A sequel to 'Before the Storm: A Joe Jonas Fan Fic'
Ally and Joe have been apart for three weeks; he was touring and she was doing modelling campaigns.
They finally reunite during a surprise visit to one of his concerts, but Ally sees Joe kissing h...
I padded into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his t-shirt from the night before.
The morning sun streamed through the windows, catching on the coffee maker as I pressed start.
"Now that," Joe's voice came from behind me, "is a sight I've definitely missed."
I turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, phone in hand, already dressed for rehearsals. His eyes were soft as they took me in.
"Don't you dare," I warned, seeing him raise his phone.
But he was already snapping the photo - me with messy hair, bare legs, his shirt, morning light making everything glow golden.
I couldn't help but laugh, and that's when he caught it - the real smile, the unguarded moment.
"Perfect," he murmured, already typing.
I moved to peek over his shoulder at his phone screen. The photo was simple but intimate - telling our story without words. Me in his kitchen, in his shirt, completely at home.
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"Joe," I breathed, something catching in my throat, "That's going to break the internet."
He shrugged, setting his phone down to pull me close.
"Let it. I'm done hiding our relationship."
"Your publicist is going to have a meltdown."
"Probably," he grinned, pressing a kiss to my temple, "But some things are worth it."
"You're impossible," I smiled against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.
"And you love it," snickered Joe.
Our phones were already buzzing continuously on the counter, but we ignored it in favor of coffee and quiet moments before he had to leave for rehearsal.
--
My hands wouldn't stop shaking as Joe's car inched through the line of vehicles approaching the Latin Grammys red carpet.
Already, I could see the blinding flash of cameras, hear the dull roar of the crowd.
"Hey," Joe's fingers intertwined with mine, "We don't have to do this. We can skip the carpet, go straight inside-"
"No," I cut him off, squeezing his hand, "I want to. It's just usually I'm just posing in front of cameras. This feels different."
His thumb traced circles on my palm.
"Because this time they're not just interested in how the dress looks?"
I nodded. The Versace gown was stunning - midnight blue, draped perfectly, showing just enough skin to make headlines.
But that wasn't what they'd be talking about tonight or tomorrow.
"The photo this morning probably didn't help," I added, thinking of how Joe's Instagram post had exploded.
"No regrets," he said softly, bringing our joined hands to his lips, "You ready?"
The car door opened, and the roar became deafening.
"JOE! ALLY! OVER HERE!" "ARE YOU BACK TOGETHER?" "ALLY! THIS WAY!"
Joe stepped out first, looking way too handsome in his suit.
Then he turned, offering his hand to help me out.
And the moment my heels hit the carpet, the frenzy doubled.
"Breathe," he whispered, his hand finding the small of my back.
The touch was possessive, protective, and definitely being photographed from every angle.
We'd barely made it ten steps until Ryan Seacrest intercepted us, microphone extended.
"Joe! Ally! The photo that broke the internet this morning, this red carpet debut - I think it's safe to say everyone wants to know what happened here?"
I felt Joe's hand tighten slightly on my waist as cameras crowded closer.
"Sometimes you have to lose something to realize what you had," Joe said, his voice steady, "We needed time apart to grow, to figure things out."
"And now?" Ryan pressed.
"Now we're stronger," I interfered, as I looked up at Joe, "Sometimes the long way around is the right way home."
"Speaking of home," Ryan grinned, "those lyrics you quoted this morning, Joe - from your hit 'Toothbrush' - was that a hint about tonight's performance?"
"You'll just have to wait and see," laughed Joe.
"And Ally, how does it feel being back in Joe's kitchen?"
Heat flooded my cheeks, but I couldn't help smiling.
"It feels like exactly where I'm supposed to be, Ryan"
We moved on, making our way down the carpet. Each step got easier, each pose more natural.
Joe kept me anchored, his touch constant, his whispered jokes making me laugh genuinely for the cameras.
"You know," he murmured as we neared the end of the carpet, "half these photographers are going to claim they knew we'd get back together."
I snorted softly. "And the other half?"
"Lost money betting against us," he grinned, pulling me closer, "Ready for the show?"
Looking up at him, I felt the last of my anxiety melt away. Let them watch. Let them talk. What we had was real - messy and complicated and perfect.
"Watching you perform? Always."
--
The arena went dark, and my heart leapt into my throat as a single spotlight hit the stage.
Joe stood there, guitar slung low, looking devastating in all black.
The screams were deafening, but his presence commanded silence.
As the beat kicked in, a slow smile spread across his face - the one that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
When his voice came in, it was pure Joe - that rich, emotional tone that had made millions fall in love with him.
The crowd went wild, and pride bloomed in my chest. This was my man up there, reinventing himself fearlessly, owning every note.
Then the music shifted, and a spotlight suddenly hit the side stage. My jaw dropped as Ela emerged, her Spanish vocals intertwining with Joe's English ones as they circled each other.
The chemistry was magnetic but professional - they played off each other perfectly, their voices creating something magical.
But every few beats, Joe's eyes would find mine in the audience, that secret smile playing on his lips.
He'd kept this collaboration hidden from everyone. The audience was entranced, phones in the air capturing every moment.
As the song built to its climax, I felt tears prick my eyes.
This was everything - watching him take risks, push boundaries, shine brighter than ever. And knowing that at the end of the night, after all the applause and accolades, he'd still be coming home to me.
As he made his way back to his seat beside me, still breathing hard from the performance, I couldn't help but laugh at the whispers and stares around us.
"You sneaky bastard," I whispered as he pulled me close, "How long have you been planning that?"
"For a while," he grinned, pressing a kiss to my temple, "Worth the wait?"
I looked at him - flushed with success, eyes bright with love and triumph, completely and utterly mine.
