll lay open, Strange’s voice reciting ancient incantations you didn’t fully understand, but felt the weight and power of each word.
“You must visualize him,” Strange instructed. “Not the idea of him, but him. Every detail: his laugh, his warmth, the furniture in his room, the drawing he made. Let your soul reach. Remember every dream you’ve had, what you spoke about, secrets you’ve shared.”
You closed your eyes. You saw Johnny—the lab, the sketches, the locket on his neck, the way moonlight cut across his face, the way his eyes scrunched when he laughed, his hand on your face. Then, you heard his voice: “I’m here.” And you whispered it back.
Earth‑828
Simultaneously, Johnny sat in Reed’s lab. The device hummed around him, glowing softly. He clutched the locket, wearing the other half of the ribbon he had placed on your wrist all those months ago, breathing deeply. Reed’s devices picked up his dream‑signal, his emotional pattern, his pulse.
Reed activated emitters around the room and energy rippled like water around him. Johnny’s eyes closed. He imagined you in the retro room, ring and ribbon, standing by moonlight. “I see you,” he whispered.
The portal device in Reed’s lab shivered, light flickering. Strange’s ritual echoed in magic in his Sanctum, the lumens glowing. For a moment, everything feels stretched: distance, silence, possibility. Then a crack appears in the air before you—thin, shimmering, unstable, yet real.
On the other side, Johnny opens his eyes, gasping. In the crack, you.
Your hand reaches through. His does too. Your fingers touch through the barrier first—cool, tingling. You are both trembling.
Strange’s voice, firm: “Step through when you’re sure.”
You breathe, then step forward. Light envelops you. You cross the threshold. The space warps: the lab, the rooftop, the moonlight—the universes merge just enough that you are both in the same room, physically.
He looks at you, face full of awe. You look at him, tears in your eyes. You touch his cheek. It’s real. He is real. There is a silence, full of everything: wonder, fear, relief.
Johnny squeezes your hand. “You’re really here.”
You nod, voice catching. “I am.”
Behind you, through the portal, Strange stands, scroll closed, candles dimming. He looks at both of you, proud and cautious. You take a step further into the lab, leaving an inch of space between you.
“What are you doing?” Johnny says slightly concerned, “Johnny I know this is crazy, but I think I’m meant to be here with you, if you’ll have me.” His mouth parted slightly, you began to panic, was this a mistake? Maybe you were just crazy.
“I can’t ask you to give up everything for me,” he said softly, pushing a loose strand of hair out of your face.
“You’re not asking me to, I am telling you I want to. I don’t have a family anymore, I was raised in a lab, the Avengers are gone. You understand me. I know i probably sound insane,” you looked down and shook your head,”but we’re soul mates, Strange wouldn’t have allowed me to get this far if it wasn’t meant to be this way for me, for us,” you said the last part barely above a whisper.
He cupped your face, “stay.” You let out the breath you were holding, and before you could answer he brought his lips to your and kissed you, slowly. It wasn’t rough or rushed, it was warm and electric, it was everything you couldn’t find the words to say all at once.
When you broke apart, you turned to Strange, “close it” was all you said. He nodded at you, his eyes were soft, as if saying goodbye, and before anyone could say anything else, the portal closed with a snap. Reed’s machine shut down, without explanation, causing him to tap away on the keyboard.
But once Strange was gone, you turned back to Johnny. The world around you stopped, it quieted. For the first time in your life, the void you had always felt was full. “Well, welcome to your new home, I guess,” Johnny said without breaking eye contact. You placed your hands in his, “I’m happy to be home” you said softly.
In that moment, your anxiety set in a little, the idea that you just hopped universes for a man you have only met once, and in your dreams. But something about it felt completely right, like Strange knew all along this was meant to be your path.
Days pass. You wake up beside Johnny in the bedroom you had been dreaming of laying in for years. The sun filters through blinds, you stretch your legs out and turn your head to see him sleeping, his face relaxed, he looks so beautiful. You watch him for a moment — his brow relaxed, eyelashes long, breathing even, peaceful.
You realize: this emptiness you carried? It’s gone. Not totally, because grief never fully leaves, but the void has a new shape: full of warmth, promise, and love.
You share small routines: he makes you coffee; you laugh at how he mismeasures sugar; you walk city streets together, he shows you your new world, and you compare what you were used to on your earth. You tell stories: your childhood in the lab, your time as an Avenger; he tells you of his experiments, the night his dreams started, his hopes, how he missed you before he even knew of you.
You feel safe to be yourself. No masks. No pretending.
You quickly grew to love Sue, Ben, and Reed. They were all a bit skeptical at first, but could not believe how perfectly compatible you and Johnny seemed. “Can’t believe you had to open a portal to another universe just to get a date, Johnny,” Ben would joke, making you all laugh, making you feel at home with them. You started training with them, helping them on missions, feeling a part of a team again, finding a family again.
On a random Saturday afternoon, you two sit on the rooftop of the Baxter Building, legs swinging over the side. He holds your hand; his thumb brushes your knuckles.
“I want to remember this,” he says. “Every part of this.” You lean in, rest your head against him. “Me too.” He turns to you, eyes soft: “You’re my home.” You smile, mouth full of sunlight. “And you’re mine.” He kisses you gently—a soft touch as real as everything you ever dreamed. You look out at the city. The skyline looks different now. It's yours. He’s yours. For the first time, you believe that love isn’t just a dream, isn’t just a memory, love is here and you have it with him.
Hotch and reader are both suspiciously sick 👀 for a secret relationship prompt
under the radar
🤭 👀 how suspicious cw; fem bau!reader, secret relationship, sick descriptions, bau family banter and fluff <3
"You don't look good."
"Good morning to you too." You laughed gently at Derek's welcome, but it caught in your throat, causing you to swallow hard and wince at the pain.
"No I mean, you don't look good." He stated blatantly, worry filling in his eyes as he stared at you. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I was just a little under the weather over the weekend," you confessed, sniffling lightly. "Really, I'm much better than I was."
During the day Friday, you felt the onset. The familiar pangs that indicated maybe you were coming down with something. But by that night at Aaron's, you felt awful. Body shaking chills, muscle weakness, and then a horrible migraine that nearly took up the entirety of Saturday. You cried in frustration as you sought refuge with your head buried in Aaron’s lap, praying that the way he ran a comforting hand along your skin would somehow alleviate the throbbing pain.
Aaron, unfortunately, wasn’t spared for his trouble. His own symptoms, all the same as yours, followed closely behind. He even had a temperature, but it quickly broke after a night of sleep and sweat.
"Oh sunshine, let me whip you up some of my what-should-be-famous remedy tea. It'll have you cleared up within hours." Penelope, having overheard this conversation, reached across the table and patted your hand. "I swear by it."
Finally, Aaron entered the roundtable room, looking far worse than you.
Though every detail of his appearance was as refined as usual, traces of his recent illness still lingered; there was no hiding it. Pale skin framed by an irritated nose, with dark circles dragging down his soft brown eyes.
"Let's get started." Aaron grumbled as he sat beside you, his own voice thick and clouded. The congestion was apparent in his chest, making every breath labored and uneven. You did attempt to persuade him to stay home today, but he insisted he could manage.
"You too?" Morgan blurted as he looked between Aaron and you. Confusion flickered across his face, followed by a frown. "No way. Same thing?"
Beneath the table, your fingers found Aaron's sleeve, curling around the fabric. Both to seek and to provide comfort; it had been a long weekend, and facing a week of work while recovering promised to be equally exhausting.
Derek caught the subtle shift of your arm, his brows knitting as his gaze flicked downward.
"It's a cold."
"Not my point. Hotch, I've known you for years. You don't get sick."
Aaron shrugged, "then it was bound to happen."
"Did Jack bring it home from school?" JJ asked, and he shook his head no.
You interrupted their conversation by breaking out into a small coughing fit, harsh dryness suddenly hitching at the top of your throat. Aaron's hand immediately went to your back, rubbing it soothingly until you had finished.
"It's almost like you gave it to each other." Dave pointed out amusingly, a wise-beyond-years tone to his words.
"It's possible. We do work together." Aaron countered, his brows furrowing as he pulled a cough drop from his pocket and handed it to you. For the briefest of moments, his eyes flickered to yours.
"You know, the average person catches at least two to three colds per year. " Spencer chimed in, rattling off the top of his head in his quick-witted manner. "A study found that approximately 23% of viruses on a surface can be transferred to a finger upon contact. However, if you were to kiss someone, that could transfer approximately 80 million bacteria from one to another within seconds."
Emily busted out laughing. "Have the two of you been kissing, then?"
Spencer shrugged, "statistics don't lie."
You blinked at him. Unbeknownst to the others, trading saliva was most likely exactly why the both of you had caught a bug. Time permitting, and Aaron reputedly being the world’s best kisser, your lips were always on his.
Aaron blushed at the statement. The instant warmth piqued JJ's interest, taking it as a sign a fever was returning. She had the motherly urge to place the back of her hand on his forehead, but ultimately decided against it.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay, Hotch?" She asked instead.
He cleared his throat, grimacing at the produced sting. "Fine."
headcanon: jealous! saja boys x girlfriend! fem! reader
summary: they’re demons, but they’re men too— so who would get jealous if their lover was talking or doing something that was utterly meant for them?
a/n: language, embarrassing nicknames, overall silliness. fluff is so much easier to write and we all need a laugh!
Jinu ! - the visual sulker
he sees you laughing with somebody else? yeah you can see his depression all they way on the other side of the room. he’s sad and he’s looking at you from the distance. he’s a golden retriever kind of boyfriend, so he’s very emotional…better give him the attention he wants asap.
“Yeah!” you exclaim, “I can totally make something up for you!”
You smiled softly at the man before you, who ordered a “florists choice” bouquet of flowers. He had a charm about him, making you laugh almost the entire time you fixed his flowers.
“Hey,” your customer asked with a nervous voice, “Do you know that staring creep over there?”
“Where?” your voice trails as you see at the direction he pointed at. There, lay your frowning boyfriend staring at you with shiny eyes. He held a picnic basket, and then you instantly remember.
Today was park day. Your eyes widen as you quickly rush the order, apologizing to the man as you push him out. You flipped your open sign to closed, and then turned your face to Jinu, who sulked.
“I’m so sorry babe!” you run up to him, holding his squishy cheeks in your hands, “I got caught up with work and totally—“
“You can go haha with him then, since he clearly makes you happy,” he mutters, not bothering to look at you.
“Jinu…”
You raise a brow, already knowing the routine with him. He sees you with somebody and he goes immediately: shock, sadness, rudeness, sadness, guilt. And now, he’s sad as he scrunches his chin.
“I’m sorry, I sounded so rude—“
“It’s okay,” you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips, “I would’ve done the same with you.”
“No, you’d throw me across the room.”
Romance ! - the blatant one
he’s the type to always hang out with you. but when you’re alone and he’s barely catching up? yeah, he’s going to call you embarrassing nicknames, like if it weren’t already obvious that he was yours. (he made sure you wore jewelry saying ‘romance’ all over…)
“My beloved sugar plum!”
A shout was heard behind you, and you turned to see Romance faking a hot jog behind you. His pink hair bounced as he ran, and he smirked as if he was Prince Charming.
The man before you was cringing as he asked, “Do you…know him?”
“Yeah! He’s my…” your voice trails when he calls you again, “My beloved lover.”
Your proclaimed lover catches up to you, not even gasping as he grabs your chin and waist, tipping you romantically, “Oh, my beloved princess of the land above, the one who makes my heart tremble with love, and my pants ache for freedom— however are you here? Far, far, and far from—“
“Sorry to interrupt, but do you still want the strawberries or no?”
You glanced at the vendor, smiling weakly, “Yeah, two boxes please.”
Romance stops his ballad, and his cheeks are a light pink as he whispers, “I thought he was trying to steal your heart from me.”
“Babe, he was just trying to sell me strawberries.”
“Oh.”
Mystery ! - the silent treatment
he’s the type to see, frown, and walk away. he won’t tell you what’s wrong or what hurt him— he clearly expects you to know what. but the moment you cuddle with him at night, you know exactly what’s up and how to fix it.
“My love?”
Your voice gets no reply as you watch your boyfriend tuck himself into bed. His body is gorgeous, but it greatly contrasted with his frown. Huffing, you fall back into the cushion, opening your arms for him.
“C’mere.”
Your voice is soft, and he doesn’t have to be told twice as he plops down on you. You cradle his head, legs wrapping around his waist as you play with his silver locks.
“What happened this time?”
You received no reply. Sighing, you tried running back your memory from earlier today. You woke up, you ate, you talked to him, you helped on stage, you laughed with—
“Oh,” you grin, lifting Mystery’s chin, “Did you get Jealous because I was talking with Romance?”
“No.”
His reply was the only thing you needed to know, and you simply reassured him, “My love, my heart and soul belongs to you— there’s no one else but you.”
“Then why were you laughing?”
“It’s because he had dogshit under his shoe, and he accident smeared it onto his pants when he danced.”
“Shit and shit, who wouldn’t have guessed?”
You push a lock behind his ear, kissing his forehead and trailing your lips all over his face. You could’ve sworn he purred, but you didn’t push it tonight and simply cooed;
“Does my love want kisses all over him?”
“My balls too?” he hummed, his sly grin returning to his beautiful face.
“Absolutely not.”
Abs ! - the big baby
he’s kind of like jinu when he gets jealous, but he literally cries. he thinks you’ll leave him and it makes him look like a twink. but you love him and know how to pamper him with love so he never forgets where your loyalty lies.
“I’ll have two sherbet ice creams please!”
You watch as the man assembles your order, his hands expertly rolling up the frozen treat and handing them to you. However, you nearly drop one of the bowls down, making the man react fast to hold your hand.
You had to hide your grimace, but you thank him nonetheless. When you look back at the door, you see your boyfriend with his jaw dropped in disbelief.
Oh my god.
He points a finger at you, the action making him puff his chest and make a button from his shirt go flying off, “You don’t love me anymore!”
Abs runs out of the stall, sobbing as you sigh. You find him after numerous searches around the park, I mean, it wasn’t too hard finding a burly man hunched over a bench and crying his eyes out.
“Baby,” you call out, catching his attention, “I have your ice cream!”
He pouts indefinitely, huffing and not bothering to look at you.
“Abs, if you don’t look at me this instant and hear me out, you will be left here without a ride.”
He looks now, his turned brows furrowed, “I saw him touch your hand, explain that to me really quick.”
“A bowl almost fell is all.”
“Which one did he touch?”
You motion at the left one, and before you could even ask why, it’s immediately slapped out of your palm. Your jaw drops too now, scoffing at your grinning boyfriend.
“Guess that means we have to share, huh baby?”
“No!”
Baby ! - the immediate glarer
this man does have a baby face, but it doesn’t mean he can’t give a mean glare. he sees you with someone? he’s glaring. he sees you smiling at a dog? he’s glaring. he sees you watering a plant? it’s gone now.
“Baby!”
You begin to look around, holding one right flip flop and one right shoe. It just so happened to be the morning you go out with your friends, and all your left shoes are gone. And you certainly don’t want to wear a right on your left and look ridiculous.
You were practically fuming as you see your boyfriend eating some spicy chips as he watched Dora the Explorer on the T.V.
“Where the fuck are my shoes?”
He glances at you, replying disinterestedly, “You’re holding them.”
“No, I mean my left shoes. There all gone!”
“So there’s nothing left?”
You take a deep breath, exhaling all the air that was about to be used to say the most vile and evil things. You were already running late and you didn’t have time for sarcasm.
“Baby. Where. Are. My. Shoes.”
He stares back at the screen, yelling at the character, “It’s right there you stupid—“
You stand right in front of the T.V, glaring as you don’t let him finish. He glares back. And you glare back.
“Can’t let you go in that dress, it makes you look cute.” He said defeatedly, rubbing his temple, “So I just hid your shoes.”
You held back your blush as you asked, “And where are they?”
“Ask Dora.”
You turn back at the screen, listening to her;
That’s right guys! He’s in the fire!
You didn’t even let him breathe as you pounced on him.
NCT 2018 Reaction When Someone Disrespects Their S/O [U + 127...Dream is linked]
Hello Lovelies, these will be longer because I’m giving a scenario/blurb for each. Enjoy :) !
Dream / Junior Forces Ver.
LEE TAEYONG
Everyone was on his shit list today, even you at some given moments. He just wanted to get through his damn meetings in peace without listening to his constant update reports. Yet, when someone compared you to a servant, it got his blood boiling:
“Honey, I was wond-” You walked into the conference room, the entirety of the Neo Culture had their eyes focused on you. Some had the hands going to their hip, ready to fight for their leader’s life who sat closest to the door, yet most of them calmed once they recognized the big and gentle eyes of their leader’s partner.
“Oh, I’m so sorry I should’ve knocked.” You said, bowing towards the familiar faces you deemed family.
“Yeah…you should have.” A new prospect piped in from the bottom of the long table. “Gosh Lee, who knew you let the help step in for meetings. Put her in her place, would you?” He rolled his eyes, thinking that he would be praised as a manly man and a fearless advocate….when everyone just saw him as a dumba*s.
To say you felt like a stupid nuisance was an understatement. Your eyes now trained towards the ground while you kept your inner lip fixed between your teeth. The fiery red setting in your cheeks as you felt out of place. Taeyong noticed this and decided to give you attention from his nice and friendly side while in his mind he was going over what he would have Jaehyun or Jisung do to the prospect later on. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer with both arms so you were standing in between his legs. “No, my attention is yours. What did you need?” He asked taking your hand and running his hand over your knuckles. “I just wanted to go shopping and was seeing if I could take the car.” You said, still feeling stupid. “Of course. Mark? Want to go with her?” Taeyong asked and Mark shot out of his seat, ready to leave this boring and useless meeting. Taeyong threw the keys to the younger and he caught them on beat.
“Have fun, honey. Text me if you need anything.” He said kissing your knuckles as you nodded, a smile forming on your face. “Let’s go Noona!” Mark whined as he dragged you out of the room as both of you laughed at the fact you get to leave. The door closes and all the official members knows what’s coming though.
Taeyong let an enthusiastic sigh leave his lips as he leaned back in his chair. He finally faced forward again as he took his gun from his hip. He set it down on the wood table infront of him. He had a sinister smile as he sat up, looking at the new recruits like a madman.
“Let’s have a talk about respect, yeah?”
__________
MOON TAEIL
He sat next to you at the annual family and associates dinner that Taeyong threw. You sat at a LONG table that was faced into the ballroom where everyone else sat at circle tables. Only the closest and most elite members were aloud to sit where you sat with your husband.
You were adorned in the finest jewels he had gotten for you specifically along with a dress you deemed unfit to be worm by someone like you. You were a goddess in his eyes along with everyone’s eyes who had a brain. So when someone compared your formal dress to a garbage bag…ends up he had to hold you back:
His hand found yours under the table as you toyed with the fabric of the elegant dress that hugged your body in all the right places. You looked over to see him smile and give you a reassuring nod. Taeyong was going on the usual speech he gave every year about the meaning of respect within the strong family we have.
Yet, when Jaemin LITERALLY snaked his way under the table to where you and Taeil sat, to say you were shocked was an understatement. He was the last chair…on the opposite end of the table. You lifted the silk table cloth as he sat in between you and Taeil on the ground. “Hello, Noona.” He bowed nicely as he sat cross legged. He then turned towards Taeil. “Hyung.” He started, keeping his voice hush still. “The prospect at table 87 with the blue vest on keeps talking bad about Noona.” He said hurriedly and angrily. You comfortingly played with the hair on the back of his head so he would calm down.
You have some news for Johnny, but the last thing you expect is for Sue to beat you to it. However, it turns out becoming parents isn’t even the biggest thing the family has to worry about - there are much bigger forces at work. Follows the timeline of about the first half of the movie
Warnings:
Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), creampie, movie spoilers, pregnancy, birth, fluff, angst, dangerous situations
Word Count: 19.2k
A/N:
I’m so beyond happy to have this completed and posted for y’all! This fic follows the timeline of the first half of the movie and contains spoilers, and is left open for more. I’m sorry if there’s anything in here that doesn’t make sense or isn’t canon compliant, I know nothing besides this one movie 😅 Much more can be written in the world of this fic - let me know if you want to see it! Big giant thanks to @punkrockmlchael for my banner, @writhingg for always being the best beta reader, @glassbxttless and @getaapologist for being the most helpful ever for this girl who knows nothing about marvel, and to @feral4youu and @sudsys for reading literally every scene the second i finish it (you’re both real ones ilysm)
“Oh, sweetheart…”
Johnny was a panting mess above you, leaning up on his elbows on the bed and watching your every move as you took his cock deeper and deeper down your throat. You looked up at him through your long eyelashes, taking in the fucked-out look on his face.
He was looking down at you with his face screwed up in pleasure. His toned chest heaved with his breaths, a whining moan at the end of each one.
His cock was hot and heavy in your mouth, throbbing between your swollen lips. Precum leaked from his tip, the heady taste on your tongue every time you swiped over his slit, which drove him crazy. His head would loll back on his shoulders as a low groan tore its way out of his chest.
You splayed your hands across his thick thighs, bobbing your head a little faster, making sure to give every part of him plenty of attention. He loved when you were sloppy on it like this. Johnny raked his hand through your hair, pushing you down all the way and holding you there until you couldn’t breathe.
“God-“ he choked, his eyes falling closed. “Oh, jesus baby, that’s- h-oh- oh, god-“
He let go and you pulled off of him, gasping for air. You took only a moment to compose yourself before you were sinking back onto him, sending Johnny flopping back onto the pillows with a groan.
You cradled his balls in your right hand, gently massaging them as you took him down slowly, focusing your tongue along the underside of his cock. His thighs trembled, muscles clenching.
“Fuck,” he whined. “Sweetheart, I- I’m so close, I’m so close. Wanna be inside you. Please.”
You lifted off of him with a pop, his cock twitching weakly as it was left wanting. Your lips were shining, wet with saliva. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”
Johnny laughed breathlessly and reached for you, pulling you on top of him and drawing a giggle from your lips. Your naked body landed on top of his, your chests pressed together as he tangled his hand in the back of your hair and dragged you down into a playful kiss.
Your lips moved together like they had always known one another. You straddled Johnny’s waist, legs on either side of his hips as you kissed him. His free hand rubbed down the smooth skin of your back and gripped your ass, making you gasp into the kiss. He chuckled.
“You’re perfect, y’know that?” he said quietly against your lips. He licked into your mouth, tasting a hint of the wine you’d had together, now forgotten across the room. A moan rumbled from his chest and against yours as your tongues rolled together, his cock pressed right up against what he wanted more than anything.
“You’re too sweet, Johnny,” you said as you broke the kiss and sat up. You rolled your hips experimentally, his cock dragging through your soaked folds. Johnny gasped, his hands flying to grip your hips tightly.
“Shit,” he hissed. “I can’t take it anymore. I need to fuck you right now.”
You moaned, you could feel his impressive length pressing insistently against you. He needed it bad tonight - you loved it when he got like this. Sometimes he was so needy and desperate, sometimes he was dominant and in control. Tonight was the former, and you weren’t complaining. “D’you want me to ride you, baby?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
You lifted yourself up on your knees and Johnny reached beneath you to line his cock up with your hole. His thick tip was pressed tight against you, his blue eyes looking up into yours with so much fiery lust behind them it took your breath away.
You mentally prepared yourself, then lowered, sinking down onto Johnny’s thick cock slowly. His head dropped back and he let out a loud groan - you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole Baxter Building could hear him. Johnny was never shy about letting you know how good you felt.
He rocked his hips up into you right away, feet planted on the bed and his thigh muscles working as he pumped up into you. He was so deep already, your head tossed back as you cried out.
“Johnny! Oh my god-“
He was fucking you so hard from beneath you, you forgot you were supposed to be doing the work, too lost in your own pleasure. Eventually Johnny tugged on your hips, encouraging you to move. “Ride me, sweetheart. Please.”
You rocked your hips slowly at first, grinding down against him. You rested your hands on Johnny’s chest, rolling against him, the hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit just right. It felt incredible for you, but he needed more. He grabbed your ass in each of his large hands and started guiding you up and down, lifting you before letting you fall back down onto him.
The first drop back down onto him made Johnny’s back arch, a loud moan filling the air. The muscles in his neck and shoulders were straining, his pink, kiss swollen lips parted in a pretty O. Oh, he was needy.
You set a steady pace bouncing on his cock, Johnny watching your every move with intense focus. Your tits bounced with your movements - he couldn’t decide whether he’d rather look at that or the way his cock was disappearing inside you.
“Jesus,” Johnny groaned. “God, yes, keep riding me like that. You’re so tight around me, so fucking hot and wet- oh-“
“Feels so good, Johnny,” you cried, your voice higher than usual. He guided you a little faster, needing more, needing to fuck you deeper and harder. His cock felt so good with you wrapped around him - he’d never felt anything so good. He thought he could stay there indefinitely.
He sat up, burying his face in your bouncing tits and groaning as he groped them with his large, warm hands. His thumb swiped over the nipple of one while his hot mouth wrapped around the other, making you gasp. He moaned unabashedly, deep and low and drawn out, loud enough for the whole city to hear.
He fell back against the pillows and grabbed onto your hips again, guiding you faster. He was getting close, you could tell by the way his muscles were clenching, the way he needed more more more, the way he started whining and babbling and praising you like you were some deity bestowing upon him pleasures like he’d never before experienced.
“That’s it, that’s it sweetheart, keep riding me like that, keep- keep- fuuuuck- oh god-“ He was gasping, whimpering, losing control as his orgasm crept up his spine like electricity. “Need you to cum, baby, because I’m not far off.”
“‘m close, Johnny,” you whined, falling down onto his cock over and over, your head tilted back, his tip pressing so deep inside you - it was sending you reeling. When he moved a hand from your hip to rub quick, small circles on your clit with his thumb, it nearly made you scream. The coil in your belly tightened and tightened and tightened-
Your pussy clenched around Johnny again and again as you came, which was almost his undoing. You were screaming and moaning his name and Johnny was trying to hold it together just a little bit longer, just a little more, he didn’t want it to be over yet but-
Flames crackled on his skin as he let out a roar of a moan, planting his feet and thrusting his hips up into you as hard as he could. You gasped, surprised by the actual fire flickering along his arched body - but you were too fucked out with his cockhead currently buried as deep in you as possible while he held you there, his cum dripping out of you and down the sides of his shaft.
You were both shaking hard as you came down. The flames disappeared and you were left with your normal not-flaming boyfriend, still holding onto your hips while he tried to catch his breath, his chest shining with sweat.
“Jesus,” you finally said, laughing lightly. Johnny joined you, breathless but chuckling at the situation. He helped you carefully pull off of him, more of the cum he’d given you dripping from your hole. His eyes zeroed in on it, and you thought you heard him whimper.
“That was incredible,” Johnny said. He reached for his bedside table and grabbed a water bottle sitting there, opening it and taking a long drink.
“Do you usually catch on fire when you have sex?” you teased.
“Only when it’s fucking incredible,” he said, giving you that charming Johnny Storm smirk. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “You’re incredible. I love you.”
“I love you too, Johnny.” You kissed him again. You cuddled up to his side on the bed. “Is it okay that you…y’know…” Johnny had never cum inside of you like that before. Usually you used condoms, or he pulled out.
“I can get you a morning after pill if you’re nervous,” he said quietly. “But with my powers, my DNA mutation - I’m not even sure if I can have kids. Reed and Sue have wanted them for ages and it never happened.” He shrugged sadly, still a hint of a smile on his face. “Kinda sucks, because I really wanted kids one day.”
The idea of never being able to have children with Johnny made you sad. It made your heart ache. You knew any child would be the luckiest in the world to have Johnny as their father.
“You don’t have to,” you said. “I know it's unlikely.”
Johnny kissed your temple. He knew how badly you wanted children, and he felt terrible he couldn’t give them to you. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said simply again. “I’m always gonna take care of you.”
“I love you too, Johnny.” You nuzzled into his neck, slumber catching up to your aching body. “I’m gonna take care of you, too.”
He chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath your head. He stroked your hair as you laid together and held you close.
“You are everything to me.”
“I can’t believe she’s having a baby,” Johnny laughed as you closed the door to your bedroom, still wrapping his mind around the news of his sister being pregnant. He was thrilled, that much was clear. Sue was happy, he was happy - he knew Reed would take good care of both of them. That wasn’t even a concern. They’d wanted a baby for so long. He shook his head with a smile, running a hand through his blonde hair.
“Yeah,” you said, trying to muster up as much enthusiasm in your voice as you could. “It’s really exciting!”
The truth was, your stomach was buzzing with nerves. You were beyond happy for her, but Sue announcing a pregnancy was the last thing you expected tonight -
You had been planning an announcement for Johnny yourself.
Now, you weren’t sure what to do. You didn’t want to take over Sue and Reed’s baby news, especially with how long they’d been waiting for this. And sure, Johnny was over the moon about becoming an uncle - but how would he feel about becoming a dad? Right now?
Johnny gave you a strange look as he sat on the end of the bed, removing his shoes. “You okay? You seem…weird.”
“I’m fine!” you exclaimed, maybe with a little too much energy. “Seriously, I’m fine. It was just…a big evening.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But…something’s off. Are you not happy?”
“No!” you blurted too quickly. “I mean, yes, I am. It’s not that, I swear.”
You had begun to pace, fingers tangled together. Johnny was properly concerned now, leaning on his knees as he watched you. When he couldn’t take it anymore he reached out, grabbing your hand and stopping you. “Sweetheart. What’s bothering you? You know you can tell me anything.”
Unable to keep pacing with your hand in his, you felt like the news was going to burst out without your permission. “It’s nothing, Johnny, I promise.”
He pulled you down onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. “What, do you want a baby now that it’s on the table?” he asked, his tone teasing. Your stomach clenched in a knot, your skin like ice.
“What?” you asked, your laugh too high, too awkward to be casual. “What are you talking about?”
“Did my sister’s announcement give you baby fever?” he teased you even more, oblivious to your internal panic. “We’ll have one one day, baby. I wanna get married first, wait until things feel…right.”
That made you feel even worse. Would he not want the baby now? The way he’s talking now makes it sound like he doesn’t want one. But you were pregnant. It was happening whether it was the right time or not.
You felt tears brimming in your eyes. Your gaze was locked on the floor, avoiding Johnny entirely. When you didn’t laugh or joke back, he moved to look at your face better, seeing your wet eyes and trembling lower lip.
“Jesus, baby, what’s going on?” he asked, placing his hands on either side of your face. “I was just messing around. What’s bothering you so much?”
Your hormones were really getting to you. You weren’t much of a crier, not usually, which was what had Johnny extra freaked out as you sobbed in his lap. He rubbed your arms up and down soothingly, his warmth transferring to you. “Baby, please. Just tell me what’s wrong so I can help. I hate seeing you like this and feeling helpless.”
You shook your head. “I can’t. I…I can’t.”
“You can’t what?” The longer you went without just telling Johnny what was wrong, the worse his panic got. “Sweetheart, please. Just tell me, you- you can tell me anything, you know that.”
“I just…” you sniffled, wiping at your eyes. Johnny wiped a stray tear away with his thumb. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”
“How you wanted what to go?” He was so lost. “Baby, please, just tell me. I’m so confused. You know I’m not good at…figuring feelings out. If I did something wrong, please just tell me.”
You shook your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Johnny.” You met his blue eyes, your own red and puffy. It broke his heart. “I just…I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot going on.”
“Like what?” he asked. “Let me help. Please. You don’t have to do anything alone.” He squeezed your hip. “I’m your family. We’re your family now.”
A deep breath. You had to tell him. And he knew enough now to be scared - it had to be now. “Johnny…”
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he said. He was looking right into your eyes, you were surprised he couldn’t read your thoughts straight out of your head. Those eyes were so intense, they could have fooled you. “Let me in.”
“I…” He squeezed your hands in his. You took comfort in his touch. “Johnny, I’m pregnant.”
It was like time stopped. Neither of you moved an inch - or even breathed. Johnny just kept staring at you as if you hadn’t said anything. Then, finally - “Are you serious?”
You nodded. You were terrified as you watched him, waiting for his reaction. He looked like he was processing the words, like they hadn’t fully set in yet. Then-
“Really? A little Storm baby? Right now?” he grinned - but his mouth dropped when something else occurred to him. “And they’ll have a built-in best friend!”
“You’re happy?” you asked. Relief flooded your veins, but you were still shaking from the anxiety. “You want this?”
“What do you- of course I want this,” he said, laughing like he couldn’t believe what you’d said. He rubbed your upper arms, warming your entire body. “Who cares if we’re not married yet? This is the best news. We’ve gotta tell everyone right now.”
“Hold on,” you said, laughing lightly. Johnny had surprised you - he looked ecstatic. You had been worried for nothing. “Sue just announced, I don’t want to take away from her moment. They tried for a long time.”
Johnny considered your words. “She’s going to be happy for us,” he said.
“I know she will be.” His blue eyes were shining, the excitement physically visible in them. “But this is her moment. I don’t want to take that away from her and Reed.”
Despite your words, he still couldn’t wipe the huge grin off his face - he was happy enough at the idea of becoming an uncle, but a father too? This was one of the best days of his life. “Okay. We’ll wait. But this is the best. Who could have predicted me and my sister having babies at the exact same time?”
“It is pretty crazy,” you said, your voice nervous. You were still wrapping your mind around the situation yourself. You’d only known for two days, and had spent those worrying yourself sick over Johnny’s reaction. You had finally worked up the courage, but the news of Sue’s pregnancy coming out at Sunday dinner was the last thing you expected.
You knew that, eventually, this would be amazing. Two cousins so close to the same age were bound to be close. But you worried about how Sue and Reed would feel. Would they be hurt? Would they resent you and Johnny for getting pregnant so easily? By accident?
The anxiety made you sick. Even when you changed into your pajamas and climbed into bed with Johnny, your boyfriend spooning against your back with his hand already resting protectively on your stomach - you worried. Johnny snored softly in your ear and you thought about how you might have just ruined everything in your new family.
It was two weeks after telling Johnny about the pregnancy, and Sunday dinner had once again rolled around. You were content to keep the secret for a while longer still, but Johnny was driving you crazy about it. Every day he asked when you could announce, every day he begged you to say yes.
You’d finally agreed. Now Johnny was practically bouncing off the walls, excited for dinner. He was dressed handsomely, a button down shirt with dark blue pants. You had been suffering from the worst morning sickness the past week, and only had the energy to dress in an oversized t-shirt and leggings.
He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as you ate, and the others definitely noticed, looking at him strangely. Finally, as dinner was wrapping up, Sue spoke up.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” she asked her younger brother as she helped gather dirty plates, Johnny trailing behind her with more dishes. “You look like you have some good news.”
Johnny beamed at you - you mustered up a half hearted smile in return, but in reality your heart was beating out of your chest, your throat felt like it was closing. You’d hardly said a word all evening and didn’t have much of an appetite, most of your plate untouched. With the moment now here, you thought the little you had eaten might make a reappearance.
“I do, actually,” Johnny said, grabbing the box of Lucky Charms off the counter despite having just eaten. He grabbed some and popped them in his mouth.
Sue, Reed, and Ben looked at him with more concern than anything, exchanging a look with their eyebrows drawn together. That made you even more sick.
“What is it?” Reed asked. Johnny had everyone’s full attention now.
“Well,” he said, trying somewhat to contain his face-splitting smile. He sat the box down and walked back to where you sat, standing behind you. He placed his hands on the back of your chair. “We have something exciting to tell you guys.” He glanced down at you, then back at his family. “We’re having a baby.”
It was so silent, only the soft whirrs of Herbie as he bustled around filled the air. Reed and Ben looked at Sue - it was tense. Johnny’s smile began to falter.
“Wow,” she finally said, and it was obvious that was the last thing they expected Johnny to say. Her face was stone, and you felt your heart actually crack when you noticed her eyes becoming glassy. “That’s…wow.”
Reed reached over and took his wife’s hand, looking at her like he wanted to read her mind. She was unreadable, however.
You looked up at Johnny. He looked back down at you, the sudden understanding of your concerns now all over his face. He looked back at his sister, eyes darting to Ben and Reed before meeting hers again. “Are you…upset?”
“No!” she said quickly. “No. I’m not upset. It’s just…you know, it’s a lot.” She smiled, although it seemed a little forced. She let go of Reed’s hand and stood, approaching her brother and wrapping him in a tight hug.
Johnny glanced at you, but hugged her back. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked her quietly.
“Of course I’m okay,” she said. “I just…Johnny, I can’t believe it.” They parted and she looked at each person in the room. “What are the odds, huh?”
“A little reckless maybe, don’t you think?”
You all looked at Reed. He wasn’t smiling. The look on his face was completely unamused, serious. “Was it an accident?”
No one said anything. The question hung in the air, although each person there already knew the answer.
“Why does that matter?” Johnny finally asked.
“Have you even thought of the repercussions? The potential consequences? Dangers?” Reed asked. He gestured to you, towards your belly, and you covered it with your arms. “The child’s father has cosmically compromised DNA. You have powers, and she doesn’t. Have you thought of what might happen to her carrying your child?”
Silence. Neither you nor Johnny had even considered that. Johnny looked down at you with something a little like panic in his eyes.
“That- what do you mean?” he stuttered. “Could something happen to her?”
“We don’t know what could happen,” Reed said. “That’s why you were reckless.”
“We just don’t know if we’re going to have a fire baby to worry about,” Ben said lightly. The idea made you cringe.
“You don’t know what’s going to happen with two parents with powers, either,” Johnny said. “This is new territory for all of us.”
“I know,” Reed said. “I’ve been developing a device to scan the baby and check for abnormalities.” He nodded to Sue, then you. “I can check them both.”
Johnny looked at you. The sweat on your brow and the trembling in your hands were immediately noticeable - you were scared shitless. He crouched down next to your chair, speaking quietly for you only. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Could something really happen?” you asked him. “To the baby? To me?”
His mouth opened to tell you no, of course not. You’re safe. I would never let anything happen to either of you. But the truth was that he had no idea - no one did. And if something bad did happen, he thought, it would be his fault. He did this to you.
“I don’t know, baby,” he said. “But I can promise you I will do everything in my power to keep you both safe. And Reed is gonna make sure there’s nothing going on while that little Storm’s brewing.” A goofy grin took over his face as he placed a hand on your belly.
“Oh, come on,” Ben groaned, unamused by the pun.
Johnny stood. “Whatever you have to do to make sure she’s going to be okay,” he said to Reed, “that they’re both going to be okay- do it. I can’t lose-“ He stopped, taking a deep breath. “I can’t let anything happen to her.”
“Getting this machine built is my top priority,” Reed said. “I promise you, I’m going to do everything I can for both of them.”
You were relieved when everyone started returning to their rooms. You were exhausted, still felt sick, and were now stressed beyond belief. Johnny gave Herbie a scratch on the head - “Night, Herbert.” - to which he beeped contentedly.
As you were about to leave with Johnny, Sue stopped you. She hurried over, but once she reached you, she wasn’t sure what to say. Eventually, she smiled at you apologetically, grabbing your upper arms and running her hands down until they rested on your elbows.
She said your name, then looked at Johnny, giving him a look that said Some privacy, please? Johnny held his hands up, backing away.
Sue’s attention now fully on you, you felt nervous once again. You’d always liked Sue - you and Johnny had been dating a year now, and she had been nothing but kind to you since you’d known her. But this was a different circumstance entirely.
“I wanted to tell you congratulations,” she said. “And apologize for the way I reacted when you told us the news. It just- it shocked me. It was a shock. Reed and I- well, you know.” She smiled softly. “But I really am happy for you and Johnny. He’s going to be a great dad. I should have told him so.”
Warmth spread through your veins, comfort - like a hug from Johnny himself. Relief. “You don’t have to apologize,” you assured her. “I understand how you felt. I’m sorry we kind of…made you share the most important event of your life.” You grimaced - you felt horrible about it, even though you hadn’t in any way meant to get pregnant.
“I don’t mind sharing with you and my baby brother,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ve shared a lot with him over the years.”
You laughed lightly. “Thank you, Sue. And I am really, really happy for you. I know you’ve wanted a baby for a long time.”
“Thank you.” She pulled you into a tight hug. “You’re going to be an incredible mother.”
With the news out amongst the family and your bumps becoming increasingly difficult to hide, it was time to come out and tell the press. You announced with a spread on a magazine cover, the Four with two empty baby seats.
The public debated whether you and Sue would have boys or girls. Most seemed to think you were both having boys, but whatever the stance, everyone was passionate about theirs. There were articles, polls, bets being exchanged.
“The countdown continues as the Fantastic Four prepare to welcome two new members to the family,” the reporters were saying. “Preparations inside the Baxter Building are well underway!”
And they were. Herbie was busy baby proofing the entire building, flitting around and making sure everything was safe for the new arrivals. He was just as excited as the rest of you. He put plug covers in all the sockets, moved sharp objects out of the way, installed locks on the cabinets, placed baby gates - much to Ben’s annoyance.
“The question on everyone’s mind is - will the babies be born with superpowers?”
It was true - everyone wondered. Even you. Even Johnny.
You thought back to Ben’s joke. What if you really did have a little fire baby to worry about? The idea of your child bursting into flames terrified you - it was still weird enough when Johnny did it.
The public wasn’t quite as nice to you as they were to Sue and Reed. Between a married couple who had been hoping for a baby for years, and a couple who had been dating for a year and got pregnant by accident - yeah, it wasn’t hard to imagine who they favored. As if it were a competition and not your family.
Gossip magazines had a lot to say about you in particular. Johnny was beloved, but you? You were just some girl who came out of nowhere, took the world’s most eligible bachelor off the market, then overshadowed the pregnancy of everyone’s favorite family.
There was a lot said about your intentions, like that you were only with Johnny for money and fame. They speculated that Sue secretly hated you. They implied you had trapped him with this pregnancy. How could the public be so happy for Johnny while being so cruel to you?
Johnny always told you to ignore it, that it wasn’t worth even keeping up with what those people were saying. But that was impossible for you - it’s like you had to know. Every time you passed a gossip mag at the store, you had to read the cover. You couldn’t help it.
“Those people don’t know anything,” Johnny would say. “Seriously. They have nothing better to do but make up fake drama. It’s sad. Please don’t pay attention to them, sweetheart.” A lopsided grin. “You’re my future wife. The love of my life. The mother of my child. No one is going to change that.”
You got to where you didn’t even want to leave the building anymore because you’d be followed by reporters. You were already struggling enough with the way your body was beginning to change, the last thing you needed was an unflattering photo of yourself ending up on the cover of another magazine, speculating if you’re having twins based on the size of your bump.
Johnny hated to see you isolate yourself. He was constantly trying to convince you to leave the building, to at least go on a walk with him. You’d agree some of the time, but not as often as he’d like.
“You and the baby need fresh air,” he’d plead. “It’s not good to stay cooped up in here all day.”
You would be cuddled in bed like a burrito at 2pm. “I just don’t feel up to it, Johnny.”
Johnny frowned. “It hurts to see you like this,” he said softly. “You’re depressed, sweetheart. I hate that these people are getting to you. It makes me so…” He looked away from you, flames combusting on his skin. You jumped - it was still so strange.
“Sorry,” he said, the flames disappearing. He smiled sheepishly at you. “It’s just…I wish I could do something. I wish I could do more. I’m not used to feeling helpless.” He rubbed his hand over your back, and you let out a deep sigh. “Just want my girl to be happy and safe.”
The gossip slowed down eventually as your pregnancy progressed, much to your relief. Despite the way they’d treated you, the public was absolutely beside themselves at the thought of Johnny and Sue both having babies. You were even asked to do a photo shoot with her for a magazine - that was completely out of your depth, but you’d done it.
You felt so small standing next to Sue Storm. Like, who cares about me?
Your family did, and they showed you that every day. Before long, you were feeling more like yourself again, walking around in public with your bump proudly visible, hand on it protectively. The public warmed up to you. You were really becoming a part of the family - in everyone’s eyes.
“Can I carry that for you, sweetheart?”
You turned, seeing Johnny jogging up to you. He reached for the laundry basket in your hands.
“Oh, sure,” you said, handing it off to him. He grinned - he always did have the most charming smile. It made your stomach fill with butterflies, just like the first time you’d seen him in person.
He followed you back to the bedroom with the basket, placing it down on the bed. He lifted a shirt from the top of the pile and began folding it.
“Babe, you don’t have to do that,” you said, placing your hand on his arm. He turned to look at you, those blue eyes so close to your own, it nearly took your breath away.
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I don’t want you to have to do it. You should rest. You’ve still been so sick.”
“That’s sweet, Johnny, but no, seriously. Herbie usually does it.”
Johnny stopped, his cheeks tinged pink. “Oh. Yeah. That’s right, isn’t it?”
You giggled. “What’s gotten into you?”
Johnny sat on the bed, reaching for your hand and pulling you down to sit on his lap. His hand settled on your four months pregnant belly. “Nothing,” he said. “I just wanna take good care of my girl. You know there’s two things I love-“
“Yeah, yeah, Johnny loves space, Johnny loves women,” you teased. Johnny chuckled.
“Johnny loves you,” he said. “He loves his girl,” he rubbed his hand across your small bump, “and he loves whoever this one is going to grow to be.”
“Will this tell us if everything’s okay?” you asked, standing nervously in Reed’s lab. Sue stood to the side, there for moral support - they were all concerned about you especially.
“It should,” Reed said. “I’ve developed and tested it extensively, and ran some tests on Sue just this morning.” He looked at his wife. “It did not detect any anomalies.”
That was a relief - but it didn’t mean you would have the same result.
You wished Johnny was there. But he was busy, and he had been bugging Reed about the new space suits so relentlessly, you know he certainly didn’t miss him.
“Everything is going to be fine,” Sue said softly, sitting her hand on your shoulder. “It’s quick and painless.”
You nodded. You were scared, but you would also do absolutely anything this baby needed. You laid down on the cool table. There was nothing visibly interesting about it - it was a flat white table with a piece that arced over your stomach.
Sue stood by as Reed worked the machine. It emitted a bright light, scanning over your stomach. The machine began printing all kinds of…graphs and measurements. You had no idea what you were looking at. You often felt a little inadequate in a family full of geniuses. You were just…you. No powers, no fancy degree. Never been to space. Just a girl who’s boyfriend/baby daddy flies and occasionally combusts.
Reed and Sue both examined the results that were printing rapidly. Reed wrote some things down, while Sue pointed over his shoulder, saying some things too quietly for you to hear. It made you nervous.
They still hadn’t told you anything when Reed shut the machine off. You looked at both of them. “So? Is the baby…is everything okay?”
They exchanged a look. “There’s…some kind of anomaly,” Reed said carefully. Your body went cold. “I don’t know what it is. I’m going to have to do more tests, but for now, I need you to relax. I don’t see anything that has me immediately concerned.”
“But you just said-“
“I know.” He looked at you seriously, Sue hovering behind him. “Just because there’s some kind of anomaly doesn’t mean it’s necessarily…bad. The baby’s father is an anomaly himself.” He smiled in a way that felt like he was trying to comfort you. “I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to keep running tests.”
Your mind was spinning for the rest of the day. When you saw Johnny that evening, his brow immediately creased, knowing something was on your mind right away. “What’s going on? You look…bothered,” he asked as he ate Lucky Charms straight from the box. You hadn’t even had dinner yet.
“It’s just…” you sighed. “Reed said he found some kind of anomaly on the test.”
His concern visibly deepened. “What kind of anomaly?”
“I don’t know,” you said. “That’s all he said. That there was an anomaly but not to worry about it because he’s going to run more tests.”
Johnny looked lost deep in his own head. His brow was furrowed as his mind filled with a million thoughts you’d never understand. Suddenly, he stood. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” you asked him - he was already at the door.
“To the lab,” he said simply.
And he was gone.
“What do you mean there are anomalies?” Johnny asked his brother in law as he stormed into the lab. Reed turned from the chalkboard, only mildly surprised. “What does that mean? What kind of anomalies?”
Reed sat his chalk down. “Hi, Johnny. Good to see you.”
Johnny looked at the machine as he passed it, his hand rubbing over the top of it. He picked up a long strip of paper with your results on it, but he wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking at. He looked back at Reed. “What kind of anomalies?” he asked again. “Reed, be straight with me.”
Reed sighed. “I don’t think it’s anything too serious. I want to start with that,” he said. “But there’s something…off. I need to do more tests, that’s the truth. I don’t have any concrete answers for you. I’m sorry.”
Johnny shook his head. “What about Sue?”
“I haven’t detected anything from Sue.”
“So it’s just my child,” he said bitterly. “Two parents with two different powers are fine, but my powers alone are enough to mess things up?”
“We don’t know that anything’s messed up,” Reed explained patiently. “I need you to calm down, Johnny. There’s no reason to panic right now.”
“Right now?” he said. “So I panic later?”
“That’s usually how it goes,” Reed joked - but Johnny was unamused. “Look. If I find something that seriously concerns me, you two will be the first to hear it. I promise. For now, I need you to trust me.”
Johnny hated feeling helpless. Even now, he wasn’t angry - he was scared. Terrified. But what could he do besides trust his brother?
“Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll try.”
Reed clapped him on the shoulder. “Fatherhood is terrifying,” he said. “Super powers or not. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. Worrying about your family is normal. I know you love them both.”
“More than anything,” Johnny said quietly. “I love them so much it…” He rubbed his chest. “God, it hurts.”
A knowing smile crossed Reed’s face - because he knew the exact feeling.
“Shit,” Johnny hissed, sucking his pinched finger into his mouth. “Baby, can you hand me the screwdriver?”
You leaned over, hand on your swollen belly as you grabbed the screwdriver from the floor with great effort. You were huffing by the time you handed the tool to your boyfriend, and he turned around, giving you a winning smile.
“We could have let Herbie do this, you know,” you said. “That’s what Reed did.”
Johnny waved you off. “I’m going to put my own child’s crib together myself.” He nodded towards the rocking chair in the corner. “You should sit down.”
He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your feet were killing you. You waddled over to the glider, sitting down carefully. Your feet up on the foot stool, you watched Johnny building the baby furniture.
“Only a couple months left,” Johnny mused. “Getting close.”
“Yep,” you agreed. You looked down at your round bump as you rubbed your hand over it affectionately. “Are you coming with me to the lab after this for Reed’s test?”
“Of course,” he said instantly. “I feel bad I haven’t made the others.”
The thought filled you with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. It was still such an abstract thought, the baby in your belly. You knew they were real, and they were growing and healthy - you could feel them most of the time, sticking an arm against your spine or kicking you so hard in the bladder you had to run - it was a comfort, although uncomfortable.
“Are you nervous?” you asked him. He screwed in the leg of the crib and turned back to face you.
“To have the baby?” he questioned. “Honestly? Yeah. I’m scared out of my mind. But I’m excited.” His blue eyes glittered with it. He was practically buzzing out of his skin - you were surprised his hair wasn’t on fire.
“I hope they look like you,” you said lightly, your fingers dancing over the bump ever so gently, lost in the cloud of your thoughts.
“Me?” He gave the railing of the crib a shake, making sure the finished thing was sturdy before he looked at you again. “Why?”
You looked at him like he was dumb. “Have you seen yourself?”
Johnny’s cheeks tinted pink. “Okay, Ms. Flaming Hearts Club,” he teased. “Were you the one who kept sending me those filthy love poems with the lipstick prints?”
“You caught me,” you grinned.
Johnny shook his head, laughing. Unfortunately, you remembered those poems from his mystery admirer vividly. They were far from family friendly.
He stood, moving to a box next to the completed crib. He opened it and started pulling out space themed decorations - a mobile of the planets, glow in the dark stars, a blanket printed with constellations. You stood with some effort and joined Johnny by the side of the crib.
He lifted the mobile, installing it above the crib. You watched him work quietly - he was careful and precise. When it was hung perfectly, he smiled down at you.
“It’s coming together,” you said. Almost all the baby prep tasks had been completed - the Baxter Building was completely prepared for the two newest members.
Johnny looked a little pale. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Almost time.” He was quiet. He rested both hands on your bump, now large and very much in the way. His thumbs rubbed over it while he looked down with all the affection in the world on his face.
“I hope they don’t have powers.”
The statement caught you off guard. Johnny had never said anything like that before, and you had just assumed he’d want the baby to be like him. But now his words told a different story, one coming from a place of love - and anxiety.
“Why?” you asked softly. You got the vibe it was a sensitive subject for him.
“I just…” he sighed. “I want them to have a normal life. Having powers…it comes with an expectation, a responsibility. I didn’t ask to have powers. It just happened to me.” You were quiet. You hadn’t known Johnny before the accident, and he had never talked about it. You let him continue.
“I don’t want their life decided for them like that,” he went on. “I want them to be able to do and be whatever they want to be. Not born in a Fantastic Four suit.” He smiled crookedly. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“I can understand that,” you said. The baby moved beneath Johnny’s hand, giving him a strong kick. He smiled. “I just want them to be healthy and happy. And if you think having powers would prevent that, then I agree with you.”
“I do think that,” he said, quiet. You wondered if he had thoughts about his own powers he’d never spoken aloud. “I want them to have a good life. An easy life.”
He gazed into your eyes, like he was reading you from the inside. His hand came to rest on your cheek. “You’re going to be the best mom, you know,” he said, so quietly. “I know we didn’t mean for this to happen right now…” He traced his thumb over your bottom lip, and you let out a short gasp. “But there is no one I’d rather be having a baby with. This baby is going to be so lucky to have you.”
Herbie hurried in at that moment with a basket of freshly washed and folded baby clothes, saying a little “Hello,” as he sat the basket down and began putting the clothes away. Johnny scratched the robot on the top of the head.
“Thanks, Herbert, you’re a lifesaver,” he said. Herbie happily beeped in response.
“Ready?” Johnny asked you as Herbie continued his work, hand on your lower back. “Let’s go check on this baby.”
Laying on the table in Reed’s lab once again, the machine doing its job, you watched Johnny’s anxiety manifest by being as annoying to Reed as possible.
“So is this test gonna give us answers this time or what?” he asked, pacing next to where you laid. He was giving you anxiety with the way he wouldn’t stay still. Reed was trying to ignore him, Sue standing and reading the results over her husband’s shoulder.
“It should tell us more, yes,” Reed said, distracted, but he’d already been over this. He was being remarkably patient with him. But the longer he focused on the endless graphs and lines, the more nervous you and Johnny became.
Reed gripped the paper in his hands, staring at it intently. He was reading quickly, clearly thinking a thousand miles a minute. The look on his face made you nauseous - he was concentrating, and if something was going on to make Reed act like this, it was something.
“…What is it?” Johnny asked, his heart beating uncomfortably hard. “Just tell me. Is something wrong?”
“It…” Reed stopped himself, looking back over the paper. Johnny stopped next to you, and you reached for each others’ hand. “It appears as if their DNA has also been…altered,” Reed mumbled.
Quiet. “What do you mean?” Johnny asked, his voice dead serious. Not a hint of his usual goofy personality.
Reed looked up at Johnny - then at Sue, back to his paper, to you, and finally Johnny again, who was waiting. “They’ve inherited the father’s mutated DNA. They have the X-gene.”
Johnny’s eyes went wide. You looked at everyone, but no one was explaining anything. “What does that mean?” you asked, anxiety rising in your voice. Reed was about to answer, but Johnny wasn’t even looking at you.
“So - a mutant,” Johnny said.
Another exchange of looks between Reed and Sue. “By definition…yes.”
“A mutant?” you asked, sitting up on your elbows. “What does that mean? Will they be-“ You didn’t even know what you were asking. You didn’t know what any of this meant, if it was bad news or not.
“It means they will develop powers at some point in their life,” Sue explained. “They have the X-gene exclusive to mutants.”
The information sent your head spinning. Your child would have powers after all. You hadn’t thought news like that would have upset you, but after your conversation with Johnny, you saw things a different way.
Speaking of Johnny, you looked up at your boyfriend, who was still staring at Reed, his face hard as stone. “They have powers.”
“They will,” Reed confirmed. “I don’t know when they’ll appear, or what they’ll be, but…”
Johnny abruptly pulled a chair out, sinking into it. You didn’t notice how he was shaking until he was sitting next to you, his hands intertwined in front of his mouth. He was thinking.
“It’s nothing to panic about,” Reed said. “We’ve been living with these powers for years now, and I will be performing further testing-“
“I just didn’t want this,” Johnny said simply. His words echoed through the room in the silence.
Reed closed his mouth, going back to the results, giving Johnny time. You didn’t know what to say either - was there anything you could say to make anything better? You didn’t think so. Not right now.
It was Sue who stepped forward, her left hand resting on her baby brother’s back and her right on her stomach. Johnny looked at her, and it was like they were communicating something to each other by nothing but their eyes.
“Would it make you feel better if you could see the baby?” she asked him gently.
Your lips parted in surprise - she could make that happen? - but Johnny looked up at his sister like she’d just uttered the secret to the universe. “You’ll do that for us?”
“Of course I will,” she said. She was looking at Johnny with so much love, it made your chest feel warm. They both turned to look at you. “Would you want that?”
It took you a minute to catch up to the conversation. “What? To…see the baby?”
Sue and Johnny nodded.
“Will it…hurt?”
Johnny chuckled. “No, sweetheart. I promise it won’t.”
You laid back down on the table, your head slightly inclined. Reed and Sue moved in close on your left side, while Johnny was on your right. You didn’t know what to expect.
Carefully, Sue laid her hand against the bottom of your belly, yours resting on top. It was just a minute of anticipatory silence, and then - your body, your stomach, became invisible, revealing the baby curled snugly inside.
“Oh my god-“
The choked words, like holding back a sob, were the first thing you heard. Johnny had covered his mouth with his hand, his blue eyes wet and shining in the light of the lab. His forehead was creased, and his eyes were locked on your stomach - at the baby inside. He looked like he was about 2 seconds away from losing it.
You were right there with him. There really was a baby in there - the thoughts you’d had the past months about not being able to wrap your mind around it were out the window with the vision in front of you. That was your child. The baby’s head was pressed right against where your hand rested. They were curled up in a little ball, eyes closed. Their nose reminded you of Johnny’s. Your heart was beating out of control, and you hadn’t even noticed the tears that had spilled down your face.
Reed and Sue let the two of you take your time. Sue cradled your belly like it was the most precious thing as she used her powers on you for the first time. She was the baby’s aunt, and she had so much love for them already, it was clear in her expression.
You looked at Johnny again. He was looking at your stomach with absolute awe - you wished you could hear what he was thinking. Slowly, like he was scared, he reached out and gently laid his palm on your stomach.
“See?” Sue said “There’s nothing wrong. Nothing to worry about.” She rubbed your stomach affectionately. “She’s perfect.”
“She,” Johnny repeated, his voice a mere whisper. You hadn’t even caught that yourself, hadn’t been able to think any deeper than seeing your child finally in front of your eyes. “She.”
It hadn’t even occurred to you that with seeing your baby, you’d be finding out what you were having. That wasn’t just the baby - that was your daughter. You were lost in your own thoughts when you heard a voice next to you that surprised you.
“Hey,” Johnny said quietly. He and his daughter might as well have been the only ones in the room. “Hey, baby girl. It’s your daddy.”
Reed and a teary-eyed Sue exchanged a look.
“I can’t wait to meet you,” Johnny continued. “You have the coolest family ever. You’re going to be the coolest person ever. And…” he was quiet for a moment. “And I’m going to teach you everything I know. One day, you’ll see space, too.”
Before you could completely burst into tears, Johnny turned to look you in the eyes. There was so much unspoken between you, it felt like something tangible taking up space and air. He surged forwards and kissed you, then pressed your foreheads together.
“I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love the both of you.”
At eight months pregnant now, you were starting to really be over the whole thing. You were aching, swollen, tired, and irritable, and it felt like Sue was handling pregnancy with a lot more grace than you were.
Not only did she come across as significantly less miserable - usually dressed nicely with her hair and makeup done while you could barely handle getting out of bed and throwing some sweatpants on - she was also just lucky. She didn’t have the crippling morning (all day) sickness like you did, and her bump was small and cute, nothing like how huge you were. You knew every pregnancy was different, but it seemed a little unfair.
Johnny had been doing everything in his power to cheer you up. He took care of you, rubbed your back and feet, put lotion on your belly, and kept you company when you were too miserable to leave the building. However your pregnancy hormones were raging, and he often got snapped at - followed by a tearful apology.
He never minded.
You were looking for him now, waddling throughout the house with a hand on your stomach for support. Something you hadn’t been prepared for was your sense of gravity being thrown off - that was strange.
He wasn’t in the kitchen, and you had just left Reed’s lab after another scan - nothing new to report. Baby girl was totally healthy and not throwing you any more shocks. She was getting so big - she’d be there before you knew it.
You huffed as you dragged yourself up the stairs, getting plenty of use out of the handrail. By the time you reached the top you were breathing heavily, having to take a minute to lean against the wall at the top and catch your breath. Finally, you made your way to the bedroom.
There he was.
Johnny stood across the room at the window. His back was to you, so you didn’t even know if he knew you were there. He was staring out, the longing nearly radiating off his body. He was looking at the spaceship.
You walked up behind him, your feet sliding against the plush carpet. He didn’t turn, which was odd - you weren’t trying to be quiet. He only got like this when he had a lot on his mind.
And he did have a lot on his mind. Now that the due date was getting closer and closer, he knew he was running out of time to be ready to be a father. This baby girl was coming whether he liked it or not. The Baxter Building would be a much different place when the babies arrived.
He thought to his own parents. After the death of his mother, his dad had tried his best with Sue and Johnny, but he saw how hard it was for him. Being a parent isn’t easy at all, and now he was about to become one. Very soon.
The thought of the baby being here filled him with an overwhelming anxiety. What if he didn’t know the first thing about being a dad? What if he was an awful one? What if he screwed his kid up? What if he got killed on a mission and left you both on your own? What if-
“Do you miss it?” you asked.
Johnny startled, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts, but he smiled when his eyes landed on you. “Space?” he asked, looking back out the window. “God, yes.”
He gestured you over, putting an arm around you. You looked out the window with him - the ship was a sight. It was massive, and it was in your backyard. Johnny looked at it often. It was his favorite part of this room.
“I always loved space,” he said. “It’s like nothing else. The most beautiful thing you’ll ever see in your life.” He looked back down at you, giving you a wink. “Well, one of them.”
You scoffed a laugh, and Johnny squeezed your shoulder. “Do you think you’ll go back one day?”
“Absolutely,” Johnny answered right away. “If I thought I would never see space again…I don’t know what I’d do.”
Space had been his first love. You had to respect it.
“Are you okay?” you asked him. “You just seem like you have a lot on your mind.”
Johnny didn’t say anything at first. You weren’t sure if he was going to answer you, but finally he sighed deeply and his lips parted, as if he was about to speak but lost the words.
“I’m okay,” he said. “We’re just, y’know, about to take a big step together. We’re about to be thrown into something we know absolutely nothing about. And it’s scary.” He chuckled lightly. “It scares me.”
“It scares me too,” you admitted. “But I know you’re going to be the greatest dad. Do you know how cool she’s going to be at school? Her dad is the Human Torch.”
Johnny laughed at that. The thing is, you weren’t wrong. These babies were being born into a family of celebrities - being born into celebrities themselves. His smile faded a little as he thought of that.
“I just…” He sighed as he thought. “I wanted her to be her own person.”
You leaned your head on his shoulder. “She will be,” you promised him. “Her life isn’t over just because she’s going to have powers. And who’s to say if she didn’t have them, she wouldn’t wish she did?”
Johnny hasn’t considered that. “I guess that’s true.”
“The point is,” you said, “everything about parenthood is…uncertain. We don’t know who she’ll be or what she’ll be like or who she’ll grow into. But I know she’s going to love her daddy with her whole heart.” Johnny’s cheeks flushed at the title - he still wasn’t used to it yet. “She’s going to be strong and, more than anything, loved.”
He nodded, and you thought you saw him sneakily wiping his eyes. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m doing what I said I didn’t want to happen. I’m deciding what she wants for her.” He scoffed lightly. “Is it always going to be this hard?”
“Harder, I think,” you said jokingly - but it was the truth. Parenthood would only get more and more challenging. “Who knows. Maybe one day she’ll be on that ship with you.”
Another thought that Johnny hadn’t even allowed himself to consider. But with the idea in his head, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. “That would be…”
“Your dream?” you teased. “She’ll probably end up a genius like the rest of her family and leave me the only normal boring human.”
Johnny turned to you swiftly, placing his hands on either side of your face. “Don’t talk about yourself like you’re nothing special,” he said firmly. “Because that’s not true. You are smart. You don’t have to be a damn scientist or astronaut for me to think you’re one of the smartest people I’ve met.”
You looked at him skeptically, your eyebrows raised. “You know how many scientists, engineers, and physicists you know?”
He smiled. “That doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean they’re smart.”
“Kinda does.”
“You’re missing the point.” He kissed your forehead. “I don’t want to hear you talking like you’re nobody. That couldn’t be less true. You’re everything.”
You looked down. “It’s just hard not to feel useless in a house full of superheroes and a very productive and cute robot.”
“Well, I can say for certain that you’re cuter,” he said. You giggled as he leaned in abruptly and kissed your cheek, his fingers tickling your sides. You laughed, fighting him off, pushing him away as he only pulled you closer. He covered your face in kisses when he finally caught you.
“I love you,” he said. “God, I love you. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. I can’t believe you’re mine.”
Later that day, you were in the kitchen with the family. Herbie carved a pumpkin, Ben was working on a meringue, and you were helping Sue set the table.
You looked up as Johnny stormed in, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms. He was clearly in a bad mood.
“Hey,” Ben greeted him, before noticing his demeanor. “Why the long face? Your 2:15 with Reed didn’t go well?” Johnny said nothing, which was answer enough. “I’m sorry, pal.”
“Hey, I’m fine, you know, I don’t mind. It’s just that-“
“We’ll go to space again,” Ben said.
“Yeah, we will.” Johnny said it with confidence. He pulled the toy out of the box of cereal. “Oh! Nice!”
He pointed the little figure at Ben, pressing the button - “Flame on! Flame on!” Ben took the toy and crushed it in his hand, blowing the dust back in Johnny’s face. You shook your head, but stifled a laugh.
After messing with Ben a little longer, Johnny made his way over to where you stood. He placed his hand on your belly and leaned in for a kiss.
“You sure you’re okay, honey?” you asked him quietly. You knew he’d been looking forward to this meeting with Reed for a while - he had really been hoping.
“I’m okay,” he said, smiling at you like he wanted you to believe it. “Ben’s right. We’ll go back. I just…need to wait.”
The last person to arrive to Sunday dinner, Reed walked in and straight to his wife. As he spoke to her and Johnny stood with you, hand caressing the bump, sirens went by outside - that was unusual.
Reed motioned you all out to the balcony. Johnny led you out, hand on your lower back as you all walked out the glass doors.
“For the last few months,” Reed said, “I’ve been tracking a small number of criminal organizations.”
You peeked over the balcony - there was a police presence all over the city. Your eyes widened in shock.
“A small number, huh?” Ben said.
“47,” Reed said. He pointed out some specific organizations, pointing at different spots in the city. Often left in the dark about these things, you didn’t even realize there were that many in the city.
“You baby proofed the world,” Ben said.
“It’s a sweet gesture,” Sue grabbed Reed’s hand. You agreed - you wouldn’t complain about the city being safer for the babies.
“It’s a thorough gesture,” Ben continued. “But, uh, I like punching.”
“You mean clobbering?” Johnny goaded him.
“No, I mean punching.”
“Hey, what time is it?” he asked as Ben turned to go back inside the house.
“It’s dinner time.”
“You sure it’s not clobbering time?”
“Stop it.”
At that moment, as the five of you were turning to leave, the Four’s alarms began going off. You all turned to see some kind of explosion in the sky - fire and flashing lights. Johnny placed a hand on your shoulder, a silent You better be in this exact spot when I get back, and then he was gone - a creature of flame, taking off into the sky and directly into the heart of the danger.
You grabbed Sue’s hand as he went. “What’s going on?” you asked her weakly, hand protectively over your stomach. She placed a comforting hand on your back, but didn’t turn away from the sky.
“I don’t know,” she said. She turned to you. “But we’ve got to go. I need you to stay here.”
Once again reminded of your uselessness - you could do nothing but nod. What else could you do? Get in the way? Put yourself and your child in danger when there was nothing you could do to help?
You watched on with worry as Reed, Sue, and Ben left the building as quickly as possible, leaving you with Herbie. When they were gone, you watched the commotion through the window - until you ran to the TV and turned it on, wondering if anyone was reporting. You didn’t have to look far.
“Breaking news from Times Square.”
You watched on as a woman - an alien? - stood before the city. You clutched your chest with one hand and protectively held your bump with the other. You could see the Four standing, watching. Seeing Johnny safe sent relief flooding your veins.
“Are you the protectors of this world?”
“Yes, we are,” Sue said, standing with confidence.
“Your planet has been marked for death.”
You barely even processed anything she was saying after that. Marked for death? Fear struck into your very soul.
“I herald your end.”
When Johnny and the others returned, you ran into his arms. He held you tightly - this was his first time facing galactic danger while having a child and you to worry about. He found it made him feel sick, an unfamiliar kind of worry and uncertainty he wasn’t used to.
They all went straight to the lab upon return to the Baxter building - there was no time to waste. The fate of everyone was quite literally in their hands. You joined them, despite feeling like you had nothing to contribute.
Reed was tracking where the herald had been. He found at least five planets, destroyed - and she was at every one. Galactus could and would do exactly what she said.
The herald had spoken to everyone, but she had spoken only to Johnny directly. He was hung up on it - what had she said to him? It was in her native language, but, he thought, there had to be some way to decode it.
After the herald, Johnny became obsessed with solving the message. He was making progress, too - he discovered transmission recordings that were the same language. Whenever Johnny got like this, it was cute. You loved seeing him in his element, even if it meant he had less time for you. The baby prep was done, there was nothing more to do but wait for her to arrive.
You were relaxing in the bathtub, the hot water soothing your aching muscles, while Johnny was in the bedroom, listening to the recordings. You gave him his space.
Sue walked in as he was working. “Okay. So she spoke to you, yeah? And?”
Johnny played her the recordings. “I don’t know who they are or what they’re saying, but this? This is the same. This is her language.”
Sue looked at her younger brother, impressed. “Okay. Maybe that is something.”
He held up his hand for a high five. “Reed wants to see you in the lab,” she said before slapping his hand.
She didn’t have to tell Johnny twice. He hurried straight there. “You summoned me?”
“I finally knocked it off the list,” Reed said.
Johnny furrowed his brow. “What?”
“The new space suits.”
He turned to see four brand new space suits, all set up and ready to be worn. Johnny was barely even listening to Reed as he examined the suits, then he pulled his brother into a hug. “I take back every single bad thing I’ve been saying about you. To myself. In private.”
Reed didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Are you ready to go back?” he asked.
“Of course,” Johnny said immediately. “I’ve missed it every day.”
“Even if it means leaving your family behind?”
Johnny hesitated. That was true. He thought of you, and your baby girl who would be here so soon - what if he missed the birth entirely? What if you needed him and he wasn’t even on the planet? What if something happened and he wasn’t here to protect you?
“I can see you thinking,” Reed said. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. You’ve been excited to go back, but things are…different now.”
Johnny nodded. Reed was exactly right. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him, to have something here that made Earth a place that was more like a true home. “Can I ask you a question?”
Reed was slightly taken aback. “Of course.”
Johnny sat the suit down and sunk into one of the chairs sitting around the lab. Reed sat across from him - he could tell Johnny had a lot on his mind.
“How are you so calm?” he finally asked his brother in law.
Reed shook his head with a light laugh. “I’m glad you think so, but I certainly don’t feel calm.”
That surprised Johnny. “You don’t?”
“No, of course not,” he said, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? I’ve been panicking for eight months.”
“Seriously?” Johnny asked with a laugh. “You could have fooled me. I’ve been wondering what the hell I’m doing wrong compared to you.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Reed assured him. “You’re going great. I can already see it in you - you’re a dad now.”
That hit Johnny like a shot to the chest. He jerked back in surprise. “What? You think so?”
“I can see it in you clearly,” Reed continued. “You’ve been making the transition since you found out. You take care of both your girls like there’s nothing more precious in the world. You put the crib together yourself - I can’t say I did the same,” he chuckled.
“Yeah, but you were in here building that,” Johnny motioned towards the table you’d laid on countless times by now. “You made that to make sure the babies are safe.”
“I did,” Reed agrees. “Sue would have liked me to build the crib.”
Johnny laughed. He was feeling looser, the longer he sat and talked to Reed. Two soon-to-be fathers. The only other man who knew what Johnny was going through right now.
The atmosphere turned quiet. There was something in the air just waiting to be spoken.
“I’m terrified to leave her,” Johnny finally says. “Both of them. I’m scared out of my mind. What if she goes into labor without me?” The thought made his chest hurt. “You know, I’ve waited so long to go back to space, and now I’m going - have to go back - and here I am, wondering if I really want to.”
“You’ve never had something you cared about like this here.”
That was true, Johnny realized. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t…I don’t know how to handle it.”
“There’s no easy way,” Reed said - that wasn’t exactly what Johnny had been hoping to hear. “Being in love is irrational and all consuming.”
Being in love.
It hit him like a ton of bricks. He was in love with you. Yeah, he knew that - but did he know it? You hadn’t been together that long, hadn’t even known each other that long before you got pregnant, all things considered. Now, for the first time, he was struck with the uncontrollable urge to run out and buy a ring, to make you his wife, Mrs. Storm.
He had never had those thoughts about anyone before.
“Johnny?” Reed asked, sensing the emotional turmoil in the other man’s head. “You alright?”
Johnny nodded, distracted. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”
“What’s going on in there?”
Johnny thought for a moment. Then - “Do you want to go on an errand with me?”
You weren’t completely surprised when you got out of the bath and Johnny was gone. There was a mess around the bedroom, all the transmissions Johnny was going through scattered around the turntable. You didn’t touch them - there was usually a method to his madness.
You went through your post-shower routine, doing your hair and putting lotion on your skin - and Johnny still wasn’t back. That was a little strange. It was late.
You were in your pajamas (an oversized shirt and panties), about to go to bed without Johnny at all, when he came abruptly through the bedroom door. The nervous energy was coming off of him in waves - it was clear there was something going on.
“Baby,” he said, moving straight to sit next to you on the bed. He was dressed in his F4 t-shirt and pants from earlier.
“Johnny?” you said, confused and bleary eyed. You waited for him for so long, you were about ready to pass out for the night. “Where were you?”
He held your hands, his thumb rubbing the back of one of them. “Reed wanted to see me,” he said. “He finished the new suits. We’re going to space, to try to negotiate with Galactus.”
The news both did and didn’t come as a shock. You’d known this was inevitable from the night the herald came, but it hadn’t been set until now. “When?”
“Soon,” he said. “I don’t know. Very soon.”
“I can’t go to space with you?” you asked, only half-joking and looking at him with big sad eyes. “Both of us?” You took his hand and laid it over the bump.
Johnny chuckled, looking affectionately down at where his hand rested. He rubbed circles against your belly. “I wish you could,” he said.
You sat in a comfortable silence for a minute.
“Do you think it’s going to work?” you asked him nervously. “Do you think there’s hope of getting through to this…Galactus? Of saving Earth?”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to anyone,” Johnny said firmly. He looked you directly in the face when he said it, flames flickering in his blue eyes.
You trusted him with your whole heart. You knew if Johnny said he was going to make something happen - or keep it from happening - he was going to keep his word.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you said.
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“You don’t know what’s gonna happen,” you reminded him gently. His hand stayed protectively where it sat, while your hand rested on the side of his face. He tilted his head, leaning into your touch, letting you cradle his handsome face.
“I just want to know if the surfboard is part of her body,” he said like he was dead serious, and you burst into laughter.
“Johnny Storm, do you ever take anything seriously?” you teased.
He smiled, turning his head to place a kiss on your palm. “Just you.”
Your chest felt warm. You could feel your love for Johnny spreading through your body like the very flames that lived within him.
“There was…” Johnny began, but stopped himself. You didn’t interrupt, wanting to know where he was going. “There was something I wanted to say. Or…ask you?”
Your brows furrowed. “What?”
He gave your belly one last caress before he let go. He stood, pulling your weary body to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. You were confused, but watched him with an anxious excitement anyway.
Johnny looked nervous. You waited as he stood there, gathering his thoughts - you could practically see the steam coming off his head.
Finally, he said your name. “I just…had something to say.”
“Say it,” you encouraged, laughing lightly - nervous.
He smiled softly at you. “Do you know how much I love you?”
The question caught you off guard. “I think so?” you said - because what kind of question was that really?
“I’m in love with you,” Johnny said, looking at you so intensely it nearly took your breath away. “Completely, wholeheartedly, in love with you. I’ve known for a long time, but it didn’t hit me until today, not- not like this. It’s been there, I just never saw it for what it was.”
“Johnny…” you whispered. “What-“
“I needed to say it,” he said. “I know we haven’t been together that long, all things considered - and I knew I love you, I know we’ve been saying it for a while - but it hit me today, hard, like Ben punched me in the chest or something. Like I’d never known anything, nothing has ever made more sense, than how much I love you. Both of you.”
You were in shock, tears welling up in your eyes. The things he was saying were overwhelming, and completely out of nowhere.
“I just had to do this before we leave.”
“Do what-“
You cut yourself off with a gasp as Johnny dropped to his knee in front of you. He reached his right hand into his pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box.
“Johnny-“ you gasped, your hands flying up to cover your mouth, your eyes wide.
“Marry me,” he said, flipping the box open to reveal a beautiful (way too expensive looking) diamond ring. His deep eyes bore into yours, and it’s like he was communicating every ounce of love in his body to you. It left you shaking. “Be my wife. Spend the rest of forever with me- as a family. My family.”
You were so stunned, the words didn’t come right away. Johnny reached forward with his free hand and wiped the tears you hadn’t noticed off your cheeks with his thumb. “Will you marry me?” he asked, softer this time, his eyes almost pleading.
You nodded. Slowly at first, then faster as more tears spilled down your face. You were pretty sure you would be sobbing even without the extra hormones. “Yes. Oh my god. Are you serious? Yes.”
Johnny’s face broke into a huge grin. He took your shaking left hand in his and slid the ring on your finger - a perfect fit. How did he know?
“You have made me,” he began, “the happiest man in the universe.”
You laughed through the tears, wrapping your arms around Johnny and pulling him into you. He hugged you back with just as much love, lifting you with little effort and spinning you in a circle. You couldn’t stop giggling, the joy overflowing from within you.
He wrapped his arm around your lower back and dipped you backwards as he kissed you passionately, something like from one of those romantic movies you used to watch. You cradled his face with both hands while he held you, communicating just how happy you’d made him by the way he kissed you breathless.
When he stood you back up, his arms still wrapped around you, you laid your foreheads together, just looking into each other’s eyes. You could have gotten lost in that sea of blue.
Mrs. Storm had a ring to it.
You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face after the proposal. The ring glittered on your hand like a star plucked directly from the sky, just for you. You knew that’s exactly what Johnny would have done if it were possible.
You waddled out into the kitchen, the pancake craving striking once again. It was a good day - you felt light as air, metaphorically at least. It was a low pain day, the baby didn’t have a foot shoved into your spine, and you had an appetite.
Too busy mixing the batter together, you didn’t hear Sue come in. She startled you a little when she came up next to you, and you both laughed.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s not your fault,” you said. “I was too preoccupied by the pancakes.”
“Craving?”
“Oh yeah.”
Sue smiled. “It’s been pretzel sticks for me, can you believe that? I probably eat a bag myself every couple of days.”
You laughed - it was relatable. “Sounds like Johnny with his Lucky Charms.”
“That’s what I said!” she smiled. She moved around you, grabbing a couple of plates. “Make me some too, would you?”
“Yeah, of course.” You made a little extra batter, mixing it up well before dumping the first pancakes into the pan.
A few minutes later, you and Sue were both leaning against the counter holding a plate of steaming pancakes doused in syrup. You took the first bite and closed your eyes, an unintentional moan escaping your lips. “God. So good.”
“They are,” Sue said after swallowing her first bite. “You make a mean pancake.”
You chatted lightly with Sue until you’d both finished your plates. She helped you wash them up, then leaned back against the counter. She smoothed her hand over her belly as she looked at some papers she had brought with her before putting them away.
“Where’s Reed?” you asked, just wanting to break the silence again.
“Lab,” she said. “Working on things for the mission. I was just about to head down to join him.”
You nodded. “Johnny wanted to work on his cars today. I told him go - it’s not like he’ll have much time for them for a little while.”
Sue smiled at you. “You’re really good to him, you know that?”
You were surprised, both by the randomness of the comment and the sentimentality of it. She had never said anything like that to you before.
“You- you think so?” you asked, unsure of what else to say. You certainly weren’t close with Sue - she was older than Johnny, and was usually too busy to sit and chat with you outside of group settings.
“I can see it,” she said. She sighed. “You know, Johnny…after our mother died, I helped raise him. He’s my closest family - he’s important to me. I always wanted to see him find a girl to settle down with, to be happy with…I’m glad he found you. I’m glad it’s you.”
Utterly speechless, you gaped at her, your eyes teary. Hadn’t you done enough crying? When you finally picked your jaw up off the floor and shook yourself out of it, you spoke. “I- thank you. Johnny means everything to me, I- I want to make him happy.”
Sue reached forward and took your hand in hers. She held it under the light, the ring shining, and smiled. “He loves you,” she said. “I know you know this, but…I don’t know if you understand how much without knowing him the way I do.”
Your heart thudded. You thought of Johnny - and how you loved him, too. How he had told you just how much he loved you last night - and showed you after. “I love him too,” you said. “More than anything. Him and the baby.”
“He’s going to be the best dad, you know,” she smiled, dropping your hand. She looked down at your stomach now - you were standing practically bump to bump.
You felt a strong kick at that moment. You gasped, placing your hand over the spot where you’d felt it - and noticed Sue had done the same thing to her own belly.
“You felt that too?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.
You still felt it. It’s like she was trying to get comfortable in one specific position. You took Sue’s hand in yours and placed it where the movement was for her to feel.
She looked up at you, her expression unreadable. Leaving her hand on your belly, she took your hand with her free one, and pressed it against the same exact spot on her own body. There was nothing from either of you, and then-
A kick. Two kicks. One from each side at the exact same time. Your wide eyes met Sue’s own.
“How interesting…” she finally said as you parted, as if in total awe.
“The cousins are excited to meet each other, it looks like,” you said lightly with an awkward laugh, but even you knew that was bizarre.
“Yeah, must be,” she said - but it was clear her mind was working. A moment later, she seemingly shook it off. “Anyway…that’s what I wanted to say, because I haven’t said it enough. You’re my sister. You’re good for my brother. You make him happy- he loves you, and I love you.”
She pulled you into a hug. “Welcome to the family, officially.”
The day of the launch came upon you faster than you expected. You woke up that morning sick to your stomach, and it had nothing to do with the baby. But you knew this had to be done - they were saving the world.
You had spent the night before wrapped in Johnny’s arms. He’d wanted to make love to you, as he put it, wanted to be as close to you as possible before he left. He didn’t get as much sleep as you would have liked him to before the launch.
Johnny held you on the bottom floor of the Baxter Building, dressed in his spacesuit already with the helmet sitting by his feet. He kissed you with every bit of passion in his body - which was a lot. You were going to miss your fiancè so badly, you didn’t care what anyone thought about the two of you practically making out in front of everyone.
Reed walked by, tapping Johnny on the shoulder to let him know it was time to go. He pulled back, his lips kiss swollen and pink. He grinned at you, but there was sadness behind his eyes. You couldn’t muster up as enthusiastic of a smile.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Johnny said. “You’re going to be fine. Herbie is going to take care of you, you have a whole team-“
“I’m not worried about me,” you cut him off. “I’m worried about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said. “We can take care of ourselves, I promise you. We’re going to go fix this mess.” He pulled you back into another lingering kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Johnny,” you said. You rested your hands on his cheeks, the diamond on your finger flashing. Reporters ran over to start taking photos - you knew that would be in the magazines tomorrow. You didn’t pay them any mind. You and Johnny might as well have been the only people in the room.
He placed both hands on your 8 months pregnant stomach, looking down at it. “Please take care of yourself. If anything is weird, tell Herbie and he’ll call your doctors.”
“I got it, Johnny,” you said. You’d been over this countless times in the days leading up to this. “I’ll be careful. I’ll be alright.”
Johnny nodded. Then he knelt down on the ground, surprising you. The camera flashes kept going off as he kissed your bump, still holding it with so much affection it nearly took your breath away - and completely distracted you from how much attention was on the two of you.
“I love you, baby girl,” he said to your belly. “You better stay cookin’ in there for me. Don’t come out until Daddy gets back from space, okay?” She kicked his hand and he smiled.
You giggled. “I think she hears you.”
Johnny stood and wrapped his arms around you again. He pulled you into one final kiss, full of emotion and want. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, once he’d reluctantly parted from you. “Please be safe. I love you. Both of you. I’ll be back as soon as we can manage.”
You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. “I love you too, Johnny.”
He kissed you on the forehead and then he was picking up his helmet, walking backwards for a little while to look at you as long as he could. He smiled, waved, then turned and joined the others, leaving you alone.
Well, ‘alone’. You were surrounded by people. You joined the crowd, carefully making your way to somewhere you could have a good view.
Johnny, Sue, Reed, and Ben walked the walkway to the spaceship. This was your first time seeing Johnny go to space since you’d been together, and as much as you missed him and didn’t want him to go, it filled you with pride. Your Johnny really was incredible, super powers or not. You held your bump protectively as you watched.
They were being filmed as they made their way onto the elevator. At the top, they walked onto the ship. Johnny paused right before boarding - he looked around until he found a camera. He stared directly into the camera and mouthed your name, with a blown kiss and an emphatic I love you.
The crowd awwed, and you could hardly see Johnny disappearing onto the ship through the tears in your eyes. You rubbed your belly - You see that, little one? Your daddy loves us more than anything.
The countdown began, and your stomach tightened in knots. You knew how dangerous launches and landings could be.
“3…2…1.”
The ship took off, rising into the air. Your heart ached as you watched them go, knowing it would be a long time before you saw Johnny again. You would see him again - you weren’t entertaining any other possibilities.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve had a successful launch.”
You couldn’t believe he was gone, they were really gone. Before you could dwell too much on their absence and how much you would miss every one of them, you turned and let Herbie lead you out of the crowd and back upstairs.
It wasn’t hard to find Galactus, not really. They were able to track the herald straight to him.
Upon arrival, she greeted them on their ship.
“Galactus will see you. All of you…you should not have come.”
Now, standing before Galactus - a giant, possessing more power than they had even pictured - they attempted to negotiate. But some prices are too high to pay.
“I will spare your world,” Galactus said with finality, “in exchange for both the boy and the girl.”
“What?” Sue said, incredulous. “No.”
“Absolutely not,” Johnny said, looking around at the others for validation that they agreed. “No. No way.”
“They are connected. They both possess the power of cosmic, and they together will inherit this cursed throne.”
What?
“They’re just- they’re normal,” Reed lied nervously. “We would know. I tested them myself.”
Galactus leaned in, eyes glowing purple. Sue grabbed her stomach at that moment, groaning in pain. She looked around at the others in a panic - and for once, Johnny’s blood went cold with fear.
“What are you doing to her??” he yelled.
“You won’t have our planet,” Reed said, “and you will never have our children!”
But it was happening. Whatever Galactus had done - Sue was in labor.
The pain came when you were home alone. You’d been in the kitchen, mixing up the batter to make your biggest craving - a chocolate cake. You felt fine, good even - but then a horrible pain stretched across your stomach.
You wrapped your hand around it, holding onto the counter for support as you cried out. Herbie sped into the room, making what you could best describe as concerned beeps.
“Herbie,” you said, your voice strained. “I think- I think something’s wrong. I think we need to call somebody.”
Herbie beeped again, then took off - contacting your medical team, you hoped. The pain was getting worse, coming in fast. You figured you had to be having contractions at least once every two minutes - this was the real deal. And Johnny was gone.
You couldn’t help it - you panicked. You lowered yourself to the floor amidst the pain of another contraction, and you sobbed. You were terrified. Of all the scenarios you’d come up with, doing this alone hadn’t been one of them.
It was only minutes later when a team of medical professionals came bursting into the room - Johnny and Reed had left you with a team ready at a moment’s notice in case of emergencies. It was a coveted position - every medical professional in the city wanted to be involved in the birth of the two newest Fantastic Four members. You didn’t like your child being seen as a spectacle.
You were screaming through another contraction, a white knuckled grip on the side of the counter as it passed through you. The doctors and nurses got to work fast. It was humiliating having a stranger up your skirt, but you had to have a cervical check.
It hurt, but the pain was already everywhere. It was the look on the nurse’s face after she checked you that scared you, though.
“The baby is coming right now,” she said. “We have to do it here.”
Back on the ship, things were progressing. Sue was in the back, laboring in zero gravity. Ben was steering the ship while Johnny and Reed helped.
“Do you think-“ Johnny asked Reed quietly, but he didn’t even have to finish his question.
“She might be,” Reed said seriously. Johnny felt like he might throw up.
“We need to strap her down,” Reed said, back into action, moving through the ship towards his wife.
“Strapping her down,” Johnny moved to help.
“Do not strap me down!” she yelled, pushing Johnny away - who quickly backed off.
“You need gravity to push,” Reed told her, helping her lay back on the table.
“This is not how it’s supposed to be,” she said, breathing through the pain. Sue was remarkably brave, but right now, she had to admit she was scared.
“I know, but we’re gonna make it work.” Reed helped to hold her down, multitasking while he helped Ben and Johnny, concerned they didn’t have enough fuel to make it home. Their only option was a slingshot maneuver - which they put into action.
“He’s coming,” Sue announced. “He’s coming.”
Her pants kicked off, it was time to start pushing. She pushed and pushed as the ship made its journey.
Sue became invisible. Reed held her - it was silent. She reappeared, and-
A cry sounded through the air. A tiny little hand raising high - and a beautiful baby boy curled in Ben’s hand. He held him out to Reed, who took the precious little guy in his arms - bringing him to his mother. Sue held her baby boy in her arms, Reed cradled around them both.
Johnny came floating back from the front of the ship. His blue eyes were wide as he saw his nephew for the first time - a perfect baby.
He thought of you. He thought of his daughter. And he prayed you were both okay, that he hadn’t missed the birth. That Galactus didn’t want his daughter or his nephew. That he’d get home and you’d run into his arms, healthy and still pregnant.
But for now, he caressed the chubby cheek of the baby with his index finger, and looked into the exhausted eyes of his sister - one of the strongest women he’d ever known.
Franklin Richards was here.
The only coherent thought you could muster was I wish Johnny was here. It repeated through your head, like a prayer, like the ship might descend that very second and he’d come running to your side if you wished for it hard enough.
But you were on your own, about to give birth on the living room floor without your boyfriend. In a room full of strangers looking at your most intimate parts, Herbie was your only friend. He stood nearby, attempting to be a comfort. It worked somewhat.
“It’s time to push,” the doctor said between your legs. “I need you to push hard on every contraction.”
You nodded. You could do this. You may not have been a superhero, or a genius, but you were strong and you could get through this, with or without Johnny. You felt angry in that moment, angry at Johnny for not being here, angry at him for leaving you, angry at him for getting you pregnant in the first place. It wasn’t rational, but it was there.
At the start of the next contraction, you gritted your teeth and pushed. You pushed with everything you had, the pain shooting through your body like electricity. When you couldn’t take it anymore you let go, falling back against the pillows they had put behind you and breathing heavily.
You’d heard pushing could last for an hour or more sometimes - but that wasn’t the case here. This baby was coming now. Another contraction flared and you pushed down again, screaming though the pain and the pressure.
Three pushes later, and the doctor spoke up excitedly from below. “She’s crowning,” she said. “Just one more good push for me, you’ve got this.”
The next contraction crashed into you and you mustered up every bit of energy in your exhausted, sore body to push as hard as you could. You screamed through it, a deep, primal scream.
The pain was gone. An immense relief left behind, you fell back against the makeshift bed and breathed. You opened your teary eyes, a nurse using a cloth to wipe the sweat off your brow.
Then you heard it. A cry. Your heart stopped in your chest as the doctor handed the bundle to you.
You took it, pushing the blanket down below her little chin to see her full face. She was gorgeous. Johnny’s little twin for sure. She opened her blue eyes and looked up at you - you swore you had never felt love in your life like you did in that moment.
Celeste Storm was here.
Early days with Celeste were difficult, yet blissful. You only wished for Johnny, that he could be there to experience it with you (and help a bit). Herbie was a great help, essentially waiting on you hand and foot while you recovered.
It has been a month since the births when the ship descended back home.
Johnny had been in a perpetual state of anxiety since Galactus. He was worried sick about you, to the point that Reed, Sue, and Ben were worried about him.
His stomach was in knots as they descended, and not just from the motion of the spacecraft. As they landed, he could see the crowd running to greet them, and he wondered where you were amongst it. You had to be here, right?
People were running from all over the city to see their return. There was no way you weren’t part of it. His eyes scanned the crowd who still looked like ants, as if he could see you from this distance.
“She’s okay,” Sue assured Johnny, placing her hand on his arm while the other cradled baby Franklin. “She’s a strong girl. She’s okay.”
Johnny just nodded. He wanted to believe his sister, because he wanted that to be true more than anything.
They rode the elevator down together. He had never been so quiet before - his mind was running too quickly to speak. Reed patted him on the back from behind him.
When the elevator landed, they could hear the deafening cheers. Ben walked off first, then Johnny, who scanned the crowd immediately. He didn’t see you - but maybe you were waiting inside where they would stop to speak? Yeah, that made sense.
Reed and Sue were behind him with Franklin, and the crowd went crazy the second they saw them. They smiled politely at the crowd, Sue holding the baby close to her chest while Reed had his arm around her.
They were led into the Baxter Building where the press were waiting. They mobbed them, and Johnny was so overwhelmed by the flashing lights, yelling voices, and no sight of you even in here, that he started to feel panicked.
“Give them space!”
“They’re ready for you,” Reed was told, with a gesture towards the podium. None of them wanted to speak. There was no good news to share. All Johnny wanted to do was see his fiancée.
Reed took the podium, glancing back over his shoulder at the rest of the team. Johnny continued scanning the crowd, not seeing a single sight of you. He was feeling more sick by the second. Where were you? It wasn’t like you to miss this. What if something had happened to you while he was gone and no one told him?
Something was wrong.
“I’m sorry we don’t have a prepared statement,” Reed said, sparking unrest in the crowd. Everyone raised their hand for a question.
“Welcome back,” one of the reporters said. “Can you walk us through how you defeated Galactus?”
It was silent.
“Um…” Reed said, looking back to Johnny and Ben for some kind of help.
“We didn’t,” Ben said simply.
“Not…yet!” Johnny said, with little enthusiasm. “Not yet, we didn’t.”
The crowd murmured. This wasn’t going well.
“What do you mean you didn’t?”
“We attempted to negotiate,” Reed said. “But Galactus…he asked too high a price.”
“Well, what does he want?” “What did he ask?”
Reed felt sick. Johnny really thought he might be. They exchanged a look - fear, in both of their eyes. Would this put a target on their backs? On their children’s backs? Reed looked back out into the crowd.
“He asked for our children,” he said, gesturing to Sue and Johnny. Sue stood behind, holding Franklin protectively as more worry spread through the crowd. “He said give us both children, and I will spare the Earth.” A murmur rose in the crowd. “We said no, obviously. We said no.”
Everyone started speaking at once.
“You said no?”
“Would giving Galactus the children save us?”
Done with this and with fire burning beneath Johnny’s skin, the four turned to leave.
“Wait, just answer this, answer this!” someone called. They stopped and turned. “Are we safe?”
“Are we safe?” Reed repeated. “I don’t know.”
The crowd began speaking at once again, upset. Ben waved Reed off and they left the room, the reporters yelling after them.
“She wasn’t there,” Johnny said to the others once they were safely on the elevator. “She wasn’t…there.”
“She’s probably in the house,” Sue said gently. “Maybe she isn’t feeling well, or couldn’t come down in time. Herbie has her.”
Johnny nodded, but he didn’t feel much better.
With the spacesuit stripped off, he was left in his F4 t-shirt and sweatpants. When the elevator doors opened to the house, Johnny rushed in, looking for any sign of you.
It didn’t take him long.
You sat on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your lap. The TV was on to the news broadcast of the landing. You looked up at him and the others as they entered, a teary smile on your face.
“Johnny,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.
But it was the bundle in your arms that stopped him short. Slowly, cautiously, almost like he was scared, he approached you.
And he fell to his knees.
The baby girl in your arms opened her blue eyes and peered over at him. She was beautiful - more beautiful than he ever could have pictured. Perfection. He reached out a shaking hand and laid it on her, like he couldn’t believe she was real.
“…Oh my god,” he said.
Totally forgotten by him, Reed, Sue, and Ben stood behind, watching the moment. Johnny leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the baby’s head, before looking up at you with wonder in his eyes.
“She’s here,” he said, like he was trying to wrap his mind around it. Saying it didn’t make it feel any more real - he felt like he was dreaming.
“She was born about a month ago,” you said gently, softly running your fingers over the baby’s fine hair. “Shortly after you left.”
“A month?” Johnny asked. He turned to look at the others - who seemed to be thinking the same thing he was. Galactus.
Turning back to you, Johnny rested a hand on the side of your face and pulled you into a gentle kiss. Then he was focused on the child again, his child, his baby girl. He was in awe.
“She’s beautiful,” he said, his fingertips just barely trailing over her smooth skin. She shifted, reached a little hand up, and wrapped her fingers around one of Johnny’s. His heart stuttered, and he choked out the quietest sob.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, looking up at you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I- if I had known this would happen I wouldn’t have left you, I swear.”
“It’s okay, Johnny,” you said softly. You ran your fingers through his blonde hair. “You couldn’t have known.”
He laid his head against you, gazing down at his daughter. She really was incredible - he’d gotten to see her the one time, but it was nothing like this. It was nothing like seeing his child, here, earthside.
“Do you want to hold her?” you asked him. It seemed like he was too stunned to ask himself.
He looked at you with his blue eyes wide. “Really?”
You laughed. “Johnny, she’s your daughter.”
He nodded. Yeah, she was. And he could do this. You lifted her towards him and he slowly reached out, taking the bundle from your arms. The transfer was so slow and careful, and once he had her he cradled her close to his chest. Johnny held her, his strong arms now so delicate with his baby girl. A single tear trailed down his cheek.
They gazed at each other, both mesmerized by the other. Celeste cooed softly, making her little baby noises, and Johnny’s heart cracked. Oh, she had him wrapped around her little finger from day one.
“Hi, baby girl,” he said quietly, only for her. “I’m…I’m your daddy. I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve been so excited to meet you.”
Celeste cooed again, her little arms moving jerkily, still not used to moving her own body. She looked all around, but kept returning to Johnny’s face. She reached up and touched his nose, and he chuckled.
He was a natural with her. He looked back over his shoulder at the others finally, who all looked like they might also cry. He waved them over. They approached the three of you, peering down at the baby.
“Oh, she’s perfect,” Sue said.
“Nice job,” Reed said, patting Johnny on the shoulder with a brotherly smile.
“Hi there,” Ben said, looking down at her. She gave him the biggest smile that he couldn’t help but return.
But baby Franklin was watching her closely. Johnny turned her so she could see her cousin, and the babies reached for one another. Sue and Johnny held them closer as they reached for each other, fingers brushing together. Like they had a connection of some kind, drawn together.
“Interesting,” Reed mumbled. He would need to run some tests - there was a link here, and he needed to find out what it was.
After the tearful reunion, everyone returned to their own quarters. They were all exhausted and relieved to be back home. Johnny sat on the bed, holding baby Celeste while she slept. You moved throughout the room, gathering pajamas and a clean diaper.
“The surfboard is not part of her body, by the way,” Johnny said randomly.
You laughed - “What?”
“I just needed to know! I was curious.”
You smiled as you moved back over to the bed. “Well, I’m glad you found out,” you said. Johnny chuckled.
He told you all about their trip while he helped you change Celeste and put her to bed. He told you everything - the flight, seeing Galactus, chasing the herald and running away. Galactus wanting the babies - which you’d heard on the broadcast. It worried you sick, but he promised there was nothing to worry about.
He wouldn’t let anyone touch a single hair on Celeste or Franklin’s heads, that was for sure.
In the days after their return, everyone was hard at work trying to figure out what was to be done about Galactus. Johnny didn’t want you and Celeste out of his sight, so you spent a lot of time sitting in Reed’s lab with the baby girl on your lap, or doing tummy time on the floor with Franklin.
The truth was, they didn’t know what to do. Giving the children to Galactus was completely off the table, obviously, but so was putting Earth in danger. They suggested blowing the ship up, and running, but neither would work. There had to be something to be figured out. You just wished you could be more help.
“Reed, you wanna take us through what you have?” Sue asked.
“What I have?” he turned. “What I have is nothing.”
“Nothing? Did you say nothing?” Johnny asked. He glanced at you where you sat feeding Celeste.
“I have the samples from Galactus’ ship,” Reed said, handing out some papers for you all to see. “All evidence suggests he predates our universe, our reality. You could take 10 years to understand his composition, let alone his existence.”
“So you’re talking about a god?” Sue asked.
“I’m talking about something beyond our experience. An unknowable life, who imagines Franklin and Celeste as his successors in possessing some kind of cosmic power.”
“That can’t be true, right?” Ben asked, looking at the others. “You ran all those tests.”
“I have, but I don’t know what can or can not be. I’m not sure of anything.” He was getting frustrated. “Celeste has the X-gene, Franklin does not - at least, not that I saw.” He turned, walking back to the chalkboard. “I have nothing. I have nothing!”
You had never known Reed to have nothing. The idea scared you more than you wanted to admit. No one had anything, no one knew how to keep the babies and Earth safe.
Since the trip, Johnny had spent every moment he wasn’t with Celeste hard at work trying to decode the herald’s language. He knew that could give them answers, and that’s what they needed more than anything.
You spent your days caring for Celeste while the Four were hard at work. Johnny spent as much time as he could with the two of you, and it killed him to be away from her, but you both knew the fate of the world hung in the balance.
Reed ran seemingly endless tests on both Franklin and Celeste. No new answers were coming forth.
“It’s getting bad out there,” Ben said one night as the family was in the living room together. Johnny held Celeste, who was wearing a little Flame on! onesie. Ben turned the TV on.
“It seems to me they have no plan for Galactus,” some idiot on a talk show was saying. “We as a society have to reckon with the idea that the Fantastic Four could save us today, but they choose not to. The idea is simple - Reed Richards and Sue Storm, and Johnny Storm and that girl of his, hand over their babies and we all live.”
Sue blew the TV up. No one had a problem with that. Out on the balcony, there was a mob visible right outside the front doors.
“Give us the babies!”
“They’re scared,” Reed said.
“Who isn’t scared?” Johnny asked. He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder as he patted a sleeping Celeste on his chest. “That…is scary.”
Everyone was stressed. The discussion was constantly going in circles, no one coming up with anything new.
“Right now we don’t have a workable plan, and the clock is ticking. So their plan looks good. It’s…available,” Reed said.
“What are you saying?” Sue asked.
“I’m not…saying anything.”
The baby monitor lit up as Franklin started crying. Sue left to go attend to him, Reed following behind her. You were left at the table sitting silently with Johnny and Ben.
“Let me take her,” you said gently, taking Celeste from Johnny’s arms. He let you take her, although he was reluctant to let her go. He never felt like she was properly safe unless she was in his arms.
You were in the kitchen, making yourself busy, when Sue approached you with Franklin in her arms.
“Come with me,” she said.
The mob outside was angry. They held anti-F4 signs, yelled horrible things, demanding the babies.
And you followed Sue through the crowd, Celeste clutched tightly to your chest and Franklin to hers. You knew Sue wouldn’t let anything happen to any of you. Everyone stared as you walked through, making it to the middle where you stood together.
The crowd looked at the two of you expectantly. You weren’t sure where Sue was going with this, but you trusted her.
“I wanted to introduce you to someone,” she began. “This is our son, Franklin. And this is his cousin, Celeste. There’s been a lot of talk about both of them.” She stopped to compose herself. “Most of you know me. You know my story. When Johnny and I were kids, our parents were in a car crash. Our dad was driving, and he lived, but our mom didn’t. I know what it’s like to be a part of a family that was torn apart. Our dad wasn’t always a great father, but he wanted to be. He did his best. He wanted us to be together because that’s what a family is. It’s about fighting for something bigger than yourself. It’s about connecting to something bigger than yourself.”
Celeste wiggled in your arms. You and Sue both turned, seeing Johnny, Reed, and Ben coming out behind you. You smiled tearfully at Johnny - and he looked at you like he was proud.
“It’s about having something bigger than yourself,” Sue continued. “And the four of us already do because we have you. You know, our mom always used to say, Susie, for you, I would move heaven and earth. And we would do that for you. We will not sacrifice our children for this world. But we will not sacrifice this world for our children. We will face this together. We will fight this together. And we will defeat this together. As a family.”
The crowd clapped, and you wiped a tear away. Sue’s speech had been beautiful, and it seemed to have gotten through to everyone. You were filled with relief for Celeste - you’d barely slept an hour since the public turned on you all, terrified someone would manage to break in.
As soon as he could, Johnny had his arms back on you, leading you back inside.
“That was amazing,” he said, “and so, so reckless.”
“But it worked?” you offered. He smiled at you, leaning down and kissing you.
“Yeah. Looks like it did.”
You were walking back to the elevator as a family when Reed spoke up.
“Archimedes,” he said. You all turned. “The law of levers. Give me a lever and a place to stand and I will move the earth. We are going to move heaven and earth.”
That was something. You took a step closer to him.
“Well, just earth,” he continued. “Sue…you solved it. We are going to move earth to a place that Galactus will never find us.”
With an idea, plans were underway. It would take the cooperation of the entire globe to pull off - but they thought it could work.
You spent as much time with Johnny and Celeste as you could. He was an incredible dad, truly. He spent most of his time preparing to put the plan into action, but his favorite time of the day was when he could relax in bed with you.
He laid back, Celeste sleeping on his shirtless chest. He was drowsy himself, his eyes half lidded as he slowly rubbed her back. Fresh out of your shower, you joined him on the bed.
“Ready for me to put her in bed?” you asked him gently.
He cracked an eye open to look at you. “Not just yet. I wanna hold her a little longer.”
You smiled. “Okay.” You laid down on the bed next to him. You looked at the clock just in time to see it strike 8pm, and all the power went out. The global power curfew was in effect to conserve what the bridges would require.
In the dark, you laid your tired head on Johnny’s shoulder. He felt content for the first time in a long time - his family together, a plan in motion. Hope for the future.
He may not know how things were going to turn out, or who Celeste would grow up to be. But he knew as long as he was with his family - they would be okay.
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