flashback to earlier in the day.

"what's on your mind, baby?" when he feels your arms wrap around him a little tighter, head buried into his chest, like holding him is holding you together.

"i uh," you hesitate to tell him, leaning back an inch. and when you bite down on your lip, a pool of blood that threatens to break through to the surface in a swirl of worry, he leans forward. his large finger settles on your bottom lip, tapping it gently in the spot where you've been preoccupied and when your teeh finally release it and he brings you back down to planet earth you try again, "there was this guy i saw earlier who just felt off," and at the admission, clark hums curiously.

"off how?" he asks gently.

"i don't know," you admit, and it all feels silly. the man in question didn't actually approach you in any way, but the stare you felt burn on your back as he walked a few metres behind in the grocery store as you browsed the isles for clark's favourite cocoa brand. how you've never seen him before in your life, but you'll never get the stony gaze and flash of yellow teeth in a crooked grin free from your mind, "he just felt off," and its almost a whisper of embarrassment, that he could be an absolute nobody but the way you feel restless, unsteady, thrown off course is not a feeling you're accustomed to and you don't know what you despise more- the feeling of helplessness or the feeling of assuming the worst of someone unfairly, but either way, its a lot easier to despise yourself for the both of them.

"maybe it's nothing," clark mumbles reassurement into your ears, a tender murmur that soothes the rising worry with a caress of his fingers running along your side, "maybe he was just having a bad day," he shrugs, "but if there's ever a chance of you feeling unsafe, then please make sure to tell me honey," he soothes and you nod. you don't have anything to add to the conversation, it doesn't feel like you're being helpful in any way, you don't have any other information about this strange man other than how he looked your way hours before and cut your grocery run short by a half hour.

but i'm telling you now, you want to reach out in urgency, shake him awake from the covers and let him know you don't think this is the remenants of a bad day. the awfulness in his stare, the way he cruised the same isles you did until you made a surprise bolt to the self checkout machines didn't scream "its nothing" to you. the dread is slowly eating you alive that you don't even feel the subtle shift of arms wrapping around your middle and dragging you back down to the safety of your shared bed and boyfriend, clark kent.

the warmth he radiates, the hold that presses you flush against him as even in sleep, he towers over you- 240lbs the optimal weight for a heated blanket in these cold winter nights that you try and settle into him. to let yourself feel surrounded and safe as your head rests on his chest, pulse tuning to the soft pitter patter of his heart. you wish you could stay like this forever, in his protection and under his love.

"i can feel you awake, sugar" a sleep induced drawl kisses your hair lazily, and you try and shake off the concern, melt into his earlier reassurance and justify this as probably just a bad day on two stranger's part. it could be nothing, it feels like nothing when you're safe in clark's arms as you mumble a faint "sorry, my love" into his skin with a kiss goodnight as you try again for the millionth time to let sleep call you.

and when it does, with a slow blink and descend into the darkness, you can still see the sly yellow smile and darkened brown eyes from aisle 6 roam on your skin.

. . .

a few days later

the uneasy stares from the grocery store turns into a greasy smirk from the back row at one of your shows. you're performing in a play, reprising the role of juliet that you did last year in the slow blink of june summer nights. but now that it's december and the frost in the air and the heightened tension stiffens your limbs, you almost forget the words you've memorised a lifetime ago.

they slip an octave, stumble in hesitation when you catch sight of him again that your stage director shoots you a thumbs of from the sidelines. but under the blinding of white lights so bright they could blind you, you focus on what you can't see and continue on like its nothing. because the strange man in the back might let his stare linger on you enough to pull you down to the depths of despair, but it's the sight of your lover in the front row that reaches out to bring you back up to the top.

and when you receive an ovation, you no longer feel the pride burst through your limbs. your hands don't shake with excitement or gratitude like they usually do, they vibrate with an anxious built that makes you want to scream.

"hey, you were fantastic honey!" clark's big bubble of laughter draws you out and finds you backstage. you hardly have time to ground yourself when he's lifting you airborne, pressing kisses into your neck, the chuckles flushed hot on your skin that you try, you really try to stretch your smile to the ends of your mouth and the earth but it just falls flat. "what?" he pauses, taking your chin in his hand and searching in your eyes for anything that could point him in the right direction and bring you home.

"he's here," you frantically whisper, blinking away the tears that rise, forcing them back down so you don't appear insane or crazy, you just need him to believe you this time.

"who's here?" clark's brows furrow in confusion, "what are you talking about?" and he scans the perimeter for anything that could be likened to a threat. it lasts a second long before he returns back to you but you haven't calmed down, shaking your head as you peer out through the side into the main stage.

"the man from the grocery store, he's here," its a strained whisper you try and get out through shaky breaths, "he's here, clark i saw him!" and when you close your eyes tight with fear clark bundles you into his hold and against his chest in a firm hug. he searches the crowd again, listens in to the sounds of bustling footsteps leaving the theatre doors but nothing sounds out of the ordinary to him.

"baby, there's no one here," he speaks into your hair and you don't give him a chance to try again before you bang against his chest in little balled fists of fury,

"clark, i saw him!" the desperation leaks through and its his turn to bite down on his lip. he holds your hand tightly as he navigates around you to grab your things and leads you out to the car. its a long, stilted walk although its only four minutes it feels as though it may have been forever.

he only lets go of you for a single second and he leans in, clicks your seatbelt and softly shuts the door before getting in to the drivers side and starting the engine. he only makes it out the parking lot before you're looking up at him with an incredulous stare that could burn holes right through his face, whispering in defeat, "you don't believe me, do you?"

he reaches out across the console to interlock your hands, letting you know he's here though his words betray him in a different light, "there was no one there," he looks over at you, pained. "baby, you see hundreds of a people each night, what are the chances? it could've been a coincidence," he breathes, "i didn't feel anything suspicious."

it's meant to ease you, to give you something to soften the stillness in your bones but it only causes you to freeze up further, "coincidence," you repeat flatly, testing the words out on your tongue and hating how stale they are.

he gives you that damn shrug again, like he doesn't know what else to say or offer you, but he really doesn't think there's a threat out there for you to be worried about, "maybe you're tired-"

"i'm not seeing things," you seethe, anger rising in you at the unjust explanation that for a second you don't recognise who you're becoming- this feels so foreign to you but you know with your whole heart what you've seen, "don't do that to me," you talk after taking a moment to inhale deeply, your reply landing quieter, firmer, "don't make me out like i'm crazy."

"i'm not," he returns just as quick, "maybe he's just new to the area- you saw him get groceries," he explains, shooting his attention from you to the road every few miliseconds, "and then he came to watch a play- honey, you're famous for crying out loud," and its a scoff of adoration, he lets go of the wheel as if to gesture to the world, my girl is a celebrity- clark loves you loud and proud, "golly, if i wasn't your boyfriend, i'd still be booking tickets to see you on stage- you're incredible!"

you meet his praise with a slow blink, half your lip curling as you sit there feeling like an absolute piece of shit for once again overthinking and assuming the worst of some random person. "thank you," you whisper through broken breaths and the lump gathering in your throat, unsure of what to do with yourself. he inhales softly and brings your interlocked hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle sweetly and then holding it against his heart.

you ignore the burn in your limbs as you hold your arm upright across the console and the scorch in your heart that weighs you down.

"it could just be a coincidence," and the words roll so easily off of clark's tongue with a quiet confidence that you really do want to believe it.

"a coincidence," you repeat but it still feels as awful as the first time you said it. you focus your gaze on the road, then over at clark and try to forget the shadow that haunted you the last few nights- it finds you easier when you're alone, creeping up on you and swarming in a vicious attack where you just can't escape him. but the way that clark looks at you, concern about you and not for you, plummets that feeling of dread even further.

. . .

you don't see the strange man until a day later.

not that him not reappearing for a break of 24 hours had made things easier for you. your smile still froze tight, you carried yourself with an edge, and prayed like hell that this nightmare would all be over soon.

it's a friday which means you're performing again, except clark won't be there tonight- he leaves the daily planet later than usual and it just became an unspoken agreement that he would cook dinner as compensation for the lack of boisterous chants and cheering that you'd be subjected to when you bow to the crowd in your final moments.

what does come however just as you're leaving the main stage to head back to the sidelines to change and be rid of the costume that fits a little more snug than it did last year is a gruff growl that stops you in your tracks.

"great show out there."

your first thought is he sounds exactly as he looks, your second however is run.

you nod dumbly, like a deer stuck in headlights and you swallow past the lump in your throat, dive past the bile and beg for your brain to just say anything, "thank you," and you smile tightly, fear freezing your blood cold you don't even think you have it in you to run. you're thankful he stands at a distance because any closer and you fear the absolute worst. but maybe if you played nice, was friendly enough, he would just walk away. please just walk away.

and he does, not before he shoots another greasy smile your way that has your toes curling inwards and winks. he winks as he turns his back, "see you soon." your heart races in your chest, pounding so damn hard that it knocks the tears straight out of your eyes. you force your legs to move, to get a thousand feet away from the air that he's poisoned in his presence, to find somewhere you can just breathe and relax and just be safe, damn it.

your fingers rattle as you fight through your bag for your phone, almost dropping it three times in a fit of nerves that override your brain completely. you try ringing, but the necessant beeping only adds to the growing noise overstimulating your brain and after a few seconds of waiting, an answer doesn't come.

you pull up your chats instead, sliding past the pizza tonight?, call me when you leave, get home safe baby <3 and it's all so damn ironic that you feel your heart break into smaller and smaller pieces, slipping through your fingers slick with sweat and disbelief.

HERE GROEVY DTORE MAN IS HERE

it takes a lifetime before three small dots appear in the corner but its too late, your phone has dived into your puffer pocket and youve hauled your bag firm over your shoulder, you just need to get home as soon as possible.

as soon as you're home you'll be safe.

clark will be there, you could probably try filing a police report, you could finally be able to relax and breathe air what you know and love.

you just need to get home.

your phone rings almost immediately as you set foot outside the door and you answer it as soon as clark's picture flashes on the screen.

"honey? is everything okay?" and you can imagine him standing on the other line, phone hooked between his shoulder and jaw, usually where you rest your head as he focuses his attention to his arch nemesis- the stove. you focus your gaze to the floor, watching over your feet to make sure they don't trip over themselves and plummet you to a horrifying death; though maybe it would be a more gentler feat than having to face your stalker again.

until two footsteps turn to four, just metres behind you and your heart drops.

"no, oh god, please no" you whisper to yourself and clark just about catches it through the static.

"baby, talk to me. what is going on?" your boyfriend's voice grits out in urgency on the other side. he can feel how your heart rate quickens, how the blood pounds in your veins, how the whispers crack open little slices of his heart and he's up in miliseconds. you're preoccupied in the spiral of paranoia and anxiety that you don't hear the rustle on the other side, the plead of "baby, you gotta keep talking to me, where are you?"

"hi honey!" you almost shout in feign cheer, "i'm okay thanks! you know, just on my way back home- it was a good one tonight, crowd loved it!" the high pitch feels like a screech in your mind, scratching against the walls like a fork on glass and you want to cry, just lie on the floor, break down and cry.

clark understands immediately what you're doing, letting you gain control of the conversation, holding yourself together and playing it off to the man following you that you don't know that he's there, that he's dangerous. "how far are you?" he asks back.

"you were right!" you laugh, almost uncontrollably and pray you aren't blowing your cover, "we should totally grab a drink at the bar on twelfth you love so much," you gush, "their service is incredible," and then your voice lowers dangerously low in a hurried whisper, "though i'm not a fan of that one guy with the blonde hair whos probably three inches shorter than you and-"

the phone cuts short because you're thrown into a narrowed side alley and up against the wall, grubby hands closing in on your throat with a dangerous snarl milimetres from your ear.

"please," you gasp, "please let me go," and the tears stream hot down your face.

"you were doing so well," the stalker smirks, almost coo'ing affectionately at your attempts before he leans in closer, "and then you had to screw it up- not that great of an actress are you now?" and a chuckle slips from his chapped lips and barks in a taunt onto your own.

"please," you get out but the hold on your neck only tightens.

"i want to hear you sing," he leans in and you're a blubbering, wheezing mess as your legs just dangle up against the wall, "sing little actress, sing for me," he purrs and no words leave you, only fresh hot tears that burn and scorch the reddening of your cheeks as you panic, this is it. this is how you're going to die. at the hands and in the hands of someone who doesn't even know you.

you gasp, beg for air and release before it feels like the world is actually going to close on you, one haze of darkness at a time through the soft closing of your eyes. its only the whiplash of a bright blue and red that you've memorised with your life that jolts you awake.

with one hand superman grips the arm of the strange and flings him so hard into the wall, if you weren't exhausted enough you could've probably caught the crackle of his head splitting open on concrete. if you didn't feel the large gentle hands lowering you to the ground and into his embrace, then you would've caught sight of the barely there rise of the stalker's chest as he lies unconscious.

but all you can focus on is how the warmth and safety of superman's arms suffocates you that you're struggling so hard to level your breathing, your lungs are battered and bruised as they shovel you through more shift, "i told you!" you cry out in heaved breaks of desperation, clutching the ground as you roll over and hang your head low, "i've told you about this man for days," you sob, the salt from the tears poisoning your speech pattern and slobbering into a slurring mess, "i told you," you repeat hysterically, fingers coming around your throat where ugly purple bruises have started to form and you want to just wail harder. you want this to be a nasty dream, a nightmare you can wake up from and escape- this can't be real because this would mean that you were right and clark kent did not believe you.

"i'm sorry," he stutters pained, "i got here as quick as i could, sweetheart i'm here," he tries to reach for you but you stand barely, swaying as you hold yourself up to gain favourable inches away from him.

"i asked for my boyfriend! " you shout, "not you," you gesture to his costume and scoff, though it sounds like a choke with all the mucus building, "i needed my boyfriend and he thought i was a fucking idiot," you snarl, aggressively wiping away the tears that keep streaming and streaming, drowning the both of you in them. "you didn't listen to me," your voice cracks and shatters his heart with every syllable.

"i know," he gets out, a raise of his voice but in no means is an aggressive threat, "i know," he repeats softer, "you were right and you got hurt because i was wrong and didn't listen to you and i'm so damn sorry, gosh," he breathes, "i'm so sorry and please," he begs, "please you don't have to listen to me tonight, or let me be anywhere near you i don't deserve it or your forgiveness but let me at least help you get checked out. i don't want to hurt you anymore than i have, i can't please," and you bite your lip down at his pleading- a habit of yours you know he hates but you can't bring yourself to stop and redirect your worry somewhere else there's just too much of it and nowhere to place it.

you sigh in defeat, you don't really want to face him but the adrenaline from the moment of attack is dying down and you feel really lonely and scared all over. that, and you don't think you have enough energy to make it to the hospital by yourself, being thrown up a brick wall and almost strangled to death will do that.

"fuck," you mumble, "okay," and you raise your arms up.

it's the same gesture you give to clark every night when you're too tired to get yourself to bed, using all his hard earned muscle mass to good use as he carries you like a baby to your bed. its the same call for help when you've drank a little too much and you're seeing all the stars swim in clark's eyes that you can't see straight, or when your favourite pair of shoes has bitten and broken into your ankles too badly on a night out that clark kent (not superman) has to come save your day.

he might be wearing the barrier of blue and red but clark begs with his whole soul that you know it's still him at the end of the day.

its your clark that lifts you up, cradles you like a baby as he carries you to the nearest hospital and sits by your side as you get checked out. he's met with the stares, the sneaky photographs, the incessant gossiping but he'll endure it all for you as he waits patiently, biting his fingernails off as the nurses close the curtains around your bay for a little more privacy.

"who are you?" the nurse quizzes him.

"superman," he answers confidently.

"uh yeah bud and i'm bruce wayne now that's not going to cut it- patient confidentiality and all that, what's your relation?" she tries and clark knows a force of steel when he sees one.

"her boyfriend," he stands taller, ignoring the growing whispers and the jaw drop of the nurse who ushers him inside the curtains and at the foot of your bed instantly.

"clark?" you croak out, as you sit upwards in a reclined position. he can see the bruises how they've formed and made home on your skin and he wants to kill himself for not being able to stop this sooner, for being too foolish and caught up in the world and believing the best of everyone for not noticing that your gut instinct was right.

"yes, my love?" and he's at your side in an instant, crouching down to your height."what do you need- water? food? should i call the nurse- is it hurting?" you place a hand on his lazily but clark wraps it up in a tight interlock and rocks it in his lap- its his lifeline, you are his lifeline and you almost died.

"i understand if you gotta go," you whisper but he catches the hesitation and disappointment settled into your features, he shakes his head instantly with a firm "no."

"no," he repeats again, "i'm not going anywhere," he promises, "i'm here, it's still me and i'm clark, your clark and i'm not going anywhere, not this time." you smile weakly and he scoffs in adoration at the attempt, telling you to "save your energy, baby," and you try not to laugh ar how ridiculous he looks so big sitting in the small creaking plastic hospital chair because at this point even breathing feels like the hardest thing in existence, nevermind laughing. so you close your eyes, nestling into the grim white sheets and letting sleep finally take you.

and this time when it does, there's no blonde streaks and flashes of yellow teeth that haunt you, you can still feel his print around your throat but its calming sea blue eyes that ground you and trust you to know that it's safe.

it's dark, the evening air settling in as you both leave a high-profiled, michelin-star restaurant, because johnny storm sure as hell loves to spoil you- despite your pleading, saying its not necessary, you've long learnt your lesson and given up, knowing johnny does what he likes and you go along for the ride.

he walks right behind you, your back pressed against his front as he wraps his arms around your chest, holding you tight to him. you walk slowly, feeling his heartbeat dance along to your own rhythm; a sacred song the two of you will only ever sing as he walks you back to an apartment he has fifteen minutes away.

you're wrapped up in his red jacket and he rests his head on the worn leather clad on your shoulder, and a mixture of his aftershave and your sweet perfume intertwines and he inhales softly. you're humming a tune gently as he matches his steps to yours; though it looks more like a waddle as you both try not to trip over each other albeit johnny would never let you fall, he'd soften the blow in an instant.

"i had such a good time, baby," he drawls into your hair and you beam pure sunshine, no flame is needed, johnny can already feel the warmth, the magnetic pull of his soul to yours and you lean back into his embrace.

"well the good news is hotstuff, the night is not over just yet," you breathe back, and you spin lightly in his hold to press a kiss to the corner of his pink lips. he turns his head at the last second so he catches the centre of your lips instead before he melts in completely. its hungry, its swallowed with all the love and affection that when he pulls apart, he's breathless and you're his oxygen. you're a second away from chasing after his lips again when he chuckles softly to himself at the way your lipstick is smudged, bleeding out of the line of your lips and onto his own. it's messy, on the brink of becoming undone and there's a glint of mischief in your eyes as you plant a firm kiss to his cheek, fingers tracing over the outlines of the wrinkles and etches of your kiss now branded in red and he grins, proud to be marked and only ever known as yours.

"perfect," you mumble and he tries to fix your hair from where he's tugged at the strands in the midst of a steamy makeout. its tender and sweetly soft as you stand in his hold and he brushes the tendrils free from your blushing face, lingering on a few as they wrap around his fingers and he lets them go.

"yeah, you are," and he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. and he's inches away when he can see the upcoming blinding flash of cameras streak and swarm you like an army of bees. there's yelling, the blur of people nearing closer to you, the screaming of his name and yours metres away and you feel the panic rise in you.

"johnny?" you whisper and he nods firm,

"don't worry shortcake, i got this," and determination sets itself into his gaze and he stares up at the sky. his hold on you tightens and you feel the heat rise slowly, swarm you like a gentle hug, a carress of fire, but you blink slowly.

you haven't moved.

"johnny?" and he shakes his head, pretending to try again.

"it usually works," he shrugs and then he leans in close to you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, "maybe you need to say the magic word?" and you roll your eyes, dramatically throwing your head into his chest with a soft thud, it knocks him back slightly but he pokes his tongue into his cheek, standing, unwavering until you break first.

"please?" you plead as much as he loves to hear those words from your lips, he's looking for something a little more.

he pretends to think about it as the light draw nearer and you whine, pounding your fists softly against the muscles of his chest that radiate and rumble with joy of teasing you, "that was lovely, but nope," and then you meet him with a death glare, pure stone and steel and he feels a trickle of sweat slide down the back of his neck.

"flame on," you grit out and he grins, flicking your nose,

"almost, doll. its just missing a little something ..." he trails off, tapping his finger against his lips and you roll your eyes, knowing that johnny storm is a man of dramatic flair so you huff, stamp your heel to the ground and kiss him. you've basically thrown yourself into him to smash your lips on his as the yelling drums louder and louder his hands wrap around your waist firmly as yours interlock around his neck and he presses you against him tight.

"here we go, dollface," he whispers before all you see is pure red.

the flames engulf him but he's careful not to burn you, and when you're airborne you have to scrunch your eyes tightly, aware of the height he's raised you two at and he murmurs words of comfort into your hair that you greatly appreciate. "you're doing so well baby, i'm not gonna let you fall," and you believe him, it's just so high up here. he takes his time when he lowers you down to the ground and you exhale so loudly, grateful to feel the floor beneath you and the grounf to steady you.

"what took you so long?" you gasp, trying to regulate your breathing and johnny shrugs, trying to hide the smirk of knowing that when you wake up tomorrow morning in his bed, flicking on the news, you'll find a picture of you and him locked in a hurried kiss, and the world will once again know (as if they didn't already) that johnny storm is yours and you are his.

"you didn't say the magic words," he gets out before wrapping you in a hug, steadying you on your feet, "its scientifically proven that i perform a lot better after a kiss."

and johnny storm, as loud as he loves, is true to his heart and is no liar.

. . .

johnny storm who comes to the rescue during a power outage at your shows!

its hard not to notice the human torch. he's famous in his own right. but its also hard not to recognise johnny storm who sits at the highest point in the venue, a giant "president of the fan club" poster he waves in the air with your tour merch splashed across his chest.

his smile is contagious, his laughter your favourite sound and if you close your eyes you imagine the faint beat of his heart that steadies your own. the first time you performed with him in the crowd, nervous was an understatement. you had just started dating and you were wide-eyed, eager-hearted, desperate to impress him. tens of shows later and sometimes it still feels like the very first time, you get nervous and then you see the fond look of adoration sent from you above and the world spins a little slower, giving you time to regain control of your feet and your fate.

even unwillingly, without you knowing, like it's your body's natural reaction, your eyes search for his through every crowd and sea of souls till they settle on his and when they do, its like they bring you home.

your fans love having johnny at the shoes too, they coo and cheer and johnny storm is a damn superhero.

when the lights flicker off and the sound of your background vocals, when everything just seems to stop and fade into the darkness, he comes to rescue the day. there's chants of "flame on!" that take over but you can here is faint, "i'm coming, doll!" as he lights up, and then drops down barely a milimetre from you.

johnny only needs to flame a hand to give some warmth to the crowd, some light to see in the darkness and keep the show running but he burns his whole body to let you know he's here, he's willing to do anything for you. he does marvel in the praise and adoration of his skills as he performs a few tricks; giving in to the attention and you don't even hide back the happiness the sight of him brings you.

after a few minutes more of being the main act, he sits on the edge of the stage next to you, your feet dangling next to his as he takes one of your hands, interlocks it with his and places it firmly in his lap. a human campfire, if you will as you take an acoustic version of your songs.

he sings along to every word he knows by rememberance, he's burned them into his soul, into the rooms in his mind dedicated to you and after every line, you find yourself looking to him again, singing to him.

because when you can feel him in everything around you, it's hard to remember that there's a world watching, it feels as though it all just crumbles to ash, hides in the smoke. right here, right now, there's a room of people filled who love you completely, at the centre- burning bright and whole sits the love of your life, johnny storm.

the powers may be out, but johnny keeps it running all night long without complaint- and he'd do it a million times more to keep that show-stopping smile printed on your face.

johnny storm who hates long distance but will do anything to make it work!

you haven't seen johnny in weeks; and its the longest you've ever gone without him. you have your scheduled morning and evening calls but its just not the same. the rasp around the edges as he breathes out "i miss you" tugs at your heartstrings painfully and you want nothing more to just curl up in his arms, roam your fingers through the blonde locks and stare into your favourite colour eyes- blue like the ocean waters that call you home.

you've spent the day doing fan service, filling the johnny sized hole in your heart with others who love and support you. and part of it works, you smile, you laugh, you joke and pose for pictures, you listen to stories and tell your own and when you leave the venue, the 5'10 aching weight is slightly lifted from your heart.

it was busier than you anticipated today and so you missed your morning call as well as breakfast, being pushed to a workout facility to exercise and then practise your dance sequences. and being on the go makes it easier to forget that when you turn in for the night, you're lonely and alone all the same again.

you drag yourself to the hotel room, letting exhaustion win over as you collapse onto the bed. the shoes are still on your feet, your outfit still clinging to your frame as your head pounds, pressed into the mattress as you just hope and beg that sleeps takes you early; rescues you into a soft dream escape where all you see is johnny.

the phone rings and the shrill noise causes you to groan in annoyance further, you just want to be left alone to sulk in peace. to rot out this bad mood where you don't have the energy to people please today. the ringing doesn't stop and you use every ounce of your energy to force yourself up, lean over and snatch the phone from the handle with such grear ferocity.

"what?" you snarl, and it's so foreign, so strange as it leaves your lips that you don't have time to apologise, wipe it clean from memory and start over- the persona you have programmed into your mind just slipping free.

a moment passes between the line where all you hear is a slow inhale.

"honey?" and you instantly crumble.

"i'm sorry," you breathe, face hot with tears that just fall and fall and fall. they drown you, soak up the earlier good feelings and stain your cheeks, "i didn't mean to-" you clear your throat but the voice miles away on the line leaks through with blatant concern.

"babygirl, are you okay?" and you can imagine him now, the cute furrow in his brow, the pout of his bottom lip and you soften, trying to regain composure and bite back the rising despair falling all over.

"yeah!" you try for upbeat, "yeah," you wipe away the snot hurriedly, "i uh, caught you on tv earlier you looked so good, baby!" you gush, cursing yourself for being so ridiculous but johnny storm on the other side doesn't believe you one bit.

"honey," he whispers, "you're upset and i'm not there," his voice sounds pained, like all this distance is hurting him too, you just can't see it.

"i'm fine bug," you blink slowly, trying to gather yourself, "it's just one of those days, you know?" you try to laugh it off and he exhales quietly.

"i miss you," it comes quiet, not like all the times you've said it before. it leaks with desperation, the days of yearning and the outstretched longing of your soul that just screams for johnny and nothing else will minimise the urge.

"i miss you," he returns back with the same empty sadness that consumes him, "i think i might just die," he dramatically gasps and it bursts a real giggle from you, except laced with the sniffles and tears it comes out like a slob. johnny hums satisfied nonetheless and you can imagine him leaning into the phone, his soft pink lips whispering the words and as they settle into the grin he reserves just for you. the phone tucked securely beneath his ear and resting on his shoulder as he scratches herby's head or he balances franklin on his hip.

"johnny," you scold but the burn doesn't land, "just a few more days, right?" you hate yourself for how small and desperate you sound, it echoes in the quiet of the night, the stillness of the hotel room where you've never felt so lonely.

"just a few more, darlin" he promises and as much as you'd love to stay all night and talk with him till the sunrise but you've got to get up early for rehearsal all over again so its time for you to face the dark, wallowing emptiness and to turn in for the night.

you reimagine him whispering "i love you" just as he did moments before repetitively that it lulls you to sleep so easily and you don't remember when you completely listened to the darkness. you're wrapped into the sheets, tangled into the creases of the pillows when you hear a faint tapping.

you must be dreaming and continue to ignore it when the tapping gets louder and more frequent and you recognise the pattern of knocking from your real bedroom door. you're half asleep and your feet move on their own accord, like a lightning reaction leading you to the own who rotates your earth, spins your entire universe and you open the door to balcony with such disbelief.

"johnny?" you blink, exhaustion laced in your features and sleep heavy on your mind that everything looks too blurry, but the piercing blue brings you right to reality and into his arms.

"hey baby," theres a faint smell of smoke that lingers and you just feel yourself lift off the ground and jump into his arms. he catches you with ease, like its all he's known his entire life and holds you against him so tightly. it speaks volumes of love, the days and nights where he hasn't been able to hold you and the future in which he wishes he'll never have to leave you.

"you're here," you breathe, feeling the tears collect at your waterline all over. he presses his thumbs into them, catching the strays that fall and pushes his forehead to yours.

"i'm here," he confirms and it breaks his heart all over to see you so distressed, to see you hurting just as much as he has; he's also just very good at hiding it in public. but when he's alone and he can't see you, can't feel you- he feels himself collapse entirely.

you think he's saved you tonight, come to your aid and crushed the melancholic thoughts of missing him, but as he holds you now, its you putting all his pieces back together. melting and moulding the heat that radiates from him but affirms it with your shared love.

you feel like home and he's missed you so much that he can't wait for the tour to end, to be back in your place and have sunday dinners together all over. to reach across the sheets and feel your hands, to see your things all over his place- little remenants of you, to just have you in his vicinity.

but for now, he'll settle for flying and burning miles and miles as he visits you in different states, holding you for the hours he can before he has to make the journey back. because hours on the road to get minutes with you? that seems like a pretty fair deal to him.

. . .

johnny storm who is banned from your songwriting sessions!

the first and last time johnny storm ever joined you for a songwriting session, the two of you had been wrapped up in the corner of a library. he was swinging on his chair, busying himself with science fiction as you flicked through some of your journals to try and draw out some inspiration, gather some themes for your new album and to be surrounded by stories? what better place to scope out some fresh inspiration than a library.

when you first approached johnny with the idea he tried to hide his lack of enthusiams, instead soaking up yours as he let you lead him to a corner where the two of you could sit unnoticed, research and just give yourself some breathing space to feel inspired. and it was working for the first 20 minutes until johnny let the boredom sink in, he'd lean in, tease you with a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, lingering longer each time, grazing his teeth across your skin in an agonising tease.

"johnny," you hissed, splashes of red flushing up from your neck, burning the tips of your ears, "this is a public space," but he remained undeterred. he busied himself, planting kisses whenever you left yourself exposed and when he realised you weren't paying him the attention he so desperately craved, he placed a warm hand to your thigh and let it wander just a little bit higher. he let it just stay there, grip your skin firmly, letting the tease die there- he wanted you to come seek him out, to play into his game.

you leaned into his hold, stroking the back of his hair to where it meets his neck and tugged lightly, "johnny," you murmured, your pretty pink lips curled into a sweet smile.

"yes, my love?" he hummed into your neck.

"shall we just get out of here?" and it was meant to be a trap, he'd get excited and you'd shut down his hopes then and there. kind of like what you'd do to tease a child, except all you saw was a flame derived from excitement and burn your paper notes to ash.

he looked guilty as he met your parted lips, exasperated with disbelief. you stared at the crumbling, how it fell from your fingertips and faced him with a pure fire of your own, blazing with rage.

"you did not,"'you gasp in horror and his hands are immediately up in defense.

"hey- you started making all these fun suggestions," he tried to excuse but you shove him with a force that almost pushed him to the floor.

"can anyone smell that?" a rogue voice in the distance called, you stared at johnny; the panic setting in as he matched your intensity. grabbing and salvaging what he could, dumping into your tote as he locked his hand in yours and the two of you ran.

that was the last time johnny storm was allowed in a library or in one of your songwriting sessions ever again.

except now, where your songwriting sessions are beyonf libraries and the studio, extending into the late hours of the night- where an idea hits you and consumes you that you just have to get it out of your mind and onto the page.

so johnny storm stands at the door, leaning his body weight across the frame as the one am cold bites at his bare chest.

you look so beautiful in your own element, you're dressed in one of his t shirts, sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by a plethora of random notes, crumpled paper balls, a million biro pens- one holding your hair up as a guitar shifts in your lap.

it's pitch black save for a small lamp, emitting warm light over your head as you mumble a melody, cut yourself off and start over, a lot more confident. your murmurs of words and strumming of chords are cut short when you hear his own rumble at the door.

"baby, i love you but its one am," he almost whines, sleep etched into his voice that lowers an octave as he stares down at you, "come back to bed," its a soft order- bedtime is strictly his time.

"you gotta hear this one, i'm almost there," and the amount of times johnny has heard this spiel from you, he knows its futile arguing. so he takes a seat six feet from you on the floor and motions for you to continue, you beam and strum the guitar softly, and when you sing its so clear that its written about him, written for him.

you're bashful under his attention and love leaks from his melting heart, you're so perfect and he thinks just how did he get so lucky in this lifetime to adore and cherish you. billions of people on earth and johnny storm has met his match in the shape and form of you.

love and fondness warms the air, his heart beating softly as the background bass to your chords as you meet his gaze, giggle softly and continue. he wants nothing more to reach out, hold you, squeeze you till you're conjoined into his existence and nothing separates you but you have this damn rule of him and paper.

so he waits quietly, you finish and flush under his praise, his applause and then he extends his arms, actions not words asking for permission and you soften.

"do you promise to behave yourself?" you raise your eyebrows and he chuckles at the memory, scoffing lightly before slipping on that easy grin you've written into all your songs.

"i promise," he mumbles and you extend your own arms. he crosses the distance in a second, lifts you up so you sit in his lap, his bare chest to your back and he rocks you against him quietly.

"let me hear it again baby, from the beginning," he asks and you grow excited at his interest, fingers finding the strings and starting again. he tries to stay awake, he really does but the gentle sweep of your voice drifts him to sleep as he lowers his head into the crook of your neck.

and when you finish, your ears catch hearing of the gentle snores that escape him and you set the guitar to the side, the notes are abandoned, the song is recorded and everything, every single thing leads right back to him.

it doesn't matter if its in libraries, studo sessions or on the floor of his living room, johnny storm lives and breathes your inspiration- you could be anywhere with him and itll be fine because johnny storm is the music. he's every song you'll ever sing, every moment big or small that you breathe, he's everything.