Johnny bit into his bottom lip, trying desperately to try and conceal the laughter that was threatening to fall from his lips. In dramatic fashion, you threw your head back into the headrest of his blue Corvette. The sigh that tumbled from your lips was probably loud enough to be heard from Lower Manhattan at this point.

Gaze turning on him, stern and annoyed, Johnny could still see the notes of playfulness under it all.

“Stick shift is stupid, Johnny,”

“It’s not stupid-”

“Where I’m from, we can hit a single button to start our cars these days,” you accented your comment by pressing your finger into the space next to the steering wheel. “Hell, we can start some of them with our phones. They even drive themselves!”

The laughter Johnny tried so hard to keep at bay came tumbling out anyways, further cementing the annoyed look that crossed your face. He reached into the car, taking your hand in his, cradling it and littering soft kiss after kiss along each of your knuckles.

For just a split second, he saw that look in your eyes soften, that familiar affection he’d grown so used to creeping in along the edges. It always happened when he did this, and Johnny would take advantage of it every single time.

“This is the 60s, sweetheart, we aren’t that advanced. Unless I go tell Reed to make it happen,” you tried to drag your hand away but Johnny held tight, still kneeling on the ground in the open driver’s side door in front of you. “Also: be nice to the car. She’s my prized possession.”

“Prized possession?” you questioned, eyebrow lifting up immediately at the remark.

“Well, she’s been demoted to second place now,” Johnny’s lips turned into their usual smirk. Rising to his feet, he tugged your hand without giving you a second to think. Stumbling from the car and straight into his arms, Johnny’s wound around your waist to lock you in tightly to his body, nose just barely brushing the tip of yours. “My real prized possession has to be the little witch I managed to wrangle into loving me.”

You laughed, and Johnny could see it then like he saw so many times before: love. Written so clearly across your face, hidden in the lines of your smile and in the creases around your eyes as you laughed. A love her truly didn’t understand how he’d been blessed with, but was prepared to do whatever it took to keep it.

“I’m still trying to figure out how you managed it, too,”

Johnny just hummed, his lips finding yours with a practiced ease. A simple action that lit his skin on fire in a different way than he was very literally used to. Kissing you the moment you woke up in the morning, in front of his family until Ben complained, or in every little moment he could find, Johnny would never get tired of it. He’d simply never get tired of you.

He’d said it before, and he’d keep saying it until the end of time: you were it for him, ruined him in the best way, and he never wanted to go back to a life without you.

“It’s not good to mope, you know?”

As fast as that memory had overtaken him, invaded every single one of his thoughts, it was gone. The weight of your hand in his, the scent of your perfume, the feel of your lips pressed to his was resigned, once again, to what it was: a memory.

And suddenly, Johnny was back right where he didn’t want to be…in a life without you.

Standing by the window of his bedroom, gazing out at the Excelsior was where Johnny found himself as his sister’s voice invaded his thoughts. His room hadn’t changed much. Your favorite record had never left the player across the room, and in every single corner, on every single piece of furniture in the room, there was a memory of you burned into the very fabric of it.

“I’m not moping,” Johnny immediately shot Sue a look where she stood in his doorway, before looking back to the ship standing tall outside the window. Gesturing wildly with his hands, even he wasn’t sure what he was doing. “I’m simply…admiring the craftsmanship.”

“The craftsmanship-”

“Reed made some upgrades, it looks good,” Johnny shrugged, not having to look to feel Sue walking further into the room to stand beside him. “Darker blue around the windows, larger engines in the back, freshly painted logo–hey, has your husband ever thought about a career in interior design?”

“Given that everything you just said is on the outside of the ship, I don’t think it counts as interior,” Sue’s knowing gaze was already trained on him when Johnny finally met her eyes. “And you are trying to deflect.”

Johnny simply rolled his eyes at his sister’s words. Clapping her quickly on the shoulder, he stalked across the room to his bed, his freshly dried laundry sitting on top of the bed where he had neglected to actually put it all away. Busying his hands, he didn’t look back up at her as he talked.

“It’s not deflecting, you act like I refuse to talk about her. I talk about her all the time,” halfway through folding one of his shirts, Johnny simply gave up and tossed it across his bed, deciding it could just get hung up instead of folded. “We all talk about her all the time. I’m allowed to miss her, you know?”

“I didn’t even mention her, Johnny-”

“Not the point. I did love her, you know? I’m allowed to miss her,”

“Did, as in past tense?”

Sue was standing on the other side of the bed now when Johnny finally looked up. He sent her an unimpressed look as she folded her arms across her chest.

“You know what I mean,”

“Yes, because I know you. Which means I also know that you typically hide your moping and pining better than staring longingly out of a window. There was only one other time you looked this pathetically sad, and that was last year,” Johnny returned to the pile of clothes before him, refusing to meet his sister’s eyes as she slowly settled herself down onto the bed in front of him. “It’s almost the anniversary, isn’t it?”

Of course it was. Johnny knew it, Sue knew it, Reed knew it, Ben knew it–hell, even Franklin and Herbie probably knew it. 

Hanging on the wall of his bedroom, right by his dresser, sat that stupid little calendar. And five days from now there was one simple, tiny little blue heart drawn on the date. The day you had to leave him, turning his world upside down more than you had when you first arrived, and left him feeling as if a part of him was missing.

“Two years, Sue,” Johnny took a single glance up at her, shrugging his shoulders. “I think I’m allowed to be a little depressed around this time, okay? Give a guy a break, I smile in all our interviews and in every Ted Gilbert appearance.”

“A half-assed smile,”

Tossing one of his shirts at Sue, she caught it easily. But that look remained in her eyes, that knowing look. The one that, for his entire life, was able to see right through Johnny as if he was made of glass.

“Put yourself in my shoes, think about it as if it was you and Reed, and he got ripped away from you,” he tried to explain, getting frustrated with folding yet another shirt and tossing it off to the side. “It’s stupid, because I know she had to leave. I knew the entire time that, one day, she’d have to leave because she didn’t belong here. But it just…felt like she did, you know? Like she belonged with me. She didn’t see the Human Torch, she just saw me…the same way you see me.”

Quiet enveloped the room again. Johnny let the shirts in his hands fall to the bed, giving up on focusing on something else, as he met Sue’s eyes again. There wasn’t a second of judgement in them, not a single ounce of pity, just understanding. An understanding that for Johnny’s entire life he was sure only his sister could have for him, until you came along.

With his usual dramatic flair, Johnny threw himself down onto the bed. Clothing be damned, strewn out across the comforter, Sue’s light laughter filled the room as his head landed beside her leg. Her hand found its way to his shoulder, rubbing little circles into it in the most comforting way she could.

“I get it Johnny, we all do. We all miss her, too,” she quietly reminded him. He could feel her watching him, even as his eyes stayed trained on the ceiling above them. “Franklin asked about her today…asked where his auntie was.”

“He always asks where she is,” Johnny mumbled, still not looking away from the ceiling as Sue hummed.

“True, but he doesn’t usually cry. Doesn’t usually tell me how much he misses her, how he can’t feel her magic and it makes him sad,”

Johnny really thought, two years in, it would get easier. That maybe, after a few months, he’d stop missing you as much as he did those first few weeks. 

He’d eventually forced himself to put away the few pieces of your clothing that had still been littered around his bedroom from that fateful day. Your perfume had begun to fade from his pillowcases. He thought it would get easier then, that he’d just be able to look at the photos of you and him that still sat on his bedside table or hung on his wall and smile at the memories. That he could move on, look back on them for what they had to be: memories. Thank you for showing him what it felt like to be loved and how to give it so that he could give it to someone else. Because as much as you had promised him that it wasn’t a goodbye that day, and as much as he told himself he’d see you again, he knew the likelihood was slim. Two different worlds, two different universes, two different people who were just never meant to be. Who never should’ve met to begin with.

It was month three without you when Johnny decided that maybe, just maybe, he could try again. But the second Ben came home from a night out and cautiously told him that there was a nice young woman Rachel wanted to introduce him to, Johnny broke down into tears for the first time since that sparkling gold portal had opened in Reed Richards’ lab.

You had ruined Johnny Storm completely, and he knew right then and there he wasn’t going to be able to ever love someone again. Not like he loved you.

“I’m pathetic,” Johnny muttered in mock disdain, eyes still trained on the ceiling. “Little witch turned me into a pathetic, hopeless romantic. Maybe she really did put a spell on me.”

“No, Johnny, you just fell in love. That’s the beautiful tragedy of it,” Sue laughed, her fingers reaching out and bumping with Johnny’s cheek gently to grab his attention. He let his head lull to the side, catching her gaze and the soft smile on her face, the one that spoke a thousand words without having to say a single thing.

“Two different worlds, Sue. How real can that love really be?”

“Tell me: if she was standing here right now, and I handed you mom’s ring, would you ask her to marry you?”

“Yes,” it was the easiest thing Johnny had ever said. As easy as the first time he’d told you he loved you. Like he knew it in his heart.

“Then who cares if it makes sense? It was real, it still is,” Sue gave a little shrug, an easy smile on her face. “Love doesn’t always make sense. Sometimes it’s complicated, but at the same time…when you know, you know. That’s the only girl I’ve ever seen you like that with, Johnny, and I’ll forever be thankful to her for the man she helped you become.”

“I sent you up here to stop his pity fest, did you turn it into a heart-to-heart?”

Ben’s voice cut into the conversation, his large form looming in the doorway as he raised his rocky eyebrow in the direction of the siblings. Johnny simply rolled his eyes at his friend, practically vaulting himself off the bed and back to his feet, laundry wrinkled across the bed now and a problem for a later time as he tried to shake himself awake from the conversation that loomed heavily in the back of his mind.

Sue shook her head, rising to her feet as well as she walked over to join Ben in the doorway.

“His pity fest was worse than usual. He was staring longing out the window. I almost saw some tears,”

“Damn, haven’t seen tears in a hot minute from matchstick,” Ben whistled, clicking his tongue. “The window is pretty bad. Worst I saw was his birthday–don’t think he took that sweater she got him off the entire day-”

“When did today become ‘Make Fun of Johnny Day’ huh?” Johnny cut in, eyebrow raised and arms thrown out as he cast a glance between both Sue and Ben on the far side of his room. “What, did you make it a city-wide holiday? Call up the mayor?”

“Not a bad idea-”

“Come on,” Sue cut in, landing a light slap to Ben’s chest, even as he laughed at his own comment. The pair were already turning to walk down the hallway together as Sue threw in another comment over her shoulder. “Reed wants you in the lab, it’s not an option!”

There was no point in arguing with the pair, especially if Reed was requesting his presence. He let his eyes drift to his bedside table, to that familiar polaroid photo that sat leaning against his lamp, of you wrapped in his arms on the living room balcony. He’d lost that magically preserved Plumeria flower weeks ago, spent days upending his room trying to find it, but your hand writing was still scrawled across the edge of the photo in your magic.

Unequivocally yours.

With a sigh, tearing himself away, Johnny followed the pair through the hallway and down the stairs and into the living room of the Baxter Building. His mind was far from in the moment, though, too lost in his own memories.

The memory of walking down those exact stairs into the living room to see you, dolled up for your first official date together. The many mornings he’d walked down those stairs to see you cooking breakfast with Ben in the kitchen, or sitting with Sue and Reed in the living room, laughing with Franklin on your lap.

Even the elevator brought memories as he stepped into it beside Sue and Ben.

“You know,” Johnny’s voice was low, twinged with a heat that he hadn’t felt before. His eyes took just a moment to glance down at your lips, flickering back to your eyes before you could catch him. “This would be the moment during the date where I’d probably try and kiss you.”

He waited with bated breath, a flurry of butterflies hammering against his chest the second your brilliant smile lit up your face. But then your eyes glowed blue for just a moment, a small burst of magic leaving the hand resting on his chest, pushing him backward and out of the elevator doors.

Johnny’s wide eyes watched you as he caught himself, steadying himself on the ground as he stared at you with a dumbfounded smile. You only returned the look, pressing the button for the guest floor without ever breaking eye contact as he felt every ounce of breath rush out of him in a single moment.

“Guess you’ll have to try your luck tomorrow night,”

Ben’s rocky hand collided with Johnny’s shoulder gently, knocking him out of his own head.

“Come on, buddy, quit daydreaming,” Ben teased, but his words were gentle. Almost pitying as the elevator descended down to the lab. “I know I said love looks good on you…but I hate seeing you like this.”

“Yeah, well, blame the wizard dude,” Johnny huffed out, waving his hand off-handedly as he tried to change the subject, trying not to let his mind wander once against and get lost in his own head for the hundredth time in the last hour. “Next time I see him, I might punch him.”

“That I might pay to see,” Sue chimed in, sharing a laugh with Ben as the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to the familiar lab.

Reed Richards was down near his chalk board, handing a set of papers off to Herbie as he wrote what Johnny could only assume was another long-winded equation across the board. Herbie took the papers from him, rolling across the room to feed them into the computer down at the far end of the lab and wait for the results to print out.

Sue and Ben continued to converse with one another as they moved to join Reed at the chalkboard. Johnny, though, was in no rush. He lagged behind, arms crossed over his chest as he took tentative steps into the room, simply watching the three converse quietly in their little huddle by the chalkboard.

That is, until a little ball of blonde hair collided with his leg, latching onto him like a little leech.

“Uncle Johnny! You left your room!”

If anything, or anyone, was going to bring a smile to Johnny’s face right now, it was always going to be Franklin. With a single swoop of his arm, Johnny positioned his nephew onto his hip. The smiling four year old giggled, wrapping his little arounds tightly around his uncle’s shoulders to hold on as Johnny reached up to ruffle his hair playfully, tugging just barely on his ear to make the boy squirm in his hold as he shot him a bright smile.

“Hey buddy. I was told your crazy dad wanted to see me, I didn’t think this was a family meeting,”

“We made you a present!” Franklin excitedly announced, hands curling into Johnny’s shirt as he practically bounced in his arms. Johnny held on tighter, trying not to let the boy slip from his hold. “I even helped.”

“Did you now?”

Taking a few more steps into the room, Johnny shot his inquisitive look toward Ben, his sister, and his brother-in-law. The former two both shoved Reed forward, who simply shot them both looks for their actions, before he tossed the little device in his hands in Johnny’s direction. He caught it easily in one hand, turning it over in his palm.

“I’ve been working on it for a few months. Franklin just got to pick the color,”

Johnny…had no clue what he was looking at. The rectangular device was slightly larger than the palm of his hand, an opening in the back revealing a set of exposed wires that he was sure were meant to be connected to something else. 

The lit screen showcased a series of complicated numbers and equations. Multiple strings of numbers looked almost like coordinates, some looked like jump points that they used to calculate jumps through wormholes in space, but they all led to one number on the screen, highlighted in bold: 616.

“My gift is a little box with numbers…thanks?” Johnny raised an eyebrow in Reed’s direction.

Sue sighed, tugging on her husband’s arm and gesturing toward the chalkboard beside them. He nodded, waving Johnny over in their direction. He complied, albeit warily, standing in front of the couch with Franklin still positioned over his hip as Ben and Sue stood at Reed’s side while he ran him through the series of equations littering the board.

“We’ve been mulling over the idea for months now. Close to a year. More so the ethical implications of it,” Reed underlined one of the longest equations on the board, accenting the end of it with his chalk. “You’ve been in a funk, it’s been clear. I knew that I could accomplish this, but it came down to whether or not it was ethical for me to do this, to build this. But in looking back on my own notes, from my own data collected from her time here, nothing seemed thrown out of balance. From quick studies, I see no sign of any incursions. Which–theoretically–would suggest that the same could work in reverse. The construction of the device was simple, really. A device that could allow our ship to break through a jump point and use quantum physics in order to cross through a multidimensional stream was simple to construct-”

Multidimensional stream.

Johnny couldn’t breathe. Reed kept talking, his mouth kept moving, his hand kept sweeping across the chalkboard, but Johnny couldn’t comprehend a single word that came out of his mouth.

It wasn’t until he placed Franklin down on the couch behind him that he realized he was shaking. With both hands, Johnny clutched that device in his hands, staring down at that three digit number staring back at him. When he finally looked back up at his family, they were already staring back at him.

“You…you’re saying that t-this thing?” he held the device up, shaking it in the air in Reed’s direction with wide eyes. “Can help our ship travel the multiverse?”

Reed stalked across the room to his workstation without another word, digging around for something. Johnny caught Ben and Sue’s eyes. Their smiles were prevalent, those encouraging ones, the ones that screamed ‘you deserve this,’ that said ‘we did this for you’.

“Did you know, in the infinite multiverse, I was able to find approximately 17,835,239 other versions of your witch with energy signatures that are almost identical to hers? All slightly different, but very similar, almost impossible to tell apart,” Reed spoke up as he stepped back toward Johnny, pulling his hand out from behind his back and holding it out in Johnny’s direction. “Luckily, I knew just how to find yours.”

The Plumeria flower. Still shimmering, encased in your blue magic, forever keeping it alive.

Johnny glanced down at the device again, eyes catching that number once more: 616. A lump formed in his throat, every emotion he’d felt for the last two years swelling in him all at once as he let his finger drift over the screen, right over the number.

“So…616-”

His sister’s hand found his upper arm, curling around it, squeezing it in comfort. Johnny leaned into it without a second thought, too overwhelmed to think twice.

“It stands for Earth-616,” Sue told him softly. He could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s her earth, Johnny. Reed found it. He found her.”

 ❤︎

Dear Johnny,

It’s been awhile since I’ve written you one of these, probably since I stopped seeing my “Wong Appointed” therapist. He’s still upset about that, but therapists don’t exactly understand how to help me deal with falling in love with a man from an entirely different universe, so I felt like it was just a waste of both of our times. The letters were her idea, and they sometimes helped, so I guess she was good for something.

Today is the two year mark. I don’t like thinking about it. I’ve been trying not to think about it all day, actually. Joaquín and I left for a mission at almost three in the morning today, that’s how badly I didn’t want to think about what today was. The mission was easy, barely took half of the day. I threw two dudes out of a window, then I laughed to myself because I could almost hear you in my head saying “wow, that was so hot.”

I miss you. That’s the whole point of me writing this, because I’m really trying not to cry right now. We’re on the quinjet back, and at some point in the middle of this data retrieval it just hit me that it’s been two years since I’ve seen you. Since I’ve held you. Since I’ve kissed you. I thought maybe writing down how much I miss you, how much I love you, would make me feel better. Honestly, I think it might just be making it worse-

“OW! Joaquín, I swear to god-”

“It’s not exactly easy to stitch your arm when you’re writing. Put the pen down for two seconds and let me finish the damn stitches first, please and thank you,”

He had a point, even if you didn’t want to admit it. The quinjet was cruising on autopilot, the overhead indicator calling out that you’d just passed over Baltimore and the ETA to the compound was now ten minutes.

The pen in your hand dropped as a sigh escaped your lips. Joaquín shot you a mockingly thankful look, focusing back in on the exposed area of your forearm where the bullet had grazed, cutting through your suit and leaving a deep enough cut to warrant stitches. Thankfully, your teammate and friend knew you well enough to know you weren’t stopping by the hospital, and had volunteered his services before Sam forced you to be seen by a doctor the second you stepped foot off the jet.

“Did you finish off the report for Sam?” you managed out through gritted teeth, hand flexing as Joaquín finished off the final stitch, tying it closed and wiping down the area with a final anti-septic pad that had you inhaling another hiss of pain. You took the bandage he passed your way with a nod of thanks as he packed away the med kit laid out in front of him.

“Did it the second we got in the air, it’s on the table,” he nodded his head toward the main table of the room, stashing the medkit in its rightful place across the room before heading back toward the cockpit, double checking on all the indicators to ensure that everything was in place and holding steady. “So, are we going to talk about it?”

You hummed, rubbing at the now bandaged part of your arm over the torn portion of your suit. Rising from your chair, letter abandoned, you did a quick flip through of the report to ensure everything was in order: SERPENT base, files recovered concerning resurfaced HYDRA activity, no casualties, single gunshot graze.

“Talk about what?”

“Uh, the fact that the all powerful witch got so distracted she basically got shot?” you glanced in Joaquín’s direction as he spoke. He stood with his arms crossed, still donning his suit, raising an eyebrow in your direction as he gave a little shrug. “Come on, I’m the one who always needs a second pair of eyes watching his back in the field. You’re, like, a model of perfection on missions. You never slip up. What happened back there?”

“It was stupid,” you tried to deflect, but Joaquín held your gaze. With a sigh, you cast your eyes down to the table, drumming your fingers along the edge. “The two agents were just making callouts to each other. One of them…his name was Johnny. I just froze for a second when I heard it, that’s all.”

It really was stupid. Such a trivial thing. A name, just a name was all it took for you to freeze in a moment where you shouldn’t have frozen. Any other day and it wouldn’t have affected you, wouldn’t have stopped you in your tracks the way it had.

But not today. Not on the anniversary of the day you’d been forced to leave behind the little family you’d found for yourself, leaving a piece of yourself forever behind with the Human Torch himself.

Joaquín’s laughter cut through the silence of the jet, and the glare you sent his way immediately at the sound was piercing. He was hunched over, arm wrapped around his middle and one hand on the back of the pilot’s chair to try and steady himself. Each time his eyes met yours, he only doubled over more in laughter, waving his hand in your direction.

“I-I’m sorry, all it took was his name?” you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the table as you fixed your friend with an unimpressed look. He howled with laughter again, wiping at his under eyes with his hand. You couldn’t tell if it was an exaggeration, or if he really was crying from here. “Jesus, sweetheart, you really are pathetic when it comes to him.”

Stalking past him, a wave of magic rolled off you with a single thought, shoving him out of the way to allow you to climb into the pilot’s chair. Ignoring the tail end of his laughter as Joaquín clung to the back of your chair, you disengaged the autopilot feature of the jet, locking in the controls to prepare for landing at the compound 

“Thanks, Joaquín, I can always count on you to make me feel better,” your words grumbled out under your breath, hands tight on the controls. Joaquín climbed into the seat next to you, wings shoved off onto the floor behind him to allow him to settle into the seat comfortably next to you. Even without looking, you could see the stupid smirk on his face.

“Sorry, sorry, you know I’m just teasing. Everyone knows you’re always pathetic when it comes to your flame boy,” the only response you gave was a hum as he scoffed, reaching over and lightly hitting you on the shoulder with his hand. “Come on, lighten up! You’re my friend, you think I don’t know today is the anniversary? I’m trying to cheer you up, make you laugh, you know?”

“Might want to try a comedy class at this rate,” you shot back, head rolling over as you shot him a smirk of your own. “Maybe we should visit Isaiah. Watching him kick your ass in the gym might bring a smile to my face.”

That comment brought a laugh out of Joaquín, one that was enough to momentarily distract your mind enough to let a soft smile make its way to your lips.

“Damn, you’re one cold witch sometimes, you know?” the comment earned him a slap on his shoulder from you. His laughter died down, a soft smile mirroring yours finding its way to Joaquín’s face. “You’re allowed to talk about him with me, you know? I’ll listen.”

Your smile fell, just slightly. It got tighter by just a pinch, jaw tightening just a little, as your eyes turned back to the skies as you nodded.

“I know that,”

“You sure? Because you really don’t talk about him much. Not out loud,”

“It’s not easy to. If Johnny wants to talk about me, he has an entire building full of people that got to know me for a year to talk to. I don’t have that,” a bitter laugh found its way out of you before you could stop it. You didn’t want to be bitter about the situation, but it was impossible not to. There was no one you were made at except the situation itself, except the universe as a whole. “I love you and Sam dearly, but you two don’t know him. Chances are you never will. I can talk about how much I miss him, how much I miss all of them, but will you ever really understand why when you don’t know them like I do?”

Casting your eyes back over to him for just a moment, Joaquín still held that soft smile toward you. He gave a little shrug.

“Maybe not, but I’m still your friend. I’d still listen,”

Quiet enveloped the two of you for a few moments, the weight of the conversation settling between you both. You tried to shake it from you, to will away the memories that threatened to creep into your mind anytime you were left to stew alone in your head for too long. Suddenly, Joaquín shot up in his seat. Leaning closer to the windows of the jet, eyes wide and full of excitement, he cast a quick glance back at you and he pointed out of the glass. “God, I love when we fly back into the compound this way and can see the monument from the sky. One hell of a skyline, isn’t it?”

“One hell of a skyline, isn’t it?”

The nighttime breeze of New York City drifted over you, the cool feeling dancing over your skin. That cool feeling didn’t stay long, not when that familiar deep burgundy jacket slid over your shoulders, it’s warmth enveloping you. That same warmth suddenly found your waist, seeping straight from Johnny Storm’s hands and through your shirt, straight into your skin as he squeezed, the tip of his nose brushing along the edge of your ear as he slotted himself into the space behind you on the Baxter Building balcony.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you hummed back, leaning back into the warmth reflexively, hands gripping the railing of the balcony. The lights of the city glittered in the distance, car horns beeping and distant sounds of sirens could be heard from miles away. “Grew up here, remember?”

“Come on, our skylines can’t be the exact same,”

“Pretty damn close, baby,” you shot back, turning your head just barely to catch his eyes. Even in the night, those baby blue eyes were still so brilliantly bright. The smile that stretched across your lips was easy. “Sorry, guess your city isn’t that special.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. You moved then, stepping out of his arms and trying to step away from him, turning away to walk inside, but of course, he wouldn’t let you. His hand caught your waist again, spinning you back into him, hands landing on his chest as his grip held firm against your lower back.

Laughter bubbled out of you before you could stop it, smile bright, as your hands slid up to cup the back of his neck. Before a single word could slip past your lips he surged forward, slotting his against your own, a sigh of pure contentment falling from your lips instead as you let your fingers curl into his hair instead. Relishing the feel of his hands along the small of your back.

“You’re such a dork,” the words were muttered against his lips through a smile. “But I love you.”

His smile matched yours, lips never leaving yours either as he spoke.

“Your dork, who loves you, too,”

A flash of light interrupted the kiss, tearing the two of you away from one another, but only by an inch. Sue stood sheepishly in the doorway of the balcony, balancing a giggling Franklin on one hip and a Polaroid camera in her other hand, muttering apology after apology, quickly trying to sneak away with the newly printed photo.

You could only laugh, leaning into Johnny as his lips pressed into the crown of your head over and over again, a rush of something shooting through you in the moment that you hadn’t felt in so long: safety. That comforting feeling, where in that moment, everything just felt right.

You hated memories. You hated how easy it was for something so simple–something so trivial–to invoke them.

“Yeah…it’s great,” was the only response you could muster back to Joaquín at that moment. Your smile was gone again, that youthful glow and that playful tone replaced once more with the wistfulness that had engulfed you since you’d stepped foot back in your own universe two years ago.

Not another word was said as you landed the quinjet further up the Potomac River on the landing pad outside of the compound, the one specially designed for the new team formed under Sam Wilson’s own Avengers team. Being left a sizable fund in your name by an old teammate and mentor left plenty to fund a compound for your new team.

If Joaquín noticed your quick change in demeanor, which he certainly did, he chose not to mention it as you strode side by side into the compound together. You were grateful for it. Talking about your feelings was, quite frankly, the last thing you wanted to do.

Wallowing in self pity in bed, all by yourself, sounded like the better option for the rest of the night.

The crumpled, unfinished note was tucked into the back pocket of your suit as you trailed through the empty compound behind Joaquín. He was flicking through the mission report, ensuring that everything was in place and he hadn’t screwed anything up, knowing that Sam preferred everything on these reports accurate when he wasn’t on the mission with either of you.

Both you and Joaquín came to a halt the second you saw the sight before you in the compound’s main kitchen.

“Uh…Sam?”

The man turned on his heel, sending a bright smile in the direction of you both, before he put the pot of noodles in his hand on the burner behind him, flicking it on just like the others were on their own pans. The entire island counter looked as if the local grocery store had thrown up on it: empty boxes of noodles, some flour littering the counter, homemade garlic bread sitting on a baking sheet waiting for the oven to most likely preheat. Enough food to, probably, feed the entire US military if Sam Wilson really wanted to.

“Who is this guy and what happened to our Sam?” Joaquín muttered toward you, thought not discreetly at all as you could see the roll of Sam’s eyes from the other side of the island. “He never cooks. At least, not for us.”

“Tonight is different,” Sam cut in, checking on everything on the stove quickly before turning back to look at the both of you. His hands gripped the edge of the counter as his eyes roamed over both of you, eyes landing on the bandage wrapped around the torn forearm of your suit. “What happened? I thought it was mission success?”

“It was,” you waved him off, taking the file from Joaquín’s hands and tossing it across the counter to Sam, letting him flick through the report. “I got grazed by a bullet, it was nothing. Don’t try and change the subject, Wilson, why is tonight different? We never do ‘team meals’ together, that’s not our thing.”

Sam was silent, didn’t answer your question for a moment, as he flicked through the rest of the report. Letting it fall back to the counter in front of him, the bright smile was back on his face in seconds as he glanced back up, specifically right at you.

“We have guests tonight,”

Joaquín stood a little straighter next to you, his own smile growing as he excitedly clapped his hand down on your shoulder.

“Guests? You finally make up with Bucky and invite those guys down here? Or is this a, like, military-strategy type of dinner meeting and we should go get out of our suits?”

You just watched Sam, whose eyes never left you. He just smiled, that cheeky smile that said he had something to hide. Before you could question it, he tilted his head over to the side toward the dining room, forcing your gaze to follow.

Wong stood, rigid, hands tucked behind his back. His robes billowed out down by his feet as he just silently watched you, face unreadable.

It was enough to make you tense, as well as Joaquín, who patted your shoulder this time in comfort.

“He kind of looks like he wants to kill you,” Joaquín whispered in your direction. You only nodded in response, taking a slight step toward the man as you gave him a hesitant smile. A tiny, miniscule nervous laugh fell from your lips.

“Wong…nice to see you?” he hummed in response as you quickly jerked your thumb backwards toward Joaquín. “I promise, whatever it is you think I did, Joaquín is probably the one that did it. I’ve been a perfect angel, no performing spells that I don’t already know.”

“Hey…” Joaquín muttered out behind you, fake-hurt laced in his voice.

Wong stayed silent for a moment before he let out a deep sigh, running a hand down his face. His eyes stayed watching you the entire time.

“You didn’t do anything, though at first, I thought you had. If that was true, we’d be having a much different conversation right now,” the Sorcerer Supreme crossed his arms over his chest, taking in another deep breath. “It’s been a long day, I’ve been dealing with your guests since they entered Earth’s atmosphere. So…I expect a thank you for the fact that I even brought them here and did not send them home immediately.”

Wong was making no sense. Not a single thing he said was registering with you. Earth’s atmosphere? They’d entered it? The only thing you could think of was Carol, but you were pretty sure she was back on Earth permanently at the moment. Plus, why would Wong send Carol of all people away?

Your eyes drifted to Joaquín, who looked just as lost. They drifted then to Sam, who still held that knowing smile, like he was biting back a thousand secrets he was dying to tell you.

Before you could utter a single question, something collided with your leg, wrapping itself around it and latching onto you like it never wanted to let go.

“Auntie!”

The word froze you in place. The feeling on your leg was clear in that moment–two tiny little hands gripping onto the fabric of your suit like their life depended on it. Morgan was the only one who ever called you that. There was only one other person that could–or would–call you that.

And when that thought hit you, your breath caught, and your eyes drifted down to the little body wrapped around your leg.

Your head told you it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him. But your heart? Your heart knew when you looked at his little body. Taller than the last time you’d seen him, held him. More hair, but still just as blonde. As bright as his mother’s. And those eyes…as blue as the ones he’d inherited, the ones you’d accidentally fallen in love with.

He let go the second you dropped to your knees, eyes level with him now. Your chest felt like it was constricting, like it couldn’t decide if you couldn’t breathe at all or if you were about to start hyperventilating. It was him, you knew it was him. Hands reaching out, cupping his cheeks, a breathless little laugh left your lips in a whisper as he smiled at you through his little gapped toothed smile.

“F-Franklin?” his name just barely made it past your lips. You could feel a sob burning in you, your throat tightening, as he nodded his little head.

“I missed you, auntie,”

Tears finally found their way down your cheeks the second you wrapped him in your arms, tugging his little body into you and holding him as tightly as you possibly could. That sob threatened to escape, hiccuping out of you as Franklin wrapped his arms around your neck, hugging you back. You gripped to the back of his shirt, trying to comprehend it: little Franklin Richards, the little boy you hadn’t held since he was a baby, was here. He was here, on your earth, in your arms.

“I told him to wait and not jump on you, but he really missed his aunt,”

If Franklin almost pulled a sob out of you, this was the end of you. You let go of him, looking over, just to see her standing there: Sue Storm. In those blue and white suits you hadn’t seen in so long. Her hair was longer than it was before, just a tad bit straighter, but it was her. Smiling across the room at you, with that same warm, motherly grin that you hadn’t seen in so long you were beginning to forget the sight of it.

“Sue-!”

Her name had barely left your lips before a sob tore through you. On shaky legs, you practically bolted across the room, throwing yourself into her arms as you simply just let yourself cry without a care in the world. She laughed, her arms coming around your body and holding you back just as tightly, hand running down over the back of your head to smooth your hair as you held onto her.

“I missed you, too,” she said quietly, sweetly, pulling back to wipe the tears that were streaming down your cheeks. She reached down, grabbing your forearm and quickly giving you a pointed look at the bandage wrapped around your arm. “We told you to take care of yourself, remember? This doesn’t look like that.”

You laughed, pulling back to furiously rub at the tears on your face. You could faintly hear Joaquín behind you conversing with Sam, most likely having finally caught on to what was happening.

“If I remember the story correctly, you died at one point, so you don’t get to make comments about a tiny injury,”

“I prefer if we don’t talk about that day,” Reed Richards himself cut in, stepping up beside his wife. Still the same man you remembered, maybe an extra line or two around his face, but a warm smile on his lips none the less as he nodded his head to you. “Good to know it worked and I found the right version of you. You wouldn’t believe how many of you exist in the multiverse.”

You laughed. The brightest, happiest laugh you had let out in what had surely been two years. It was like a weight you hadn’t even realized had been sitting on your chest had finally lifted, like the grey clouds that had invaded every corner of your life had finally cleared away. You reached out, squeezing Reed’s hand as you gave him a watery smile.

“I thought I told you not to invent multidimensional travel?”

“Well, I do like being the first person to do things, so-”

“Alright, alright, quit hogging her! Let me see the girl!”

Ben’s voice commanded the room. Sue and Reed both laughed, parting, letting you practically run through them and straight into Ben’s awaiting arms. His laugh bellowed in your ears as his rocky form enveloped you in a hug, his head resting down on top of yours as he gave you a light squeeze.

“God, Ben, I can’t tell you how much I missed you,”

“I missed you too, little witch,” Ben pulled back, reaching behind him and grabbing something from the table behind him, presenting it in front of you with a large grin. “Don’t worry, I made sure to bring you the good stuff.”

You laughed the second you saw the logo on the paper bag: Maisie’s.

With one of Ben’s hands still resting against your shoulders, you turned back to Sue and Reed. Franklin was back in his father’s arms, messing with the edges of his suit, and something about just looking at them all in front of you, to seeing Sam and Joaquín smiling and watching the entire thing in the background, just filled you with a feeling that you hadn’t known for quite some time.

Not since you’d lost them, the people you had called your first family. Having all of them in this room, though, it finally brought back that feeling–that feeling of being well and truly home.

“This can’t be permanent,”

Wong’s voice cut through the moment, bringing your attention back to him, along with everyone else in the room. You straightened up, wiping at the tears on your cheeks, nodding your head toward him.

“I know-”

“A week, that’s the best I can give,” Wong cut you off, a sense of urgency in his tone as he spoke. He was making it clear that this could not, in any way, be permanent. No matter how much it would hurt in the end. “I’m still studying your magic and if your extended time in their universe had any lasting effects on the strands of time. In the interest of knowledge, you can have a week, so I can see what effects their presence here has. A week, though. Nothing more.”

You nodded, and Wong continued on. Something about how, if he found that their presence here was affecting the timelines, they’d have to leave immediately. How the fate of the universe, how ensuring that the strands of time themselves stayed intact was more important than anything else. You were barely listening at that point.

It was impossible not to just look at them. To admire in awe at the fact that they were really here. Sue, Reed, Franklin, Ben-

They were missing someone.

Sue’s eyes found yours the second that realization seemed to hit you. And like always, it was as if she knew. A soft smile crossed her face as she simply nodded her head toward the rest of the compound.

“He got curious, went snooping for your room,”

That was all you needed to hear before you took off running, anything else from Wong’s mouth ignored in your haste to get to your room.

The twists and turns of the compound passed by in a blur, your feet pounding down them. You knew them like the back of your hand, it didn’t matter if you couldn’t see anything through the blur of tears covering your eyes with every single step you took.

Your bedroom door was open down the hallway, something it never was when you weren’t here. It was always shut, a habit you had always had for privacy reasons. The soft lighting from the lamp inside spilling out of it and into the hallway, the beams of light crawling across the floor and up the opposite wall. You had to hang onto the edge of the doorframe to fully stop yourself.

There he was. 

A sight that made your heart skip a beat, that had your chest clenching at the thought that you were finally–finally–seeing him again. Two years, 730 some days since you had last seen Johnny Storm, and there he was. Standing in your bedroom like he belonged there, like he wasn’t universes away from his own.

His back was turned to you, but you knew him. You knew that blue and white ribbed suit, you knew that blonde hair, and you knew those hands. Those hands that were discarded of their gloves, that were rifling through a stack of papers he’d surely taken off your bedside table.

You knew those papers. Your letters, every single one you’d ever written. The first line of them was memorized, from the first letter, to the last one you’d written.

I still think this exercise is stupid, but I’m going to do it anyway. Joaquín said I moped today, told me I looked like a sad, wet kitten that had been abandoned in an alleyway. I didn’t have it in me to tell him it’s your birthday today.

To be completely honest, I kind of hate you right now. I hate that I’m crying in bed, in the middle of the night, trying to write a stupid letter to you that you’ll never see because I woke up from a dream where you were holding me and I realized how cold reality was without you. It’s not fair. I really hate you for this.

Sam was showing me stupid tweets on his phone today and I saw one that said “I didn’t fall for you, you fucking tripped me.” It made me think of you…you kind of did, in a way.

Today’s my birthday. Sam and Joaquín got me a cake, and then Pepper brought Morgan by so I could have dinner with her. I visited the makeshift grave I made for Wanda. Went to Nat’s and Tony’s, too. And through all of that…I just wanted you. I just miss you. I miss the drive-in, I miss kicking your ass at bowling, I miss dancing at The Regent. I miss you…and I don’t know how to stop. I’m not sure I ever will.

Sam asked me today if I regret falling in love with you, if it’s worth the pain I’ve carried since I had to leave. Without a second thought I told him no, no I don’t regret it. Getting to love you, and be loved by you, is worth any amount of pain I have to endure. Doesn’t mean it sucks any less, though.

As if he could feel you, feel your gaze watching him, Johnny finally turned.

There was no way to describe it. No way to accurately explain the flutter of your heart in your chest, the trail of goosebumps that seemed to travel your skin in seconds, or the utter pull that you felt in your gut to just run into his arms. There wasn’t a book, a song, a movie scene, a single thing in the world that could accurately describe the way in which simply looking into those blue eyes–no longer just a staple of your dreams–had you wanting to break down sobbing while simultaneously dancing across the room.

Johnny Storm wasn’t always the easiest person to read, not when you had first met him. But over time, as you’d let yourself fall in love with the man standing before you, you’d come to understand him better than you feared you understood yourself at times. You could see it all in his face, in his body language: the instant sag in his shoulders, like the weight that had been sitting on your chest had been sitting heavily on him all this time, too. The slight twitch of his lips, the way they curled up into that smirk that you had missed so desperately.

He raised his hands, waving the letters slightly in the air, eyes never leaving you for a second.

“I’m not usually one for telling strong, pretty women what to do,” even just his voice, just hearing it again, had a single tear rolling back down your cheek. Even as his voice was laced with his usual teasing tone, a contrast to the softness he carried in his eyes reserved just for you. Saying that same line, the first thing he’d ever said to you all those years ago. “But it’s not safe to just leave private letters like these sitting around. You never know who might find them.”

“W-Well, I don’t usually have curious blonde men from the ‘60s combing through my personal belongings,” you managed out, wiping at the tears that were silently falling from your cheeks. “Joaquín snooped in here once and found out the hard way why my room is off limits.”

“What, you give him a stern talking to?”

“Hexed his suit for a week so that his wings always did the exact opposite of what he wanted them to,”

His laughter filled the room. Warm, inviting, a sound that felt like a hug. A sound you had missed so dearly. Carefully, he laid the letters back on your bedside table, eyes never leaving you for a moment as he stepped out into the middle of the room.

“That’s my girl,”

Every step you took was shaky, still at war with yourself in your head on how this could be real, as you gingerly stepped into your own bedroom. How they invented multiversal travel, how they were here. How after two whole years of feeling like you left a part of yourself in another dimension, it was finally standing in front of you again.

“This really is real, right?” you asked softly, just a few feet in front of him now.

Johnny hummed, tilting his head slightly, before holding out his hand in front of you. Within a millisecond those familiar flames burst to life, burning bright within his hand. The heat that accompanied them enveloped you, warming your skin. A new set of tears managed to fall at the feeling.

“I hope it’s real,” Johnny shot back, but that teasing tone left his voice quickly. It was replaced with a soft smile, almost a hesitant one, like he was just as scared as you were that somehow this wasn’t real. Somehow, he’d wake up back home to this all having been a dream, and you’d wake up in your room alone again. “I’ve been kind of miserable without you. Really pathetic, if I do say so myself. It’s pretty depressing, I don’t know how they’ve put up with it for two years.”

“It’s not like I’ve been much better. I’ve missed you…so much,” you shot back at him.

“Baby, Reed invented multiversal travel because that’s how sick he was of seeing me mope around. I think we know who missed the other more,”

The flames in his hand died, but it stayed stretched out toward you. An invitation, calling you in. 

You ignored it, launching yourself into his arms instead.

Johnny wrapped himself around you, molding and conforming to your body just as you did to him. Like two puzzle pieces that snapped together perfectly. His hands found your waist, curling up your back, splayed out between your shoulder blades and across your lower back. Heat bloomed everywhere his hands touched you as his fingers curled into the fabric of your suit, pressing into your body, pulling you as close as he could physically hold you, but never close enough. You could feel the exhale that left him, that one that felt like relief now that he was holding you again. You understood it all too well.

One of your hands curled into his hair on instinct, feeling the soft strands of blonde between your fingers again, while the other simply clung around his neck as you buried your head as far into his neck as you possibly could force yourself. You took in a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of him wash over you, as another round of cries racked through your body.

Being in his arms again: a feeling that both was overwhelming and made you feel lighter than you had in years.

Johnny’s hand moved itself, leaving a trail of warmth from your upper back, over your arm, and up the side of your neck until he fully cupped your face within his hand. Pulling you back just slightly so he could see you, tears stained cheeks and all, you leaned into that hand, into that warmth, chasing after the feeling. Your eyes met his for just a moment before you surged forward, stealing from him the kiss you’d dreamt about for the last two years.

Shaky breaths mingled together, intertwining in the lack of space between your bodies and Johnny’s lips devoured you in a way that had your knees threatening to buckle beneath you. The heat within his touch seemed to climb, burning the feeling of his skin into every piece of you he touched, but you didn’t care. You craved the feeling of it, the fire it lit within you, as your fingers dug into his hair and tugged him as close as possible.

“I love you,” Johnny’s words were mumbled against your lips, never straying far from you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, biting down just slightly until a moan tumbled from your lips, swallowed by him. The moan that fell from his own matched yours–low and full of longing–as his hips pressed forward, feet shuffling along the ground.

“I love you, too,” you barely managed to mutter out before your back was pressed up against the front of your dresser, caged in by his body. His hands cradled your face, pads of his fingers digging into the nape of your neck as his lips found the hollow of your throat, languishing heated kiss after kiss as your head fell back. Hands gripping at his forearms, the sides of his body, anywhere you could for leverage.

“Kind of the bane of my existence, though,” 

It was the first time he’d pulled away enough since your lips found one another for you to see his face. That charming smirk, full of mirth, eyes slightly squinted as he looked down at you. But even through all the bravado that was Johnny Storm, you could see it clear as day in his features, in the way his fingers still flexed and pressed into your skin. He was relishing every second of this, of having you back, just as you were him.

“Bane of your existence?”

“Very much so,” the kiss he stole from you then was lighter, softer, but still just as deep. Still just as full of love. His hands trailed their way down your sides, sending a shiver straight up your spine as they ghosted over your hips, fingertips grazing right over the sides of your thighs as his words were spoken against your lips. “A hot witch from another universe comes and steals my heart and then leaves me pathetically pining for two years. Insane. Absolutely unfair, you should be jailed for these crimes.”

The laughter that fell from you was different, different from what it sounded like these last two years, and you knew it. Lighter, freer, happier than it had been in so long. Genuine.

“You only have yourself to blame, you pursued me!” a shriek tumbled from your lips the second that the words left your mouth, as Johnny’s hands swept under your thighs and hoisted you up on top of your dresser without a care in the world. His hand swept out behind you, sweeping everything sitting on top of the furniture out of the way as you laughed, quickly trying to stop him and grab the frames he was knocking over before they could break. “Johnny! You can’t just mess up my room!”

“I’m just trying to kiss my girl,” the shit-eating grin on his face could be felt against your skin as he pressed yet another kiss to your cheek, moving down to lavish them along the line of your jaw.

“You can kiss me without destroying priceless photographs,”

He hummed, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he plucked the frame from your hands that you were still clutching onto. You watched as he pulled back, inspecting the photo in the frame, eyebrow raising quizzically as he turned it toward you.

“You’re holding up a middle finger and the man next to you looks like he’s screaming in terror–this is a priceless photo?”

“When it’s one of the first photos I ever took with Tony, yes,” you plucked it from his hands, gently tossing it across the room onto your bed so it was as far from Johnny as it could be. The look you shot at him was unimpressed, but nothing could keep the smile from your lips. “I’ve had you back for all of five minutes and you’ve already managed to get on my nerves.”

“I haven’t been able to annoy you daily for 17,520 hours,” Johnny shot back before he pressed in closer. Your legs parted just slightly on instinct, making space for him between them as he invaded every inch of your personal space. “Making up for lost time.”

The playfulness of the moment dissipated in that moment as his hand came back up, curling around your cheek to cradle you in his palm. You leaned into the feeling, eyes never leaving his, as his thumb drew circles back and forth across your skin. His eyes visibly softened, that smirk falling into a smile as he watched you.

“That’s a lot of hours,” you shot back softly, turning your head just barely to place a light kiss to the palm of his hand. “You've been keeping track?”

“Every day since you walked through the gold, sparkly portal,” you hummed in response, finger curling into one of the belt loops of his suit as you tugged him in closer. His eyes trailed down, taking in your own suit, a low whistle leaving his lips. “All this time later and–yeah–it’s still true, this suit is still doing it for me. God damn.”

Your laughter filled the air again as you tugged him in, chasing after another kiss that neither of you were able to stop smiling into, even as you nipped lightly at the reddened skin of his bottom lip.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you are pathetically in love,”

“Unequivocally,” his answer was easy, rolling off his tongue without a second thought. “And maybe a little irrevocably.”

“That’s a big word for you, Johnny, don’t hurt yourself,” you shot back, his fingers pinching into your sides as a cascade of laughter fell from your lips.

Love. It was a feeling you didn’t need to describe, and honestly, you weren’t sure you could if you tried. You could explain the way you loved Joaquín like a brother, or the way you loved Wanda like a sister, or even Sam, Tony, or Steve like they were family. But the way you loved Johnny Storm? You couldn’t explain that, not in a thousand years, but you didn’t need to. You didn’t want to. 

When he looked at you like he did now, with that light smile playing at his lips, face still twinged with the same nerves he had that day on the rooftop, you just knew. Loving him made sense in a way that nothing else ever had.

Like a well oiled machine, like you understood one another without having to speak, you crashed into one another again. Your hands were back in his hair, combing through those blonde stands, while his hands settled on your waist, digging into your sides as they held you close. That heat fluttered through you, that familiar one of his, as your lips moved against his in a tango, leg curling up around his hip higher to keep him as close as physically possible.

“Sam said that he’ll have the food done–JESUS CHRIST, DUDE!”

The sound of Joaquín’s voice at your door didn’t even deter you. You didn’t jump back, you barely even pulled away from Johnny at all. If anything, you gave him a single inch of space before turning your head to shoot Joaquín a murderous glare.

“Yes, Joaquín?”

“What–dude, I get you missed your boyfriend, but if you’re going to fuck him, can you shut the door?”

Johnny’s forehead fell to your shoulder, his entire body shaking with laughter as you kept your glare centered on Joaquín, who was peeking through his fingers as if terrified he’d see something he didn’t want to see.

“We weren’t there yet, don’t worry,” Johnny shot back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling back, a mischievous grin in your sights. “We learned our lesson about locking doors for that.”

“You mean that one time when Ben walked in because he wanted me to try a new cookie from Maisie’s, but you were about to press me up against the window-”

“Oh my god, you two are actually disgusting,” the fake gagging Joaquín did outside the door sent both you and Johnny into your own fit of laughter, still wrapped up in one another. But beyond the theatrics, you could see it on Joaquín’s face. The happiness for you, just seeing you happy, seeing that light back in your eyes. “Look, catch up on two years of physical activities later, Sam made dinner and it looks good as fuck but he won’t let me touch it until you both come downstairs.”

Johnny let out a low whistle, and before you could react, he’d stepped out of your hold completely. Your mouth dropped open in betrayal, lips fighting against curving up into a smile as Johnny shot you an apologetic look, backing out of the doorframe and clapping a hand down on Joaquín’s shoulder.

“Sorry baby, but multiversal travel did make me pretty hungry,” he shot you a wink, hand still grasping Joaquín’s shoulder as he tugged him down the hall, before speaking very dramatically and loudly from down the hall so that you could hear. “Now that we’re nowhere near her, I need you to give me every embarrassing story you’ve got.”

All you could do was laugh at the absurdity that was Johnny Storm, at the man you loved more than you could express. The man who managed to steal your heart while helping heal the wounds you hadn’t been able to close for years, who went on to be one of your hearts biggest wounds, only to close it right back up just by standing in front of you again.

And walking back down the stairs of the compound, and glancing out over that dining room table–Johnny laughing at something that Joaquín said as Sam regaled Ben, Sue, and Franklin with a story, while Wong spoke quietly off to the side with Reed–everything in the world finally felt right.

 ❤︎

“So, let me make sure I have this right: he was from the ‘40s, he was a stuck up billionaire, he’s a literal god, she was an assassin, and he brought a bow and arrow of all things to fight aliens half the time?”

“Put some respect on Clint’s name, baby. The one time he wasn’t there we did, in fact, lose,” with a short laugh, you reached over and swiped the photo from his hand, sliding it back into its protective sleeve in the binder laid out in front of him at the island counter. “These aren’t the originals, these are magical recreations, so please keep them in the sleeves. Also, you act like I didn’t talk about them all the time?”

“Seeing them is completely different,” respecting your wishes, Johnny didn’t remove the photo, this time instead holding the entire binder up near his head as he pointed toward the super soldier standing beside the young version of you in the photo. “This dude’s bicep is the literal size of my head, and he’s not even made out of rocks like Ben!”

It didn’t surprise you that the first thing that Johnny had dug around your room to find were photos. Most of the original photos, which had decorated the walls of your room in the Upstate New York compound had been destroyed years ago, prior to the final fight with Thanos. Magically recreated and preserved in a photo album you ensured to hex to be fire proof, bomb proof, and truly anything proof, it had become Johnny’s favorite thing over the last 16 hours they’d been in your universe.

From the Battle of New York, to photos you’d taken late at night in New York with Wanda or ones you had snuck of Steve when he wasn’t looking, it was like looking straight into your past. A past that Johnny hadn’t gotten to know, that he clearly adored.

“Well, he was a super soldier,” you chuckled lightly under your breath, turning back to the paperwork laid out in the manila folder in front of you. 

Johnny was quiet for a moment, and you snuck a glance over at him. He was still looking at that same photo, taken all those years ago in the aftermath of New York, of Loki’s invasion. There was a softer look in his eyes, though, as he let a single finger trail over the protective layer lying over the photo, right over where you stood.

“You were so young,”

“I was. I was just a kid,” you nodded your head, glancing at the little version of you for a second longer, before focusing back on the papers in front of you. “Dedicated my life to saving the world. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

Johnny didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did you. Signing your name along the lines that Sam had indicated he needed your signature on, Johnny eventually continued to flip through the photos beside you at the island counter.

“Oh…oh, baby, tell me this is the dress?”

You didn’t have to look over to know what photo Johnny had stumbled upon. Instead, a light laugh left your lips as you looked over at him: red had crawled into his cheeks, his eyes wide as he looked down at the photo. He met your gaze for a single moment, and you could see his eyes dilate in real time.

“We had just found Loki’s scepter, which had the Mind Stone in it, and brought it back to the tower. Tony threw a party in celebration,” you explained, still laughing, as you reached over and tapped on the photo with a smirk across your lips. You were younger, but still you. Standing beside Natasha by the Avengers tower bar in that gorgeous black dress she’d bought for you, the slit on your thigh much too high for your age. “Nat had bought me that dress. To answer your question: yes, that is the one I mentioned.”

A low whistle left Johnny’s lips as he shoved the photo album to the side. His hands found the island chair you were seated on, spinning it before you could stop him and pressing your back into the edge of the counter, paperwork long forgotten. You didn’t mind, though, not when those heated hands found your sides as he stepped up into your space, dilated eyes roaming up and down your figure.

“These 21st century clothes really are going to be the death of me,”

“How do you think I feel?” you shot back, hands traveling up the bare skin of his arms until they caught the edges of the t-shirt sleeves handing around his biceps. Adorned in a t-shirt you’d stolen from Joaquín’s closet, as well as jeans and shoes you’d quickly ran to the local mall early in the morning to procure (along with clothing for the rest of the team), it was unfair how good Johnny Storm looked in clothing decades removed from his own. “21st century men’s fashion suits you. You should bring some back with you.”

“Nah, this stuff isn’t fireproof like my own clothes,” he shot back, lips pulled up on the edges into a soft smirk. Johnny leaned in, breath fanning out over your lips as, but never quite touching. “Besides, the only 21st century thing I care about is my 21st century girl.”

Another laugh left you, hands trailing up his arm until it cupped the heated skin of his cheek. You pinched at the skin lightly, giggling once more at the exaggerated wince he gave.

“Cheesy, Storm. Where’s that effortless charm? Have you gone soft these last few years?”

“Oh, darling,” fingers flexed against your hips, lips practically pressed to yours as he spoke. “I went soft the second you kissed me on the rooftop.”

A sigh of pure contentment fell from your lips the second Johnny fully surged forward, bringing you into a kiss. Soft, sweet, as if he was pouring every ounce of love he couldn’t show you for the last two years into it. It differed from every kiss you’d shared since that dinner the night before, the ones full of desperation and longing, the ones that seemed to consume you whole and fill your mind with nothing but thoughts of Johnny Storm.

You clung to him, lightly wet lips moving against his: slow, sensual, soft. His hands curled around to your back, pressing against your spine to bring you in as close as he could, though you weren’t sure there would ever be anything quite close enough. You let your hand thread back into his hair, tugging lightly to elicit a groan from his lips, head tilting to the side for a new angle as Johnny pressed forward more.

“Oh my god, were rounds one through five not enough for the two of you last night?”

Ben’s groans sounded through the living room, forcing you and Johnny apart. He didn’t let you stray far, arms staying locked around your waist and body still pressed into your personal space as you both tilted your heads in the direction of the others, just now walking into the room.

“You brought him to my universe because he was moping, and now that we’re together you all keep complaining,” you shot back at Ben with a teasing lit to your voice, able to see his eyeroll from across the room. “That’s so hypocritical of you.”

“In all fairness,” Sam’s voice shot in as he walked into the room, flanked by Sue and Reed as they donned their own 21st century clothing. “It was a bit overkill after round 2. I thought my ears were going to start bleeding.”

“Told you you should’ve put a spell on the room so they couldn’t hear us,” 

Johnny’s comment, and subsequent nip at your earlobe, earned him another laugh and a shove against his chest. A small burst of blue magic from your hand sent him stumbling backwards, giving you enough space to hop off the chair and collect the paperwork on the counter behind you, stalking over to Sam to hand it to him in the living room.

Sam hummed, flipping through the paperwork to ensure everything was signed as needed. Johnny launched himself over the back of the living room couch, landing beside his nephew and ruffling his hair, as the others all settled into spots on the couch themselves.

“Looks in order,” Sam shot you a grateful nod, before passing over the data pad in his hands. The screen instantly lit up, flipping through multiple surveillance photos as you projected it onto the living room screen. “Had an informant send these over about an hour ago, wanted you to take a look and tell me what it looks like to you.”

“Looks to me like Sidewinder got out of jail early,” you shot back easily, flipping through the surveillance images across the screen. “Escaped, more like it. It probably didn’t take him long to find out we recovered those files yesterday. Seems like a simple enough job for you and Joaquín to handle.”

With the data pad placed back in Sam’s hands, you turned to face Johnny. His eyes trailed from the screen full of images back to you, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

“Please, don’t stop your day job just because we’re here,” he shot at you, along with a wink, holding his hands up beside him. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you go full superhero mode. I’m sure that suit looks real good in action-”

A wave of transparent energy flew across the room, the slight hues of the rainbow visible as the invisible field of energy slammed into Johnny’s shoulder, jolting him to the side. You covered your mouth to conceal your laughter, as did Sam, as Ben and Reed laughed at the look on Johnny’s face as he shot his sister an unimpressed look.

“Do you ever stop objectifying her?”

“It’s not objectifying her, it’s admiring her many assets,”

You shook your head, stalking out of the room with a grin to unplug your phone from its place on the kitchen counter. The sound of the others groaning floated through the room, along with Sam’s laughter.

“She’s relieved from superhero duty for the week while you guys are here, unless another purple alien decides to try and destroy the world,” the look you shot Sam over your shoulder was anything but impressed. He ignored it, though, shooting Johnny a smirk. “Joaquín and I can handle Sidewinder without her. Besides…it’s date night for you.”

By the time Johnny had fully turned in your direction, you were standing beside the island counter with a sly smile on your face. He didn’t get a single word out before that usual glow of blue enveloped your hand, and you gave a single flick of your wrist in the air beside you.

The room was practically bathed in energy and in the hues of blue that encompassed your magic as it essentially tore into the area, a long streak of pulsing magic hanging in the air beside you. With another flick of your wrist, it tore itself open, widening as a pulsing magic portal hung in the air.

Multiple pairs of eyes and smiles watched as Johnny crossed the room, staring at the shimmering blue magic in awe. His feet came to a stop just in front of you, his hand reaching out as he let his fingers drift right through the magic. Those blue eyes found yours, head tilting to the side slightly as a grin crossed his lips.

“Magic portals…that’s a new development,”

“It’s amazing what you learn to do when you actually read and learn from a book, instead of blindly performing a spell,” Johnny laughed lightly as you reached forward, poking him just slightly in the side, as you stepped closer to the portal itself. “Come on, like Sam said: it’s date night.”

That grin grew cheeky, Johnny’s eyebrows furrowing slightly as he hummed, nodding his head.

“Right, date night. Thought that was my job to plan the dates?”

“This isn’t the 60s, baby,” you shot back immediately. Reaching forward, you let your hand wind itself into the fabric of his t-shirt, before you stepped back through the portal and tugged him along with you before he could say another word.

Wind immediately whipped around your face, a familiar sensation, as the quiet of the D.C. compound was replaced with the hustle and bustle of the city. Johnny stumbled forward, feet stumbling as you laughed, holding onto his arms to keep him upright as he practically fell through the portal and to your side. His own hands gripped right back on your forearms, steadying himself as the portal snapped shut right behind you both with a flick of your fingers.

Johnny’s blue eyes were wide as he looked at you, before looking at the now closed portal behind him, and back to you once again. It was impossible not to laugh at the adorably shocked look on his face.

“I’m afraid you have to take us back,” was the first thing he said, hands leaving your arms to slide down onto your hips instead, tugging you against him. “I’ve warned you how incredibly hot using your powers is to me. That-That was unfair.”

“It was a portal, Johnny,”

“Still hot, my overpowered little witch,” his fingers pinched at your sides, eliciting another laugh out of you as you whacked lightly at his chest. The wind continued to whip around you both as Johnny squinted at the feeling of the air hitting his face. “Where the hell did you even take us?”

“Well,” you took a single step back, letting your hands find his own and lace your fingers through his. “I spent a year getting to know your New York. Thought you might want to see mine.”

It was then that Johnny turned his head, and you could see it in his eyes immediately: the awe at the sight laid out before you both.

New York was beautiful, in your world and his, but nothing quite compared to New York City as the sun was setting. Situated on the rooftop of a building down 8th Avenue, the entirety of the city skyline was laid out before you both. The oranges and pinks of the setting sun glinted off of every building, reflecting right back along Johnny’s face as he took a step toward the edge of the building, eyes still wide as he took in the sight.

You couldn’t tear your eyes from him. At the cascading colors that fell over his face. Every moment you looked at him, it was impossible not to think about how you had gotten to this moment. Crash landing in a universe so different, yet similar, to your own and his face being the first thing you saw. His face being the first thing you saw through every high and low moment for an entire year. The face of the man you didn’t mean to fall in love with, but stole your heart somewhere between late night breakfast and a drive-in movie.

“You know, I think you’re supposed to be looking at the skyline. Even if my face could be considered the eighth wonder of the world,”

Johnny’s voice snapped you out of your reminiscing, of your mind wandering over every second of the last three years of your life. His eyes were back on you, one hand still laced with yours, that soft yet cocky smirk on his lips. You rolled your eyes.

“That might be a bit of a stretch,” his hand left yours as you slotted yourself into his side without hesitation, curling around him. His hand came up to rest around your waist, and you could almost feel the way that he pushed some of his heat through his skin and into you as the cool, night air began to slowly set in. “I used to look at this skyline every day from this exact spot.”

You pointed off in the distance, and Johnny followed your finger toward the building you knew so well. It had lost the color it used to have, lost the giant glowing “A” that hung from the helicopter pad, but you recognized it all the same. All this time later and it was still the same structure, the same place you used to call home. Johnny gave a low whistle at the sight.

“Your old home might rival the Baxter Building,” his words were mumbled into the side of your head as he placed a kiss there gently, a feeling that all this time later could still send a cascade of butterflies crazy deep within your chest. “Is that what date night is? A sightseeing tour of the city I already live in?”

His comment earned him a pinch to the side, which earned you one in retaliation.

“Not entirely. I didn’t really have a plan, to be honest,” tilting your head back to look up at him, you gave him a tiny shrug in response. “I just…wanted to be with you.”

“Missed me that much?” he teased, even as his hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb gliding over the skin.

“More than I think I could ever explain,”

Your two New York Cities weren’t all that different, not once you were walking the streets down below and not up on the rooftops. Unlike Johnny’s, your own lacked the futuristic advancements and stylized buildings, but almost everything else laid out the same. The roads, where the buildings lay, even the colors of many of them.

The people were different. From the clothing, to the attitudes, those who walked the streets in your New York were vastly different from the ones who walked Johnny’s. Johnny Storm and the Fantastic Four could walk from Upper to Lower Manhattan and only be stopped a handful of times. The people of their world treated them like people, like normal citizens who could come and go as they pleased. You, on the other hand, were a spectacle. You were something to gawk at for those that recognized you, someone that they treated like a celebrity. It was something you tried to ignore, even if it felt impossible at times.

Hand resting in the crook of Johnny’s arm, you laughed as he took a sip of the boba tea you’d forced into his hands, begging him to try it. You watched him every second he held it, with every sip, as he too tried to decipher how he felt about the drink as groups walked past you on the sidewalks of the city as the sun fully set and the night set in.

“It’s not terrible,” Johnny finally came to a conclusion, passing the drink over to you so that you could take a sip from it as well. He wiggled his hand back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion as he explained his thoughts. “It’s pretty sweet. Not sure how I feel about the little, floating balls at the bottom.”

“Tapioca pearls, Johnny,” you giggled back, taking a final sip of the drink before tossing it into one of the trash cans lining the sidewalk. “Pretty sure it was invented in the 80s, which is why you’ve never heard of it before.”

“I take you go-karting and to a dance hall, and you get me a chewy drink. I think I might have to give you a failing grade so far on this date,” your elbow dug into his side as he laughed, elbowing you right back. It grew quiet between you both for a moment, before he spoke up once more. “I went back there once, last year. To The Regent.”

You watched him as he spoke. That soft smile on his face, the fond one, as he reminisced. Looked back on the years without you, let you in on the memories.

“What was it like?”

“Felt empty,” he said simply, looking down at you with a shrug of his own. “It was the anniversary of our first date, I had refused to go the year before. Sue thought it could be good for me to go back, to think about the happy memories. But standing in there, without my pretty little witch on my arm, it felt like that whole place had lost its magic.”

It wasn’t hard to understand where he was coming from. You felt it too, in everything you’d done the last two years. The absence of him was loud.

“I woke up from a nightmare one time and couldn't fall back asleep. Joaquín found me at three in the morning attempting to make a milkshake in the compound kitchen,” Johnny’s eyes stayed locked with yours as you spoke. Even as a group of young adults, obviously in a rush to get somewhere for the night, shoved past you both. Even then, as their bodies collided with his shoulder, he never looked away from you. Hung off every word you spoke. “He thought I was insane, especially because I’d fucked up with the blender so badly there was ice cream everywhere. Told him about that one night at Griddles and Waffles, told him it was the only thing that seemed to help after nightmares.”

Johnny nodded, giving a low whistle. That soft smile on his face turned up into a smirk, his eyebrows wiggling as he leaned his head in closer to yours.

“If we’re going to make this a competition about which one of us was more pathetic the last two years, you might win-”

“As if!” you shot back with a laugh immediately, letting go of his arm to shove him to the side. Johnny laughed, his body bouncing back to your side immediately as you pointed a finger at him. “Ben told me this morning that you spent your birthday in that sweater that I bought for you!”

“It’s the softest thing! A pure cashmere sweater, bought for me by the love of my life. Sue me for enjoying the feel of it,”

You laughed again. Warm, genuine, one of the realest laughs you’d let out in years. It didn’t feel forced, you didn’t feel like you were trying to put on a show and pretend to me fine. You felt fine. You felt happy for the first time in so long.

Johnny’s hand was laced back in yours within seconds, and it never left it as you wandered the streets aimlessly. There was no objective in mind, there was just him. Just endless hours, endless possibilities, with just him at your side.

The streets gave way to the lush greenery of the park nestled between the high rise buildings. The trees rustled in the nighttime breeze. Leaves that had fallen to the ground crunched under your feet, breaking into a thousand little pieces as they broke apart. The sounds of the city could still be heard, bouncing between the buildings, but it was quiet. An elderly couple was walking the other end of the park together, a young family was just leaving the park, but other than them it was quiet.

Not much about the park was different, not since the last time you stood in it. The path was still paved in light grey concrete. The statue in the middle was the same, the edges of it decorated with different bushes and flowers than before. Benches still lined the area, illuminated by the soft light of the lamps surrounding the path. It felt like it had that night, three years ago.

You let Johnny’s hand slip from your own as you came to a stop, right in that same place in front of the statue you had been years ago. Johnny didn’t stop you, taking a few steps further along the path, simply looking around and admiring the sights of the falling leaves, of the buildings all around, before he finally turned back to look at you. Standing just feet away, in the same spot he was all those years ago. A smile seemed to cross his lips as he realized exactly where you both were, throwing his arms out to the side exaggeratedly.

“I’d prefer not to hurt you, doll,” it was impossible not to laugh at the performance that he was putting on, at the tone of his voice as he spoke. The most dramatic rendition of your first meeting, which had already been dramatic enough. Careful not to burn his non-fireproof clothing, Johnny lit just his hand on fire. “So why don’t we do this peacefully and you just come with me?”

In the same way you had all those years ago, you flicked your fingers, encasing his hand in that wall of blue magic. And years ago when you’d done it, he’d freaked out, tried everything to get it to go away.

This time? His eyes never left yours, full of nothing but love and adoration.

“No use trying, pretty boy,” you shot back, softer than the first time you’d ever said it. With another flick of your fingers, that magic dissipated with ease.

Johnny shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, taking a step closer to you. You took a set along the concrete wall surrounding the park’s statue behind you, crossing your legs out in front of you as you simply watched him. The way he bounced on the balls of his feet, the smile that never seemed to leave his face since the moment he’d seen you again.

“Pretty sure after that I made a comment about being turned on,”

“Oh, you did,” you laughed, shaking your head at the memory. Johnny sat down along the wall beside you as you turned your body to face him, poking a finger into his chest. “And for some reason, it worked on me.”

Before you could pull your hand away, he caught it in his own. Those blue eyes you adored never left yours as Johnny gingerly brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the pad of your finger, before pressing another one gently along your knuckles.

“Why…why does everything feel right the second I have you back?”

The question was heavy, holding the weight of a thousand things with it. In the quiet of the night, you let your fingers stretch out in his hold, ghosting over his cheek and jawline. He let his hand slip down to your wrist, keeping a hold on you, as you let yourself caress the skin beneath your fingertips.

“I don’t know,” it was the only answer you could give. “All I know is I meant what I said all those years ago. You’re my home, just as much as this earth is.”

Johnny smiled, turning his head for a moment to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist, sending a flurry of soft heat through your skin and your veins themselves.

“What if we just tell the multiverse to fuck off?” The laugh you let out was soft, and Johnny’s own matched it. “No, seriously. Why does the universe get to tell us if we can be together? What if I’ve already decided that you’re it for me.”

“Because it put us in two different universes, Johnny. There’s no correcting that, as much as we want to. Not when us jumping between earths could alter the fabric of reality itself,”

“You spent a year with me, you’ve been back here for two, and the multiverse hasn’t fallen apart…as far as I know,” you shook your head, even as his hands took yours between them, letting them fall into your lap. “You came into my life and you fucked it up, baby. There is no amount of time, there is no multiversal distance, that will ever change the fact that I love you. I don’t care what the multiverse wants–I don’t care about the multiverse at all–or what fate and destiny want, I want you.”

Your lips quirked up on the side just slightly, into the tiniest of smiles. Fingers clutched between his hands, you let the pads of your fingers draw little circles into the soft skin of his palm.

“That’s selfish,”

“Don’t we deserve to be selfish?” he shot back. “The battle in New York, against the greasy haired god you always told me about–how old were you?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Young. Too young, truly-”

“Exactly,” Johnny shifted, his face becoming serious. But you could see it in his features, those same nerves you’d seen on him before. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the way his hands fidgeted against your own. “You have dedicated your entire life to the people of your world, just like we did when we came back with cosmically altered DNA. That doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice everything, the things and the people we want, for them too.”

A sigh left your lips, your eyes trailing down to his hands. Watching the way his fingers fidgeted, the way the veins of his hands strained as he clenched up with every passing moment.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it. Defying Wong, performing the spell you now knew how to perform so you could see him again. Taking off to their world, but this time, never coming back. But you loved what you did, you loved being a hero. For all this world had taken from you, it was still your home, still held people that you loved and cherished and needed. But you needed Johnny Storm as much as you needed them too.

“I’ve thought about it,” you spoke after a moment of silence. “I told you that the next time I saw you, I wouldn’t let you go. That we wouldn’t have to leave each other again. But you have a duty to your world, and I have a duty to mine. The stars have told us no, as much as I wish they’d tell us yes.”

Johnny grew quiet, those blue eyes never leaving yours, as you simply sat together. Holding hands, staring at one another, and letting the weight of the words settle between you both.

“Close your eyes,”

You didn’t argue. Your eyelids fluttered shut without another word, plunging you into darkness. Johnny’s hands left yours. You could hear the shuffling of fabric, the sound of a tiny chain rattling, before those warm hands hovered around your neck, the feel of a cool chain hitting your skin as his hands found their way back to his lap.

When you opened your eyes again, they landed on the silver chain now lying around your neck. It was the end of that chain that caught your eye, allowing what hung from the end to lie in your hand as you brought it closer, rolling it around in your fingers.

A simple silver band. A sparkling diamond, shaped into a square, resting in the middle. Smaller diamonds encrusted the band on either side of the main little gem, glinting in the soft moonlight of the park at night.

A wedding ring.

“It was our mother’s,” your eyes drifted back up to him, mouth hung open slightly in awe as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His own were locked on the ring between your fingers, a soft grin stretched across his lips. “Before I found out that Reed invented time travel, Sue asked me if I’d ask you if she gave me her ring. I told her yes.”

“Johnny-”

“We have duties to our worlds as superheroes, I know. I’m not asking…as much as I want to,” his hands came up to cup around yours, the one still holding the ring, as his eyes found yours again. It felt as if the wind had been knocked from your chest, your lungs unable to draw in the air needed to breathe. “I just need you to have it, because there’s no one else that I’d ever give it to. Universe be damned, you are it for me, sweetheart. And if we can’t be together, I just need you to know that I am still 100%, unequivocally and irrevocably, yours.”

The tears that threatened to fall did in that moment, cascading down your cheeks and leaving a wet trail behind them. Johnny’s fingers caught them before they could fall too far, wiping them away.

“I-I don’t know,” were the first words you spoke after a moment of silence, of letting your tears fall. A watery smile grew on your lips, hints of a teasing tone finding their way into your voice. “What if the Silver Surfer comes back some day and professes her undying love for you?”

Johnny made a small hissing sound, squinting his eyes as he thought about it for a moment. He nodded them, giving you an apologetic smile that was threatening to let laughter break through as he let his fingers take hold of the chain around your neck again.

“Actually, that’s a great point. Maybe I should take this back-”

You launched yourself into him, lips colliding with his in a flurry of laughter from you both. Kiss after kiss you laid onto his lips was reciprocated in kind, the hands around your waist holding you firmly against him as you let your hands travel every piece of skin of his you could possibly touch. The smiles on your faces never faded, not through every move of lips against lips, or every kiss seared into skin.

Neither of you moved until the late hours of the morning, time spent right there in Johnny Storm’s arms as you recounted to one another every possible thing you could think of: dinners with Morgan, appearances on Ted Gilbert’s show, conferences with nations, one of Reed’s new designs knocking out the city’s power for an entire week.

That ring laid against your chest, feeling as if it was burning a hole through your sternum with every passing minute though, Johnny’s words never quite leaving your head.

Don’t we deserve to be selfish?

❤︎

A week wasn’t enough. You knew it the moment Wong said it. Seven whole days with Reed Richards, Franklin Richards, Ben Grimm, Sue Storm, and Johnny Storm would never be enough.

You made the most out of every single day, though. Of all 168 hours that you were gifted with the people who had become family to you.

Morgan Stark adored them, just as you knew she would. She had often asked you over the last two years to recount stories for her, to tell her about the man who could set himself on fire and the man who could stretch his body to his will. The second you’d strolled up to the door of the familiar cabin and she’d burst through the door, excitedly calling out the names of the people she’d only heard stories about, before dragging Franklin off to show him something in her room full of toys, you knew just how much she adored them. Getting to watch her drag Johnny outside and force him to play ‘heroes and villains’ with her was also the most adorable sight you’d ever seen.

Ben had found a comparable bakery to Maisie’s nestled in Hell’s Kitchen. It would never beat Maisie’s, you knew that, but you also could see the look of disbelief on Ben’s rocky face the second he’d bit into one of their world famous chocolate chip cookies.

Reed loved all the technology, fascinated by the advancements that your world had compared to theirs, even if some of their own technology surely rivaled the power of your own. He asked so many questions you were sure Sam’s head was going to explode at one point, taking both his wings and Joaquín’s wings to mess with them, trying to understand their mechanics and how they were built. The conversation surrounding vibranium had a look on Reed’s face that said he was determined to discover if their own universe hosted any deposits of the metal.

Sue just wanted to know the history. She wanted to know all your world had been through, all you had been through. Luckily for her, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, the debut exhibition that chronicled the entire story of The Avengers, had opened just months prior in the heart of New York. You’d walked them through it, through the photos and mementos on display and the memories: the battle against Loki, Sokovia and Ultron, the downfall of the Avengers, all the way to the arrival and defeat of Thanos. Sam took every opportunity to throw in an embarrassing story pertaining to you.

Johnny? He didn’t care for any of it. Not the cities, not the history, not a single thing besides you. There wasn’t a moment of any day where he willingly left your side. A warm hand resting on the small of your back, or curled around your hip rubbing circles into your skin, or fingers laced between your own. He was glued to your side, even if he had his moments where he was more like a thorn in it, unwillingly to let you out of his sight. Those crystal blue eyes were the first thing you saw every morning, and the last thing you saw every night, and there was nothing else that mattered to you than that.

You had filled those seven days with as much love for the Fantastic Four as they’d spent a year showing you. But through every moment, that lingering thought that when your time was up they’d have to leave again never left your mind. It had buried itself there, unwilling to move, constantly reminding you that your time with them was finite. That no matter how much you loved them, no matter how much you loved Johnny, he simply couldn’t be yours.

That ring still felt as if it was burning a hole into your sternum every time you thought about it.

“All systems are go for launch,”

Those were the words you had been dreading to hear. Standing in a field in Upstate New York, not entirely far from the ground that had held your former home, the compound, the Excelsior was uncloaked from the spell that Wong had put over it. It stood tall, the light of the sun glinting off of it, and all it did was fill you with dread.

Sam’s hand rested comfortingly against your back, rubbing soft circles into your muscles that were tensed tight, threatening to snap. The breath you took shuddered, your entire body shaking, as you saw them: Ben, Sue with Franklin on her hip, and Johnny stepped out of the ship and back onto the grass, wearing those white and blue spacesuits of theirs you’d never had the privilege of seeing in person. Reed stood not far from you, conversing with Wong in hushed tones, as the others made their way toward the area in which you stood.

“Don’t go crying on me now, witchy,” Joaquín shot at you, his tone teasing but still light, as he bumped his hip into your otherside. You spared him a single glance, the nail of your thumb resting between your teeth as the nerves radiated off of you. “You’ve been so vibrant–so fun–this last week, I don’t want to have the depressed version of you back.”

“Wow, you really do have a way with words,” Sam muttered just loud enough for the three of you to hear, shaking his head at Joaquín’s words. His hands traveled to your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “At least you got to see them again.”

Johnny’s eyes locked with yours as they fell into step beside Reed, all walking in your direction now.

“All so I could lose them again…as if I haven’t lost enough,” was all you could manage to say.

Reed shook hands with both Joaquín and Sam, thanking them for their hospitality over the last week. The pair thanked him back, wishing him safe travels, before moving on to Ben standing behind him. 

Your eyes locked with Reed’s as he stepped up in front of you.

“It’s been nice seeing you again,” his voice was quiet, firm, as he gave you a small smile. “It was nice to see Johnny so…not mopey.”

His words gained a short laugh from you, along with a shake of your head.

“Just don’t go inventing any other forms of dimensional travel,” you shot at him lightly with a grin of your own. “I don’t want to hear that you went dimension hopping.”

Laughter was shared between both of you for a moment. Reed’s arms opened, and you stepped into them without hesitation. That burn in your eyes appeared almost instantly the second he wrapped his arms around you.

You let yourself sit in his hold for a moment, taking it in, as he muttered his next words right by the curve of your ear.

“I’ll see you soon,”

Reed pulled away without another word. Just a simple nod of his head before he backed away to stand off to the side. Your eyes followed him, a question hanging from your lips as your head cocked to the side at his words, but Ben was quick to saddle up to you and pull you into a crushing hug before you could.

“I fear bringing flame brain here was a terrible idea…I feel like he’s just going to mope more when we get home,”

You laughed, pulling back to look at the man before you with a wide grin, one that matched his own. With a pat to his shoulder, your smile fell just slightly as your mind drifted, eyes darting back to his.

“You told me once that the people I love will be waiting for me back home, no matter how long it took me to get there,” Ben nodded as you spoke those words he’d told you so long ago in the kitchen of the Baxter Building. “Will you guys be waiting for me, even if…if I can never get there?”

Ben’s smile softened, his rocky hand coming up to cup the side of your head. Stroking over your hair lightly, he gave you a tiny nod.

“You’ll find your way back to us, kid, I know it. I’m not sure there’s anything in this universe that could stop you from getting back to him,”

Those words hung with you for a moment as Ben stepped away, joining Reed in the distance. There was no reprieve from the goodbyes, not when Sue stepped up in front of you, adjusting Franklin on her hip.

A shuddering sigh fell from your lips, those tears burning once again in your eyes. Lip quivering, you laughed, unable to find the words to say as you fumbled to find the right thing to say.

“I-I don’t even know what to say,”

Sue only smiled, reaching forward and tugging you into a hug. You reciprocated without a second thought, wrapping your arms around both her and Franklin, the little boy’s arm slotting itself around your neck in a tight hug. The first tear finally fell at that moment.

“Thank you for loving him,” her voice spoke softly, just loud enough for you to hear. You pulled away, wiping at the tears on your cheeks as you gave her a watery smile.

“It’s a privilege, even if he’s a pain in my ass,” you shared a laugh, before you turned your gaze over to Franklin. The little frown on his face, the tears that were pooling in his own red rimmed eyes. He leaned into the hand you brought up to cup his cheek, pinching at the skin. “Hey buddy.”

“Hi auntie,” his voice broke a little bit as he spoke, and god you were terrified that was going to be what broke the dam holding back most of your tears. Pulling your hand back, you let a little ball of magic roam over your fingers again, watching the way the blue light lit up his face, illuminating that little smile it was able to bring to his lips for a split second. “I love you.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you did so.

“I love you too, buddy,”

You weren’t ready to stand in front of Johnny Storm again. You weren’t ready to say goodbye. But the moment was here, and there was no running from it.

There were no tears this time. Not like the day you left, not like when you both cried into each other's arms, promising that it wasn’t a goodbye.

“Earth-616 is alright,” Johnny quipped. You could see the difference in him, though. It wasn’t the overconfident cockiness and teasing tone you were used to. It was more subdued, more quiet. “It’s got nothing on our earth, though.”

You laughed, those tears burning in your eyes, but this time refusing to fall.

“Sorry to disappoint. Did it have any redeeming qualities?”

“Just the one. It’s this pretty little witch that I still think put a love spell on me. I wish I could take her with me…”

No, this time was different. This time felt like a goodbye.

You stepped into Johnny’s arms without another word, curling around him. He did the same, glove covered hands cradling the back of your head as he pressed kiss after kiss to your forehead: soft, gentle, loving. You shut your eyes, basking in the feeling, wishing to stay in that moment for the rest of time.

“I really do want to be selfish,” you muttered out, eyes still shut as your hands curled into the fabric of his space suit. Johnny’s laugh was light, reverberating against your skin as he kissed your forehead again.

“You won’t be. There’s not a selfish bone in your body, unlike me,” one of his hands slid down to the back of your neck, tilting your head back just enough that when your eyes popped open, you were looking up at his smiling face. “Guess we’re just destined to be star-crossed lovers.”

You made a face of disgust, a giggle falling from your lips as you shook your head.

“Absolutely not. That’s, like, Romeo and Juliet type shit,”

“Weren’t they madly in love like us?”

“Yeah, but star-crossed lovers always end in tragedy. You know…like those two dying?”

“Hm, that’s a good point,” Johnny’s grin grew, his gloved hand rubbing back and forth against the skin of your neck. “Soulmates, then.”

Soulmates. A trivial word, a cliche one, a word you had never really thought of until Johnny Storm had just uttered it between you both.

Your love for him hadn’t appeared at first sight. It sunk into you with every passing moment, with every chance you got to see behind the curtain at the man behind the Human Torch. A love that had rooted itself so deeply inside of you that you knew you’d never love someone else the same way. A love that came so suddenly and unexpectedly, in the height of everything you’d ever lost. Your family, your best friend, your home was all torn away from you in a matter of years to the point where you felt lost. You’d lost little pieces of yourself along the way. Until you’d crash landed in that park, and Johnny Storm waltz into your life with an arm on fire, and helped you rebuild new pieces for the ones you had lost.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, but right on time.

You took one of his hands in yours, grasping that gloved hand in your bare palms. Your eyes never left him as you laid that hand right over the center of your chest, so he could feel the beat of your heart right underneath the diamond ring, still dangling on that chain tucked under your clothes. His hands curled in on itself slightly, grasping at that ring, as a bright smile lit up your face.

“Soulmates,”

You crashed into one another without another word, lips finding lips, falling into the feel of one another again. His hand curled around your waist to tug you as close as humanly possible, the other never moving from the outline of that ring. Yours curled into his hair, lips moving desperately against his as you tried to memorize every single bit of him: the soft skin of his lips, the warmth that bloomed under his skin, the feel of every strand of blonde hair between your fingers.

It was only when air was fighting to enter both of your lungs that you finally parted. Foreheads pressed together, noses just barely brushing, breathing heavily into the shared space between you both.

“I love you,” Johnny whispered one final time.

“I love you too. Always,” you whispered back.

The second he pulled away, almost having to drag himself out of your arms, you could feel it. That ache in your chest was back, those pieces of you threatening to break away again.

Sam and Joaquín were back at your side in seconds, each with a hand resting on your back as Wong stood off to the side.

The Fantastic Four walked up the ramp of that ship, casting one last look back at you, before the doors shut them in.

With a shaky hand, you tugged that chain out from under your clothes, grasping that diamond ring in your hand. You let the feel of it try to ground you, running your finger back and forth across every ridge and bump of each and every diamond.

You didn’t stop as the engines of the Excelsior roared to life. You only gripped the ring harder, never letting go. Even when the ship disappeared into the atmosphere, nothing more than a blip in the sky

The wind settled, the trees and grass stopped rustling in the wind created by the ship, as the entire field was plunged back into quiet. It was then that you turned to Sam, eyes red rimmed as the tears began to fall, breaths uneven and short as you tried to take in a deep breath.

“I-It’s not fair,” you barely managed the words out as Sam nodded his head, turning your body fully toward him.

“I know-”

“H-Haven’t I given enough?” you hiccuped through the words, almost sobbing by the end of it. That ring was still grasped tight in your palm, digging its shape into your skin. “Haven’t I-I lost enough?”

“You have-”

“Nat, Tony, Steve, Wanda, a-and now I can’t even have him-” a sob finally tore through your throat as Sam tugged you into him, burying your head into the crook of his neck as you sobbed. One hand gripped his t-shirt, while the other refused to let go of the ring. “I-I’ve given this world everything a-and I can’t even have this! It just keeps taking, and taking, and taking from me.”

Sam simply shushed you, hand cupping the back of your head as he let you cry. For the people you’d lost, the life you’d given up in service of the world, and for the man you loved that you let walk away.

It was a pain you couldn’t describe. A pain that only a hero would know: the sacrifice of a hero.

“Do you remember when Steve Rogers chose Peggy?”

Wong’s voice cut through the air, the only words spoke in the silence of the field amidst your cries. Sam’s hand on your head paused, the hand Joaquín had placed against your shoulder blades froze.

You pulled away, a mess of tears still littering your face as you wiped them away. Your chest still heaved, struggling for air, as you watched Wong. He stood in front of all three of you, hands clasped behind his back, that same stoic look on his face not giving away a single thing.

“W-What does that have to do with-”

“Rogers’ choice should have broken the sacred timeline. It should have created an alternate reality, started an incursion that destroyed the timeline as we know it. It didn’t,” Wong took a single step forward. Sam’s hand glided down, resting against your back, as you all turned toward the Sorcerer Supreme. “His choice did not break the timeline, it did not create a new reality, it simply worked. It defied the rules of time travel. It worked because that is the way it was written, that is how his story was always meant to end.”

You cocked your head, wiping away the trails of tears under your eyes once more as you shook your head.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because neither of you broke anything either,”

Wong’s hands flourished through the air in front of you all, shimmering in that familiar yellow and gold of magic. Hanging in the air in front of you all were two lines of pulsing, deep orange energy, stretching parallel to one another from one end of the field to the other, disappearing between the trees. Little stars almost seemed to twinkle in the spaces around the streams of energy.

“These are flows of time. This one represents us here, on Earth-616. This one represents Earth-828…their world,” you gingerly took a step forward, hand hovering over the flows of time pulsating in the air, Sam and Joaquín still glued to your sides as Wong pointed along the streams. “When something interrupts that flow of time, interrupts what is meant to happen, that branch splits. This creates alternate timelines, this creates incursions that can destroy the multiverse. I studied your time on Earth-828 for the last two years, trying to make sense of the year you spent there. Both of these branches should’ve been splintered, breaking apart at the seams: ours because it didn’t have you, and theirs because it had someone it wasn’t supposed to. These branches never split. Not once.”

The gears were turning in your head, but not fast enough. Wong continued on, waving his hand as the flows of time shifted, moving down until he stopped those streams of energy in the air at a new point.

“This section represents now, and the last seven days. I have studied these, night and day, since they arrived on this earth. I have waited for a single piece to break, for a single part to crack, but it never did. You didn’t break their timeline, and they didn’t break ours, for the same reason that Steve Rogers didn’t break it either…because it was always meant to happen,”

It was still hard to catch your breath, and it was harder then in that moment as Wong spoke those words: always meant to happen.

Your eyes widened a fraction, lips parting as your jaw went slack as the weight of his words settled in on you. Sam let out a breathless laugh from beside you, and Joaquín muttered an ‘oh shit’ just barely under his breath. Your legs felt numb, your hands were beginning to shake as you gripped onto the chain in your hand, looking up at Wong.

“I…I was always meant to meet Johnny?”

Wong waved his hand, the flows of time dissipating in front of him, as his hands settled behind his back once more.

“I have kept you apart, forbade you from performing that spell again, in the interest of protecting the timelines. In the interest of protecting the multiverse. All I have done, though, is stand in the way of something that was always meant to be,” for a fraction of a second, Wong’s lips quirked up into a miniscule smile. “There is no fundamental proof that soulmates exist in the vast multiverse, but if there was, you two would be the best example there is.”

Sam launched into a thousand questions, the logistics of it all. Could you freely travel between worlds? Could travel, eventually, break the flow of time? Every question that you knew needed to be answered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not when you opened the palm of your hand, and that diamond ring was glinting back up at you in the light, and Johnny’s voice could be heard in your head.

Don’t we deserve to be selfish?

❤︎

Johnny Storm wasn’t the same man he was three years ago. He knew that.

He had searched for love in all the wrong places all his life, finding it with the wrong people. He’d taken on the public persona of a playboy, the kind of man who would never settle down, when that’s all he wanted. He wanted the life, the love, the family that Sue and Reed had built together. It was all he’d ever wanted, but something he never thought he’d find.

Then, you appeared.

The witch from another universe, holding a power that could quite literally kill him if he didn’t watch his mouth. You matched his wit, you ignored his charms, and you fell in love with the version of him he was sometimes afraid to show the world. The version of him that he wanted someone to love. You’d done it so easily, too, captured his heart somewhere between that day in the park, that night with the milkshakes, and that late night on that New York rooftop.

You had changed him in a way he could never understand, fundamentally at his core. His entire life was changed irrevocably the second you had turned around in that park and looked at him.

“We’ve been home for two hours and you’re sulking already,”

Johnny rolled his eyes at Ben’s comment, picking at the pieces of meat in his to-go Chinese container before flicking them across the table at Ben. Franklin laughed from his seat at the moment as Johnny shot Ben a smirk, laughing along with his nephew as the man threw the stray pieces of meat back onto the table.

“I’m not sulking-”

“You haven’t said a single word since dinner arrived,” Ben shot back. Johnny opened his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t come up with one. “Yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought.”

“Give him a break, Ben,” Sue told him gently, reaching over to pat his arm as she took another bite of one of the pieces of chicken in her own container. “Not every day you have to say goodbye to the woman you love.”

“I still vote we should’ve left him there with her,”

Johnny barely looked up from his food, just shooting a little ball of fire in the direction of Ben, burning the meat currently on his chopsticks to a crisp in seconds. Franklin laughed even louder at the sight from the other end of the table, as Sue shot her brother a look that screamed for him to behave.

He was trying not to sulk, but it wasn’t easy. Not when he could already feel himself forgetting the feel of your skin, the scent of your perfume, or the exact shade of your eyes.

At that moment, Johnny let his eyes drift to Reed. Sitting across from him at the table, just as quiet as he had been the entire dinner. Reed glanced up, looking back down, before double-taking to meet Johnny’s eyes.

“What?”

“I’ll admit, I’ve been quiet, but you’ve been way quieter. It’s weird,” Johnny threw his container down, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in the dining room chair. “Thought you’d be talking about the success of the trip, or about how much cooler some of their technology is and how you want to recreate it and totally not wipe out all the power on the Eastern half of the country in the process.”

Sue gave a small hum of agreement to Johnny's comment, but Reed only shrugged, averting his eyes down to his plate. The shifty behavior set Johnny off immediately, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward.

“What’s going on in that supersized brain of yours?”

Reed made a move to comment, when the watch on his wrist beeped. It was that same alert, that familiar sound that Johnny had heard so many times before. That day in Gramercy Park, that day in the lab…Reed only smiled, silencing the alert and taking another bite of his food.

“Uh, stretch?” Ben jabbed his thumb in the direction of Reed’s watch. “Is everything good there?”

“Nothing I wasn’t already expecting,” Reed glanced back up at Johnny, nodding toward the stairs behind him. “Why don’t you freshen up for the night since you’re obviously not eating anything else. We’ll handle the dishes.”

The three adults around the table exchanged curious glances, confusion prevalent among everyone at that moment. Johnny was tired, though, and he wasn’t going to fight him on it.

The dining room chair squeaked against the floors as Johnny left the rest of his family at the table, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Franklin’s head, before leaving the room. Ascending the stairs, trying not to let his mind wander to the thousand moments that were littered in every square inch of this building of you.

Maybe he needed to move out of the Baxter Building. He was only going to be depressed for the rest of his life if he lived in a building crawling with memories of you hidden in every crevice.

The door of his bedroom was already slightly ajar. Johnny barely paid it any mind, swinging it open without a second thought as he entered the darkened room.

He’d yet to set foot in his room, not since the day they’d left a week ago to traverse the multiverse. The polaroid of you both was still lying on his bed, right where he’d left it, your handwriting still magically scribbled across the bottom half.

Unequivocally yours.

Johnny held it in his hands, letting his thumb brush over the words for a moment. Smiling, letting the memory of you satiate his broken heart for just a moment.

“Hi,”

The photo fell from his hands the second he heard it, that voice. All it took was one word, and he knew it. He knew that voice, but he couldn’t trust his own head. There was no way what he was hearing was real.

But there you were. Standing by that record player, the soft light of the moon through the windows streaming in, illuminating you from the back. You looked the same as you had hours ago in that field. The same clothes, the same hair, the same little smile on your face. The same woman he loved.

Johnny’s breath was caught in his throat. His mouth opened and closed, trying to find the words, stumbling over himself. Your smile only grew, hands tucked behind your back.

“...did you fuck up a spell again?”

You laughed, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, teeth digging into the plush pink of your bottom lip for a split second.

“More like performed it right,”

The shock on Johnny’s face, somehow, grew more prevalent. He wasn’t sure if his brain had fully caught up with the sight before him, if he had fully processed that it was you standing in front of him yet. He’d left you, he’d said his goodbye, but here you were.

“You purposefully came here?” you nodded your head. “Isn’t that, like, against everything the monk dude has been drilling into you for the last two years?”

“That’s the thing,” you shook your head, taking another step forward until you were on the single step that led off that elevated platform in the center of his room. “Apparently Wong was wrong.”

“He was wrong? Sounds like something he wouldn’t like,”

“Not at all,” the giggle you let out shot straight into his veins, Johnny’s body almost feeling weightless at the simple sound. “It’s…it’s complicated. I’ll explain everything to you, I promise, because it’s complicated.”

Johnny took a single step forward, still hesitant, still unable to believe the sight in front of him.

“How complicated?”

“Let’s just say that, when I call my world my home but you my home too, I’m not wrong,” you gave a tiny shrug, accented with a grin. “But for now, let me just answer the question I never did the other night…yes, we do deserve to be selfish.”

Johnny didn’t need to question your words, not when you took your hands out from behind your back and held your left hand up into the light in front of him: that diamond ring, the same one that always sat on his mother’s hand, glinting in the light and reflecting off the walls, now sitting on your finger.

Every question died on Johnny’s lips at that moment. He didn’t need to ask any questions, not when that simple action spoke a thousand words. He knew, in that moment, at least a semblance of what it was you were trying to say.

A squeal left your lips as Johnny practically rushed at you. His arms wound around your waist, squeezing the life out of you while yours clung to his shoulders for even just a moment of balance. He spun you, your laughter floating through the air as he finally let your feet touch the ground again.

Johnny’s hands cupped your cheeks, cradling your face as he looked down at you. Astonished, adoring, completely and utterly in love. Your hands laid on top of his, and he couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn straight to that ring once again.

“Better late than never on that third rule, right?” you laughed, smile wide, as the tip of Johnny’s nose bumped the tip of yours. “I think the last name Storm will suit you nicely.”

“I think so too,” you shot right back, squeezing affectionately at his hands as your face scrunched up just slightly, smile still impossibly wide as you looked up at him.

The boy burns from the inside out as he gathers the others in the living room. They abide by his sudden urgency, though not without complaint. Reed grumbles under his breath as he ushers a heavily pregnant Sue up from the lab, while Ben puts a begrudging hold on the fancy ossobucco he’s been talking about all day.

The towering man seems almost pensive as the spinning vinyl crackles and pops before him. His pronounced brow furrows, and his calloused arms cross over his chest — his inhumanly large biceps strain against the fabric of his flannel shirt and sweater vest.

“My veal is still braising, by the way…” Ben murmurs into the static-filled silence.

“Shh!” Johnny snaps, wide eyes laser-focused on the golden record.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “I can’t let it sit too long, or it’ll get too soft—”

“H.E.R.B.I.E., can you go check on it, please?” Reed directs quietly, with a protective arm around Sue’s waist. The tiny robot beeps in an affirmative response before whizzing off towards the kitchen.

“This part!” Johnny exclaims as the transmission starts to sputter. He holds a palm out in front of him while his wild ocean gaze locks with his sister’s matching one. “Just listen…”

Your voice breaks through the heavy static. “Mark for— Consumed— The Devourer— Your time is—” It’s faint and barely there, but enough to knock the wind out of all of them. Ben’s sunken eyes widen in shock. The perpetual furrow between Reed’s brows fades slightly as he loosens the striped tie around his neck. Sue’s pink mouth parts as a gasp catches in her throat.

“Tell me,” Johnny huffs, sounding a bit like the air has been punched from his lungs as he motions to the spinning record. “Tell me that doesn’t sound exactly like her.”

Sue takes a slow step closer, leather flats scuffing the navy carpet. She pushes up the sleeves of her scarlet sweater to her elbows before crossing her thin arms over her chest. She tucks a rogue blonde strand behind her ear and tilts her head towards the record player’s speaker, waiting for the voice with bated breath. She exhales a wavering sigh of relief when it never comes again, drowned out by the static and the strange gurgles of dying stars and newly formed galaxies.

“It’s just a bunch of… garbled nothingness, Johnny,” the older woman shrugs with a wavering smile. “It could be anyone. It could be anywhere—”

“It’s her,” Johnny corrects with a fire behind his light eyes that tells her there’s no use in arguing with him now.

It took her the better part of six months to convince him that, even if they had a working ship, they wouldn’t be able to find you. The tracker in your spacesuit stopped working the day of the crash; likely due to excessive celestial interference, Reed hypothesized, or maybe because the fire was much too strong for the suit to resist. Either way, even if you had somehow survived, searching for you would’ve been a near-impossible feat — a one-in-a-hundred-billion odds.

Johnny almost believed that, too. Until now.

“I don’t know…” Reed sighs with a pair of anxious hands on his hips. “It does kinda sound like her…”

“Really?” Sue hums with a glacial-like glare that makes the older man cower.

“See?!” Johnny exclaims, beaming brighter than a thousand suns.

To him, this is a revelation. This is the promise he’s been waiting for — the assurance that you’re still out there, just waiting to be found. But to Sue, this is nothing short of destructive. It does nothing but erase a year of progress, a year of grief, a year in which Johnny all but lost himself, only to find himself again a little better than before.

Whether this distant, garbled voice belongs to you has nothing to say in the matter, ‘cause they cannot find you if you don’t want to be found.

Maybe it’s the older sister in her, the one who exists solely to protect her little brother — or maybe it’s the stubbornness that comes with being the eldest daughter, who is often the most rational and the most likely to be overlooked. But something strong pushes her hands towards the spinning record. The golden vinyl scratches sharply when she snatches it suddenly from the needle.

“Hey!” Johnny exclaims in protest.

“This isn’t healthy, Johnny,” Sue says with a shake of her head as she marches back towards the lab. “I don’t want you giving him any more transmissions, Reed.”

The older man grows very visibly shy. “Well, technically, H.E.R.B.I.E. gave it to him—”

“Well, then, I don’t want H.E.R.B.I.E. giving Johnny any more transmissions.”

The blue-and-white robot beeps in protest from where he stirs at the bright green gremolata.

“Well, Johnny is standing right here, you know?” the blonde boy argues at Sue’s disappearing figure. “And Johnny can hear everything you’re saying?”

“Just for the record,” Ben murmurs beneath the chaos. “Ben likes it when Johnny talks about himself in the third person—”

“This just means there’s a chance, right?” Johnny shouts.

The desperation in his strangled voice makes Sue pause on the edge of the staircase, still grasping the record in a white-knuckled grip. She looks over her shoulder and finds her baby brother all but glittering with hope, eyes wide and round and glassy.

“There’s a chance that she’s still out there. A chance that we can find her.”

“We’ll go to space again soon, Johnny, I promise…” Sue sighs.

The sincere look in her made-up eyes makes him groan. She still sees him as that little kid who needed her to kiss all his bruises better — not as a man in mourning, not as a man who could be right about something.

“It’s not about that, Sue—”

“When the people need us to—”

“It’s more than that, and you know it—”

“Not because you want to spend the rest of your life looking for someone who’s already gone—”

A wildfire rages behind Johnny’s glaring eyes, turning his balled fists into glowing shades of orange. The light around Sue refracts slightly and creates a rainbow halo around her body. Their new powers seem to mirror how the Storms hold their anger. It’s in Sue’s nature to hide inside herself, and it’s in Johnny’s to feel all of it and burn accordingly.

The stubborn stare-off is interrupted when their watches begin to beep with a new message, the urgency of which they feel vibrating from the tips of their fingers to the point of their elbows. The navy blue sky outside turns into shades of eerie gold in that instance, as something close to hellfire rains from the stars.

“Johnny…” Sue wavers, wide eyes turned towards the window.

He nods once. “On it.”

He takes off through the balcony, leaving a trail of fire behind him as he weaves through skyscrapers like a comet personified. The others speed off in the Fantasticar. They flit through the city and find Times Square in a state of utter chaos. Traffic piles quickly as distracted drivers crash or otherwise rush out of their cars in an attempt to find safety. Others linger in the streets, gaping in wonder at something in the suddenly starless sky.

As lightning flashes golden and ash rains like fallen stars, it’s hard to tell what exactly they’re looking at.

The Fantastic Four gather in the center of the bustling square, where police officers struggle to section off a perimeter with frightened pedestrians getting in their way. Helicopters whir loudly overhead, shining their blinding spotlights in every direction until they settle finally on something descending from the heavens — a speck of nothingness in the dark at first, then something resembling more and more human the further it falls.

The neon screens of Times Square go dark for a flicker of a moment, before a familiar face shines on every single one.

                            ★。＼｜／。★

         so please put your sweet hand in mine,

         we'll float in space and drift in time. . .

                            ★。／｜＼。★

“Oh, my god…” Sue huffs like the breath has been knocked out of her.

Reed holds a weathered hand over his eyes to shield from the blinding lights overhead. The whipping autumn wind sends his tie flying around his neck. “Is that—” he tries to ask, but can’t quite get the words out.

“I knew it…” Johnny says with a strange sort of conviction. Neither scared nor surprised, but rather affirmed in a way, and only slightly relieved. A distant part of him always knew that he’d somehow see you again — whether it be in this life or a million others — he just didn’t expect it to be this soon, or for you to be like this.

You still look so much like the girl he left behind a year ago, unsmiling and uncaring and slightly dead behind the eyes. But there’s something different about you still, that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Maybe it’s the strangely detached look on your face, adding a foreign tension to your features — like a girl who’s been to war and back and wears the shell-shock all over. Or maybe it’s the way your eyes lock, and how the subtle glimmer of amusement Johnny’s spent a year dreaming of is absent now.

You look at him like he’s a stranger to you. Like he’s an ant you could crush beneath your boot without so much as a blink, much less a second thought.

“Are you the protectors of this world?” you ask from a story or more above them, floating in thin air like it’s nothing to you. The tone of your words matches the look on your face, robotic and disconnected. Hardly human.

“You don’t remember us—?” Johnny tries to ask. But when he goes to take a step closer to you, Sue holds a protective hand out in front of him. ‘Cause he might’ve been right about one thing, about your still being out there, but she can’t be totally sure that it’s still all you.

As her blue eyes scan over your form, she knows someone had to have made that suit you’re wearing — all silver with intricate gold trimming, clinging to your skin, made of something strong enough to withstand the perils of outer space. You were, admittedly, never good with your hands after all. And besides, what could’ve happened to make you forget about them in a year? And what exactly brought you back?

“Yes, we are,” the blonde woman answers with a firm nod. “You used to be, too, once… Doc.”

If the nickname is at all familiar to you, you don’t show it. You just keep staring at them, unblinking, like they don’t even have faces to you.

“This planet has been marked for death,” you announce, speaking to all of them now. “And your world will be consumed by The Devourer.”

Your sunken eyes scan the growing crowd, which gapes at you in fear now — a familiar face they used to know, now a total stranger. The doctor who once dedicated her whole life to protecting the world from the unknown now brings the promise of their demise.

“Do not try to stop him. He is as essential to this universe as the stars,” you continue despite the gasps and distant cries from down below. “Instead, keep your loved ones close, and speak the words you have been afraid to speak. Because your time is short.”

“Why?!” Reed shouts, stumbling over his words as he tries to make sense of it all. He keeps a protective hand on Sue’s lower back as his scruffy face twists in anguish up at you. “Why here? Why— Why now?”

Your response is immediate, like the answer is obvious; and it’s strangely even-toned too, more disconnected than either of them is used to. “Because He willed it,” you tell him slowly.

“Who did?”

A foreign name falls bitterly from your lips, “Galactus.”

Despite Reed’s previous instruction for the cops to let the Fantastic Four handle it, like they’ve been handling it for a year now, a police helicopter dives suddenly towards you — likely with no other thought than to kill you, or maybe just to stun you enough to overpower you. But even if that worked, the world would still be ending anyway.

Because it’s not you bringing death to the world, exactly.

You’re just its herald.

You phase through the heavy-duty glass and metal like it’s nothing to you, flying through the otherwise deadly spinning blades like a total ghost. You ascend towards the velvet night sky with constellations in your palms — the swirling silver energy at your fingertips must be helping your flight.

“Johnny…” Sue warns lowly, ‘cause she knows what her brother is thinking before he’s even thought it. And she knows he’ll only make it so far chasing after you before his flame can no longer weather the freezing atmosphere. “Johnny, don’t—”

He takes off in a flash, consumed entirely by fire as he follows you into the dark night. He pushes himself to his limits, flying past the city lights and ponderous black clouds to where the stars turn to ice — where the sky meets an all-black eternity, 100 kilometers above sea level.

Johnny still hears your voice in his head as he fights every bodily instinct to catch up to you. His flame dies quickly. His body tenses at the inhuman chill. He can just barely make out the silver-gold of your suit above him in the darkness, but he reaches out for you anyway.

Five lanky, golden fingers wrap suddenly around your wrist and tug you slightly downward. The unexpected touch, so unfamiliar it burns you, makes you falter. The silver energy in your fingertips flickers, and the lack of gravity whips you off kilter. You find yourself upside down in a blink — your legs above your head and your arm extended towards the strange blonde boy below, who grasps your wrist in a bruising grip. He’s not entirely unkind in the way he holds you, just desperate and aching with it.

Confusion swirls in your features as you stare down at him. His deep ocean eyes dart back and forth between yours like he’s looking for something in your gaze. In a split second of a fleeting thought, you wonder briefly what he’s looking for — what he would find inside your eyes, something soft or ugly or human.

But you’re none of those things now. You haven’t been for a long time, you think. You’re not made of flesh or blood, but of stars and death and time gone by.

So it’s easy for you to reel your fist back and hold your rage inside of it, because rage was your armour and rage had never rejected you like the rest of the infinite universe had. What else were you meant to do with the blood on your hands, anyway? Pray? Reach out for something human and hope it holds you back?

Johnny thinks he almost sees a flicker of emotion in your solemn eyes — like you recognize him, maybe, or that you almost want to. But then your hand drifts from his weakening one.

He sees the burst of bright white light from your fist before he feels it. A blast of energy washes heavily over him, not enough to hurt, but enough to push him away with the strength of a thousand suns. He tumbles gracelessly back to Earth while you continue your ascent towards the heavens.

Johnny wants to take a breath in, but the air’s far too thin all the way up here. He wants to blink, but he’s too scared to take his eyes off you. So he just watches you go, drifting further and further out of his reach, disappearing into the velvet infiniteness he once lost you in.

The silver-gold of you turns into a distant star, a beautiful echo of death.

And Johnny falls for you all over again, this time at the speed of light.

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          all your letters in the sand

         cannot heal me like your hand. . .

                            ★。／｜＼。★

The news is calling you Ghost.

They talk of your sudden arrival and your herald of death; they call your cruelty bestial, which Johnny thinks is rather unfair. Your memorial still sits in the center of the city square, just outside of the Baxter Building — a constant reminder of what you had done for the world, and what the people down below had lost. Your gravestone was revered just as much as your work had been, as much as you had been. And now they call you bestial and violent and cruel. You were their sacrificial lamb and their executioner; their scapegoat and now their angel of death.

Johnny seethes accordingly, maybe because he’s more biased than all the rest of them. He’s got a sort of devotion for you that’s impossible to recover from, like a blade constantly pressed to his throat. Even now, despite the stranger you’ve made of yourself, he’d lie next to the cruel, violent beast if he could.

“I couldn’t catch her,” the blonde boy blurts as he bursts into the lab, where the rest of the Fantastic Four start to scramble — a chaos resembling that of New York City, and very likely, the rest of the world. His toned chest heaves beneath his fitted black t-shirt as he pants heavily, looming over Reed’s shoulder while the older man types aggressively at the bulky computer in front of him. “Are you guys tracking her?”

“She’s way too fast to track, Johnny,” Ben answers from his other side.

“She’s moving lightyears per second, is my guess,” Reed amends, half-distracted as his fingers fly across the keyboard. “But I’m trying to track where she’s been.”

The man slides in his swivel chair towards the adjoining desk and types something into the second computer there. Johnny remains in place, arms crossed over his chest, navy jacket straining against his biceps. He shares a long look with Sue as she murmurs into the headset resting over her ear and mouth.

“I’m not gonna say I told you so—” he tells her.

“I’m on the phone, Johnny.”

“—‘Cause that’s obviously unsaid.”

Sue’s icy gaze narrows into thin slits. “Well, it’s not unsaid if you say it.”

“Here,” Reed blurts as a series of green pixels fizzle on the big screen overhead. They seem to resemble a galaxy before zooming in on various planet-like shapes inside it. There is one noticeably missing, a chunk of nothingness with the words no data blinking over the uncanny void. “That’s DA-773, a planet in the Proxima Delphi system—”

“You’re saying Galactus ate that whole planet?” Ben wonders aloud, calloused features twisted with an incredulous look.

“Five of them, actually,” Reed corrects, still slouched over the computer. “Five that I’m aware of, anyway. I’m sure there are more that fit the pattern.”

Sue slides the headset from her platinum locks, wincing slightly when it snags. “And the pattern is… what, exactly?”

“That they’ve been chosen with great care. Targeted. Destroyed.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Johnny huffs an emotionless laugh, waving his pale palms ahead of him. “You’re saying that all these planets disappearing— They’re connected to Doc?”

Reed nods once, scruffy face oddly stoic. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s not possible.”

“It is,” the man assures, clacking again at the keyboard until speckles of yellow and orange pixels light up on the computerized galaxy ahead of them. “I’ve identified her heat signature and matched it to DA-773. She was there. She was at all of them.”

“But how?” Ben presses. “She’s only been gone a year.”

“Over a year,” Johnny corrects, chiseled jaw tilted and blue eyes trained on the screen overhead. “A year, five months, and twenty-seven days, if you wanna be technical.”

Ben’s human eyes squint. “Thanks, Johnny. But it still doesn’t explain how Doc managed to be at five different planets in… a year, five months, and twenty-six days—”

“Twenty-seven.”

“If Doc is moving at the speed of light, which I’m assuming she is,” Reed explains, spinning in his chair to face the three of them. “Not only is it extremely possible for her to travel galaxies at a time, never mind planets— it also means there’s certainly some degree of gravitational time dilation here.”

Johnny blinks like an owl. “…Meaning?”

“Meaning that time has probably passed much differently for her than it has for us. What’s only been one year for all of us down here...” Reed clears his throat at the expectant, ocean-eyed look he gets from his brother-in-law. “A year, five months, and twenty-seven days—”

“Thank you.”

“—Could’ve been five years for her. Or ten, or twenty, or a hundred. Who knows?”

“Isn’t that kinda your job?” the blonde boy laughs cynically. “Aren’t you the guy who knows things?”

“I thought I was, yeah,” Reed answers honestly, and with a sympathetic twist to his scruffy features. He stopped thinking he was the smartest guy in the room when the four of them came back from space with superpowers and minus one prized passenger. Smart people don’t make that kind of mistake, he thought. Stubborn people do.

“Well, then, can’t you just figure it out?”

Reed rises suddenly from the swivel chair and strides towards the chalkboard across the room on long legs. He scribbles a series of numbers and letters in white chalk. It leaves an ashy mark on the inside of his wrist and falls in motes of dust to the floor.

“DA-773, for example, is roughly four light-years away, right? And let’s just say, it’d take… what? Five hundred thousand days to orbit the sun— hypothetically, of course,” he rambles, jotting the numbers into a sloppy equation that only he could comprehend.

The sound of chalk scratching against the board fills the momentary silence until Reed circles the answer he gets. He slams the white sliver hard against the green. The dull bang fills the quiet laboratory as he turns back around with wild eyes. “That means one Earth year is a little over a millennium on DA-733. But she wasn’t just on DA-733, right? I don’t know where she’s been, I don’t know where she’s going— So, forgive me, Johnny, if I can’t just figure it out.”

Johnny shifts his weight on his loafers and averts his gaze from the crazed man before him. “Sorry I asked…” the boy mumbles under his breath, faltering slightly when Sue nudges him with a half-hearted hand.

“The only thing I’m sure of is that it’s been a while,” Reed concludes with a chest-deflating sigh. “Enough for her to forget our faces, at least.”

“Well, if you’re right about this, and she’s really been going around destroying planets…” Ben grumbles a heavy breath. “Maybe she’s seen so many faces we don’t even look like people to her anymore. Maybe we’re just… targets—”

“Doc isn’t like that, Ben,” Johnny snaps before he means to. “You know that.”

“She didn’t use to be, no. But she didn’t use to have powers, either,” the taller man argues, shrugging an inhumanly broad shoulders. He pats the younger boy’s back with a coarse hand. “Face it, kid. We don’t know her anymore.”

His words pierce Johnny somewhere deep, a white-hot knife dug into the center of his sternum. He likes to think he knows you down to his bones, though he isn’t totally sure how true that is. He knows what to do to make you angry in a blink, and he knows exactly what to say to send you on a tangent about something you’re particularly interested in. He knows how sleep sits in your eyes right when you wake up in the morning, and he knows how they get squishy around the edges right before you’re about to cry.

Johnny knows you deeply, like an unexplored void — but he thinks he still could’ve spent his whole life learning something new about you. He hates that he only got two years. Two goddamn years that’ll plague the rest of whatever godforsaken years he’s got left in him. It’s hardly fair. For either of you.

“I knew it,” Johnny bites, face flaring with an emotion that stings at his eyes. He turns on his heel and parts from the group, unsure of where exactly he’s going, but just trying to get away. The sound of his loafers on the pristine tile fills the momentary quiet. “I told you guys, we needed to go back—”

“I thought you weren’t gonna say ‘I told you so?’” Ben quips quietly

“Yeah, well, that was before my girlfriend came back from the dead, trying to kill everyone because she forgot all about us,” Johnny blurts with a crazed look in his eye, gesturing wildly with his hands.

The other blinks at him for a moment.

“Girlfriend, huh?” Ben echoes with a smirk curling on his calloused mouth.

“How long to get the Excelsior launch ready?” Sue wonders aloud with a faraway look in her light eyes. She splays a pale palm over her round stomach and shrugs at the look of boyish surprise she gets from her little brother — who’d been longing for space his whole life, and would likely spend the rest of it longing for you.

“What? If this Galactus can do what Doc says it can, then either we go up there, or they come down here, so… We need to get ready.”

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          last night i dreamt i had forgotten my name

         'cause i had sold my soul but awoke just the same. . .

                            ★。／｜＼。★

You can find him in the coldest corner of the most unforgiving part of the universe.

You won’t see him in the void, but you’ll know he’s there — like the rumbling thunder just before the storm breaks, or the scent of rain hanging heavy in the air before it pours. Two things you’ve long forgotten, though the memory still stains the deepest part of your mind; you can’t remember now if it was a life you lived or a dream you dreamt.

The only thing you’re sure of now is the void. And how its dark infinite is filled by the unwavering presence of your rage. You don’t know when you became so angry, only that you feel the burning embers of your wrath constantly, and how it’s manifested now in the billion-year-old god before you.

Galactus looms in the shadows of his throne room, which you don’t think you’ve ever seen in its entirety. When he’s not feeding, he’s here — in the darkness, praying for rest. You can’t see him, but you can hear his heavy breathing, like a wild wind blowing, low and raspy. It fills the quiet of the planet-like ship as you kneel at the platform’s edge before him. The thin suit clinging to your form, made of silver star polymer and pulsing with the golden energy keeping the ship afloat, bends with you.

“Mission report…” the god grumbles from somewhere far away.

You keep your gaze averted as your palm presses against the hardened steel beneath you. “Earth-928 is now yours,” you tell him in a practiced, robotic voice. “It’s guarded by four protectors, from what I could sense. They are unassuming, but… They will not go quietly.”

“They rarely ever do…” the quiet voice booms in the darkness. It would sound almost humorous, you think, if he were capable of that sort of emotion. Or any emotion at all.

You feel the shadows watching you as you rise from your kneeled position. Your muscles urge you to turn and walk back the way you came, just like you always do — to leave this wretched place as quickly as you can. But something weighs strange and heavy in your chest, keeping your feet locked in place.

“What is it?” the darkness questions in a low rumble that you can feel in the pit of your chest, as though he can sense your hesitancy.

Your trembling hands ball into stern fists. Your nails dig crescent shapes into the butt of your palm. “They asked me if I remembered them,” you admit in a wavering voice. “Like I knew them once…”

“Perhaps you did…” Galactus answers in an indifferent monotone. “Many lifetimes ago…”

You don’t know what he means by that.

You don’t know how many lifetimes you’ve lived in this void, or if there was a lifetime you lived before it. You only know that there’s a strange stirring feeling in the bottom of your empty stomach, which tells you that there was a certain sort of familiarity in those faces from before. That you’ve looked into those round button eyes of the stranger who had held you, that you’ve swam in the oceans trapped inside them.

“There was a boy—” you confess into the shadows, features crumbling at the recent memory. You think your skin still burns from where he’d touched you. “A boy made of fire… I— I think I knew him.”

Silence falls over the darkness like an ominous shroud. You don’t know what sort of response you’re looking for. You hardly expect Galactus to take pity on you — you’re not entirely sure he’s capable of that emotion, either. You just say it because it feels like you should. Because feelings aren’t supposed to exist in space, but for some reason, you feel like you’re drowning.

The quiet breaks when something shifts suddenly in the distance, like rock grinding against rock. A pair of purple eyes with entire universes swimming inside them pierce through the void when Galactus finally reveals himself to you — a large face, almost human, looming a world over you. Always taller than you expect him to be.

Beneath his ancient garb and inhuman eyes lies a god that almost resembles a person: chiseled features, large nose, thin mouth. If he weren’t a thousand feet tall, you’d almost think he was like you.

“Your work… has been a gift to mankind…” Galactus speaks in a slow drawl, vaguely accented, though you can’t tell where from. “This universe… is always at a tipping point… between chaos and creation… Always at risk of destabilizing the cosmos… There can be no life… without destruction…”

It’s important work, you know this. The death of a single planet means little in comparison to that of the entire cosmos; you know this, too. But still, you find there’s something lingering beneath the rage you’ve been taught to use as armor — grief, grief, grief — your heart beats with it, too.

You find yourself heavy with mourning, though for what, you could not say. For what could have been, maybe, or what can never be. For what you couldn’t save before and what you can’t save now.

“But I knew him,” you repeat, voice breaking like fragile glass.

Your feet lift from the ground before you can blink. Galactus lifts a heavy finger and strangles you in something you can’t see, an invisible rope around your legs and wrists and neck; your lungs and heart and stomach. You gasp for breath while your insides strain. The foreign pain makes you writhe.

“And yet… He will die, anyway… As all living things must…” Galactus tells you in a strangely even voice, despite holding the power to decimate you in a single blink. His cosmic eyes pierce you like daggers while his heavy voice rolls like thunder in your chest. “That is how the cosmos stays in balance… One life is not worth that of the entire universe… Understand?”

“…Yes,” you strain through gritted teeth when you finally find the breath to answer.

His face disappears in his home in the shadows. His purple eyes dim like a dying star. Only then do you fall back to the unforgiving ground. You land with a resounding thud on the merciless steel, as useless as a crumpled piece of paper, and heavy with the unbearable weight of remembering.

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          and i'm floating in a most peculiar way

         and the stars look very different today. . .

                            ★。／｜＼。★

Johnny didn’t think he’d be this scared. He’s done this before, and he’s thought about doing it every day since, but the vast emptiness of space is filled with thoughts of you.

As the Excelsior drifts through the starless void, he sees your face in his head — how you looked at him like you’re entire world was just beginning that day of the launch, and how worry had pinched your features just hours before the crash — how quickly your life had ended when you thought it was just getting started.

He thinks he’s hiding it pretty well, the existential dread, but really it’s coating his pale features like a Renaissance painting. Sue can see it from a mile away. Sometimes she thinks she can feel it, too.

“Johnny?” the blonde woman calls across the empty cockpit, while Ben and Reed track your movements on a touch-screen map in the back. She looks over at her brother, but he’s too distracted by the starry void to meet her gaze.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” she tells him in a low, mournful voice.

Johnny blinks hard as his head whips around to face her. He learned long ago that Susan Storm was incapable of doing anything wrong — she was far too righteous for any of that. Even when she was wrong, she was right. She’d never done anything with malice, certainly nothing that ever warranted an apology.

“For…?” he trails off with furrowed brows.

Her pink lip quirks in a sad sort of half-smile. “For not listening to you a year ago.”

Her words pierce him somewhere deep, a physical ache in his chest. He covers it up with a scoffed-out laugh. “Well, I don’t blame you. Obviously. So… You shouldn’t blame yourself either.”

“I can’t help it… She thinks we abandoned her out there, I just… I can’t help it.”

“Well, yeah, she might’ve. You know, if she actually remembered who we are,” Johnny quips, feigning a humorous air despite the heavy weight in his chest. “Besides. It won’t matter when we get her back, right?”

For the first time, maybe ever, his boyish optimism doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Sue smiles as she rubs a soothing palm over her round bump, now hidden beneath her bulky spacesuit. “Did you ever tell her?” she murmurs vaguelly, but with a knowing squint in her light eyes.

Johnny flashes her a dubious look in response, brows pinched and eyes round like buttons. “Tell her what?”

“That you loved her.”

The boy swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, as he averts his suddenly shy gaze. “No… But I think she knew, anyway—”

“Everyone knew, Johnny,” Sue scoffs. “I’m asking if you told her.”

Johnny thinks for a moment, then shakes his head in response until the emotion stops strangling him. “No, I… I ran outta time, I guess.”

“No, you didn’t…” the older woman insists warmly. When the boy perks, she grins and nods her head towards the window. “‘Cause she’s still out here, remember?”

It’s supposed to make him feel better. And it does, in a way. Just the knowledge that you’re there is enough to rest his grieving heart — if he doesn’t focus too much on the whole Galactus bit, that is.

Reality hits Johnny hard when Reed tracks your heat signature to a dying planet, and a ship a thousand times bigger than the Excelsior, which drags them in like it’s got its own gravitational pull. They’re only able to dodge the chunks of imploding planet by way of the red beam of light that pulls them into the eye of the spaceship — where they find you waiting for them, floating in thin air, bathed in a daunting scarlet hue.

“I think we found your girlfriend, Johnny…” Ben murmurs from the pilot’s seat when the Excelsior goes dark with a quiet hiss.

They watch in a crimson-coated silence while you drift towards them, phasing through the otherwise impermeable fiberglass without blinking. The boots of your golden-silver suit hit the floor with a metallic thud. You don’t say a word for several long moments while your eyes scan the four strangers ahead of you.

You catch Johnny’s gaze and hold it for longer than he expects. A mixture of excitement and fear makes his heart spike into his throat. He swallows hard. “Hi…” he greets, trying to be somewhat casual despite the waver in his voice.

You say nothing to him as you turn away. “Galactus will see you,” you announce.

Reed rises abruptly from the seat behind Ben’s. The older man towers over you, weathered features lined with a worry that looks almost familiar. “I’ll go,” he blurts.

“All of you,” you tell him, gaze hardened as you look slowly over your shoulder.

Sue’s breath catches in her throat when you meet her eyes. Your stare darts from her worried features, to the bump beneath her suit, and to her face again. Her pale hands cradle her round stomach on instinct.

She thinks she sees something mournful threatening to pinch your stoic features when you tell her, “You should not have come…”

Galactus’ ship is made of steel and fire and something golden. The unknown energy swirls in the veins of the ancient vessel, faraway but with a strength they can feel in their chest, as you lead them further inside. The gold beats in your suit, too, like a living-breathing thing. Johnny wonders if you’ve absorbed the energy from this ship, if that’s what’s kept you alive all this time, or if it’s the other way around.

“What does Galactus want?” Reed wonders aloud, muffled beneath his helmet, from where he trails behind the rest of the group.

“He does not want,” you deadpan from the head of it.

“Then what is he doing?”

Without looking back at him, and without any inflection in your voice, you answer, “Feeding.”

Sue, leading the line of four astronauts, wonders aloud, “And how does he choose which planets to feed on, exactly?”

“He does not.”

Silence falls heavily over the blathering strangers — filled only by the sound of heavy footsteps against the metal pathway and the distant crush and sizzle of the dead planet, as the half-sentient ship harvests its energy. You think all you’ve ever known is this silence, but something about this one feels strikingly different for a reason you can’t name.

You make the mistake of glancing over your shoulder. You find the older woman’s narrow face contorted in a look of surprise and disgust, fear. Something about that look feels strikingly different, too.

“You choose?” Sue concludes on bated breath.

“Yes,” you nod once and turn away again.

Constellations swirl in the palm of your hands just before your feet lift off the ground. Flight comes naturally to you, as effortless as blinking or breathing. You navigate the ship with a similar ease, leaving the strangers to walk the labyrinthine walkway alone, while you take a shortcut over the rolling sea of lava.

Johnny doesn’t think before following behind you. It’s as instinctual for him as blinking or breathing, too.

“Johnny, where are you going?” Sue cautions into his comm.

“I’m gonna charm her,” the boy insists as he flies off in a burst of orange flame. He can practically hear Reed’s voice in his head as he goes. You have to monitor the gauge, Johnny, the man said. Don’t burn through your air reserves, Johnny.

Ben’s amused scoff crackles through the static. “‘Cause that worked so well for you last time, huh?”

“It did, actually,” Johnny quips, chest swelling at the not-so-distant memory — of every time he failed to flirt with you, and the one time it finally worked.

Sometimes, if he concentrates real hard, he can still feel your legs around his waist and your heavy breathing on his neck. Even now, when he drifts at your side and you refuse to spare him a second glance, he can still feel your lips on his mouth.

“Hey,” he greets clumsily, half-muffled by his helmet. “How’s it going—”

“No more questions,” you interject in a monotone.

“One more question,” Johnny insists, then continues at your silence. With his heart in his throat, he wonders aloud, “You remember me, don’t you?”

Your head whips around to face him. You reveal very little on your tired face, but he can tell his words have impacted you in some way. Even if you don’t exactly remember him, at least a part of you feels that you should.

“I could tell,” he says with a boyish sort of assurance that shines in his eyes, though perhaps that’s just the lava flowing just below your feet. “When you touched my head, you recognized me. Before you blasted me back to Earth, anyway…”

Emotion softens the sharpened edges of your face. You swallow it down like bile and turn away. “Maybe I did,” you monotone, hearing Galactus in your own voice. “Many lifetimes ago.”

“No,” Johnny blurts before he means to, with a stubborn shake of his blonde head. “No, it was— It was this lifetime ago, actually. A year ago. A year, six months, and twenty-eight days ago…”

You drift to a slow stop. Heat from the molten lava below you is heavy and all-consuming, though not quite powerful enough to pierce through your suit. “A year?” you echo with pinched brows, like you’re trying the word on for size.

Time is foreign to you now. What does a year mean when you’ve spent so many lifetimes here? What does a year mean when you think you had a life before this, but can’t remember it now?

Johnny nods rapidly as he looms just ahead of you, aching to close the distance. The flame engulfing the lower half of his form refracts the light around him, creating a vague sort of shimmer around your bodies.

“We went to space. All five of us,” he motions a gloved hand to the strangers on the walkway. “But we crashed on the way back, and… We lost you.”

“And no one came for me?” you hear yourself asking.

His chest pinches beneath his many layers of clothes. He can feel his heart liquefying just now, burning to ash behind his ribcage. “We— We couldn’t,” he stammers. “Our ship— It was destroyed. We barely made it out of the damn thing— But we… we wanted to, okay? I swear—”

He cuts himself off when his suit begins to beep rapidly in his ears. He flicks his wrist to check the source of the sound. 10% Low, his watch reads. 02 Level Critical. His flame is burning out his air supply, just like Reed warned him it would.

“Shit…”

“You should go back,” you tell him and fly on ahead without another word.

Johnny doesn’t have a choice but to obey. He heads back towards the group, landing at the very back of the line, and walks the rest of the way on foot.

“How’d it go?” he hears Ben ask in his comms.

“Yeah, it went okay,” the boy shrugs. “She definitely thinks we abandoned her out here, but yeah… It was fine.”

“So she dumped you already?” the man quips.

“Can you blame her?” Reed wonders aloud, glancing at the blonde boy over his shoulder and faltering at the look he gets. “Not that she dumped you— I mean, that we left her here. Look at this place…”

A ship made of fire and burning wreckage is hardly a home, and yet you had to live here anyway. It’s hardly surprising, Johnny figures, that the girl who spent lightyears in a burning house has been convinced the rest of the world should burn, too.

The path ends at a cliff’s edge. The only thing on the other side is total darkness. They can’t tell if it ends or if it goes on forever — if it’s empty or if something’s looking back. They figure there must be something lurking in the abyss as your footsteps slow to a pause just next to them. You raise your arm and motion ceremoniously to the void.

“You now stand before Galactus,” you announce in a detached monotone, dead behind the eyes as you stare off into the nothingness. “He honors you.”

Johnny blinks, and suddenly there are two eyes staring back at him — bright purple and looming several stories above them. A large face emerges from the darkness, looking almost human but not quite. The four of them stumble back as a primitive sort of fear spikes in their chest. They knew they were meeting a planet-eating god, but even still, his towering size was unimaginable before now. They have to tilt their chin to see him fully — a half-man, half-god sitting on an ancient throne.

“We’re honored,” Sue says to be respectful of the world-eater before her, low voice strangely even despite the glaring circumstances.

“I was a little thing like you once… Billions of years ago…” Galactus booms, loud like rolling thunder. The kind of thunder that shakes your house, that wakes you up in the middle of the night in a total panic. His voice is heavy and low, like it pains him to speak. “A man from another world. Before this relentless, eternal hunger… You have traveled far.”

Reed nods once, visibly terrified but fighting it. “Yes.”

“She said you would not go quietly…” Galactus observes in a faint rumble.

You feel the strangers eyeing you, but you refuse to meet their gaze. Johnny, standing closest to you but still several feet away, stares unabashedly at your profile — ocean eyes round and swimming with apprehension, flitting across your familiar features. Every part of you is so familiar to him that it makes his stomach ache, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a total stranger to him now.

“We want to talk,” Reed says in a trembling voice.

“You carry the power to save your world…” the god grumbles.

“Yes. I believe we do.”

“Inside her…” Galactus continues, large face leaning closer as his purple eyes zero in on Sue. “The child… He hungers…”

“What does that mean?” Reed spits.

“I will spare your world… In exchange for the boy…”

Sue gasps. The oxygen in her suit feels thinner now as she suddenly struggles for air. “What?” she asks on bated breath, eyes darting between you and the god looming before her.

Johnny does the same. His gaze is wild and glittering as he glances at you, then at Galactus, then back at you again. For the first time since he found you, he watches emotion flood your features.

Your inherent sense of humanity seems to return to you in that split second, though you don’t know exactly why or where it’s coming from. You just know that your adrenaline has spiked, running ice cold in your veins — with fear, maybe, or with an empathy you didn’t know you possessed.

“But he’s just a baby,” you blurt, with a newfound waver in your voice.

“He possesses the power cosmic,” Galactus thunders. “And he will inherit this cursed throne—”

“No, that’s not true!” Reed wavers with a stubborn shake of his head. “He’s normal! We would know— I tested the child!”

“He hides his nature from you…”

Sue stumbles back with a protective hand on her stomach. “No…” she murmurs, voice breaking as burning tears gather in her eyes.

“Yes…” Galactus croons, so low it shakes the ground beneath them.

He leans in closer until only his eyes are in view, until his glowing gaze forms into more distinct irises — galaxy purple, with wide black pupils, and the silver moon shining within them. Human, but not quite.

Sue makes the mistake of meeting his eyes. She feels his stare somewhere deep in her soul, twisting the pit of her stomach and squeezing her pounding heart.

The baby in her belly writhes restlessly, the way he often does in the early hours of the morning, but this time is different. This time, Sue feels him dropping. Painfully so. A throbbing ache blooms in her stomach and shoots down her legs. A pained groan bubbles in her throat and leaves her mouth before she can stop it. Reed reaches for her instinctively when she doubles over.

“What are you doing to her?!” Johnny yells at the god before him. His head whips around to face you, finding your features contorted in a similar sort of fear. Louder, he shouts, “Doc, what is he doing to her?!”

“You will not have our planet!” Reed says in a pained promise while a groaning Sue clutches onto his suit. “And you will never have our son!”

Galactus says nothing as he rises to full height. Standing hundreds of feet taller than the humans below, his glowing eyes paint the wreckage around them a haunting purple. “I will eat your child slowly…” he grumbles. “…While your child watches.”

Sue wails.

She’s nearly brought to her knees at the foreign, flaring pain. She’s kept up only by Reed’s strong arms around her as he tries to usher her back to the Excelsior. Johnny, meanwhile, bursts into a blinding white-orange flame as he takes off towards the towering god. You feel the heat of his fleeting fire radiating over your body the same way the fear does.

Galactus could swallow Johnny whole without blinking if he wanted. He could kill Sue just as easily, too — and even if she somehow managed to evade him, the void waiting outside would certainly not be kind to her labor. But if they were somehow strong enough to defeat this billion-year-old god, and if Galactus could not eat, they would all die anyway. All of them. The universe in its entirety.

Caught between your anger and your grief, between what you want to do and what you know you have to, you take off after the boy made of fire.

It’s hard to keep up with him, even as fast as you are, as he dashes through towering structures. The debris rains down and explodes as it falls, filling the dark throne room with wild orange flames. You dodge sinking wreckage and balls of fire with ease, but fail to catch the boy before he vanishes through the rolling pit of lava at your feet.

The ship fills with flame and ash and rubble. The smoke clouds your vision as you try to find a safe place to land. You blink rapidly to clear your stinging gaze and spot the strangers scattering down below.

The strong man made of something tougher than rock runs through the structures in his way with an admirable finesse. They crumble under his weight, hiding them all in a cloud of waste and smoke. Through it, you see Reed struggling to swing himself and Sue through the burning ship with only one long arm.

“I need the child…” Galactus roars in a deep rumble in your ear. “Do not let them leave…”

Small pieces of raining shrapnel scrape your face while rising red flames scorch your exposed skin. You fly through the ancient ship — once as dead and dark as outer space, now a raging hellscape you hardly recognize. You grow quickly lost in it accordingly, along with the strangers down below.

Johnny makes a swift getaway in the lava, only to come up again in a place he doesn’t recognize. Ben gets buried beneath the destruction as Galactus destroys his own ship to find the child. Reed loses his grip and dives right for the fire, making the swift decision to drop Sue before she can be consumed by the rising flames.

The woman pants through another sudden contraction, on her hands and knees, subconsciously creating a force field around herself to keep from breathing in the fallen ash.

And that’s exactly how you find her.

There’s a strange clearing, immune to the grey smoke and orange fire and raining debris. You can hear pained breathing, though the person it’s coming from is hidden from view. Sue suddenly materializes in a flicker of refracted rainbow light, as a crumpled ball on the ground.

She lifts a tired arm in a feeble attempt to knock you backward with the light in her palm — until a contraction rattles through her weak body, taking all of the energy out of her.

“Please…” the woman begs through gritted teeth, muffled behind her helmet, though her pallid features behind the glass strike you almost physically.

You have the upper hand now. It would take nothing for you to kill her. The energy surging in your fist just now would be enough to render her unconscious, and for Galactus to take the baby from her belly, and for the lightyears of bloodshed to end. But something stops you.

Through the rising flames and falling ash, you spot something in the distance — the Excelsior looming in dark smoke, flickering in waves of extreme heat.

You lift your fist and watch as Sue cowers, until your trembling forefinger lifts to point behind her.

When the woman struggles to her feet, something within you rushes immediately to help her. You wrap one of your arms over her shoulder and curl your other just behind her back. You walk with her through the wreckage, carrying her weight as if it were your own.

Sue blinks smoke from her glassy eyes. Her lidded gaze darts wildly over your profile, familiar but still somehow strange. “Why are you doing this?” she wonders through labored breaths.

“I don’t know,” you answer robotically, and without looking her way.

Her brows pinch. Her ocean eyes flicker. Her pink lips quirk in an almost-smile. “Yes, you do,” she tells you, though you’re not quite sure what she means.

The sanctuary of the quiet Excelsior fills quickly with the sound of Sue’s pained screams, each groan bouncing off the stark white walls around you. The woman braces herself on the desk bolted to the floor and makes careful work of stripping off her bulky suit. Her helmet clatters to the floor first, and her white cap goes with it. The blue and white uniform, and the garments underneath, become a forgotten pile on the floor. She’s left only in a black tank top and matching shorts.

Her knees buckle under the weight of another contraction. She grits her teeth and swallows down another shout. She vaguely feels a cold palm over her clothed stomach before the tension in her abdomen ebbs.

Her wild eyes dart from your hand, to you kneeling beside her, and to your hand again. Your fingers glow a starry silver. She doesn’t know what you’re doing — she doesn’t know if you know what you’re doing — but she doesn’t want you to stop.

Her following contractions come much easier to her, equally tight but mostly painless.

The others rush in together. Reed bursts in first, followed by a limp Johnny over Ben’s broad shoulder, just before the blonde boy is thrown half-carelessly to the ground. He tears off his helmet to reveal his reddened face and inhales the deep, ragged breath his lungs have been screaming for.

The older man exhales a relieved sigh when he sees his wife. His chest pinches all over again a second later at the sight of you. Sue catches the protective flicker in his dark eyes. “Don’t!” she warns. “She’s helping!”

His wide, fearful eyes dart to you then. He finds your gaze swimming with a similar panic. “He’s coming,” you tell them, when a powerful energy surges through your chest.

“Who?” Johnny pants.

“Galactus,” you answer solemnly.

“The baby!” Sue shouts at the same time, cutting herself off with a groan.

You ease her pain once more with a pair of sparkling fists. It’s enough to convince the others not to kill you.

Ben and Johnny rush to pilot the ship off the ground while Reed stays at Sue’s side. He lets her nearly break his fingers with the power behind her pale grip.

Not long after the Excelsior has taken flight off the fiery ship, does a loud beeping fill your ears.

“Guys…” Ben’s gravelly voice warns from the cockpit. “I don’t wanna alarm anyone, but I think Johnny’s mess punctured the fuel gauge—”

“Sorry for saving your ass,” Johnny scoffs from a distance.

“I think I saved your ass, actually—”

“Well, we remember five minutes ago very differently, then, don’t we?”

You struggle to keep Sue at ease while the gravity dissipates. You meander aimlessly in thin air and struggle to keep the energy focused on her belly. Reed plants his feet on the ceiling and extends his torso to keep the woman pinned to the desk. He holds her there with one outstretched arm and throws his other to the opposite end of the shuttle. You watch anxiously as he taps at the screen on the wall, feeling Galactus’s nearing presence in your chest even though you cannot see him.

“We’ll need to get to 0.88 the speed of light to have a shot back home,” the man shouts back.

“We don’t have the fuel for that!” Ben tells him.

“I can do it,” you murmur, quiet but no less stern, even at the dubious glance Reed gives you. “I’m fast.”

Sue shakes her head, blonde locks floating in a wild halo. “I need you here,” she protests, through a pained grunt.

“Tell me what to do, Reed,” Ben yells, panic coating his every word. “We don’t have much time!”

Reed hesitates for a moment, equal parts unsure of your intentions and worried for your well-being. Either you help them get out of here now and risk potentially dying, or Galactus catches up to you and you die anyway. But, he figures, you all almost died the last time he refused to listen to you — for a while, they thought you did die — so he decides to hedge his bets.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” Reed says lowly, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding you. “But I need you to do it now.”

You nod once and part from Sue with a quiet 'I’m sorry,' floating on the microgravity towards the cockpit. The beeping alarm gets louder the closer you get. You find the room bathed in a flashing, neon blue light.

Ben and Johnny’s features contort in a mixture of shock and slight fear at your sudden presence. Through bated breaths, you tell them, “Jump to light speed… on my signal…”

“Wait, what’s the signal—?” Ben goes to ask, but you’re gone before he can get it out.

You phase through the fiberglass window of the shuttle, swathed in a swirling silver-gold. You blink, and the whites of your eyes glow the same color as the energy in your fists.

Johnny and Ben squint when you burn brighter than the sun before them. With their palms over their eyes, they watch as the empty galaxy starts to blur around you, bending around your glowing form.

“I think that’s the signal,” Johnny murmurs with his heart in his throat.

“Everybody hold on!” Ben shouts as he reaches for the lever on his right side. He pulls it towards him with a calloused hand, and the shuttle lurches into lightspeed.

The four of them travel through your hyperspace portal in a blink. The force of it knocks you backwards as you try to phase through the fiery nose of the Excelsior. You struggle to keep control of your body as the pressure ebbs and flows rapidly around you. Your still-glowing fingers just barely manage to pierce through the windshield while the rest of your body is pulled in the other direction.

Johnny struggles to unbuckle himself with anxious hands.

“Be careful, kid…” Ben wavers through gritted teeth, all but pinned to his seat from the unforgiving blast of gravity.

“Always am—” he argues.

He unlatches his strap with one hand while his other reaches out for you. His pale fingers wrap brutally around your wrist, using all of his strength to pull you the rest of the way inside. Your limbs entwine with his own as the surge of energy sends the two of you flying.

Your back hits the far wall of the cockpit with a loud thud. The impact rattles through your suit and down your spine. With Johnny’s lean body pressed to the front of yours, your noses are no more than inches apart.

You can feel each of his panted breaths brushing your chin. His hand, still holding yours, squeezes your fingers in a quiet reassurance — keeping you tethered to him as the gravity ebbs and you threaten to drift apart again.

I’m not letting go of you, he tells you without words — with only his wild ocean eyes that dart back and forth between yours. Not again. Not ever.

The silence that fills the Excelsior then is different than all the other silences you’ve come to know. Not empty or cold, but soft and warm. So, so warm. Broken only by a distant whine of a baby’s first breath.

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          i'd show them the stars and the meaning of life

          they'd shut me away, but i'd be alright. . .

                            ★。／｜＼。★

They tell you that you used to live in this place. They put you in a heavy black sweater and a pair of baggy jeans and tell you that those used to be yours, too. You don’t know how much any of it means, though — ‘cause Sue still had to sneak you into the Baxter Building to keep you hidden from the roaring crowd. What does it matter if this life used to be yours, if you’re nothing but a stranger in it now?

The only thing you’re good for is giving them intel on Galactus, who’s a whole lot more familiar to you than the strangers here on Earth. But, in the grand scheme of things, you’re pretty shitty at that, too. Because he’s the god of death. And you’re nothing but his herald.

“The universe is always at a tipping point— between chaos and creation,” you told them. “If Galactus does not feed, the cosmos will become unstable, and the universe will die—”

“But why Franklin?” Sue questioned from the round couch at the head of the lab.

“Galactus is billions of years old, yes. He has seen universes die and start again, yes. But, like all living things, he just wants to rest… And he will need a very powerful successor to absolve him of his hunger…” you explained over Franklin’s distant cooing as Ben swayed him in his strong arms.

The sight of the swaddled child made it hard to breathe, like there was a tension in your throat you couldn’t swallow through. You could feel the baby’s power in your chest the same way you could always feel Galactus’.

“And, like all living things, he is scared…”

“Of Franklin?” Johnny pressed with a deep furrow to his brows.

“Yes. And you should be, too.”

“He’s a baby,” Sue scoffed. “He’s my baby— How could I be scared of him?”

Your hardened stare makes her breath catch. “This baby will see universes rise and fall. He will be the last living thing this universe will know, and he will feed— Just like Galactus. Not because he is evil, but because he just is,” you rambled in a single breath. “He is your baby, yes. But he is also a god. Stronger than a god.”

Your rant was unceremoniously punctuated by Franklin’s gag as the “future god” in question spat up on himself. The baby then giggled in a quiet, breathy coo at the look of disgust on Ben’s calloused features. A sweet and soft little thing, bound to this world’s executioner.

Your rant was unceremoniously punctuated by Franklin’s gag as the “future god” in question spat up on himself. The baby then giggled in a quiet, breathy coo at the look of disgust on Ben’s calloused features. A sweet and soft little thing, bound to this world’s executioner.

In a feeble attempt to distract you from the impending doom, which you carry now like a black hole in the center of your chest, Johnny takes you to what he says used to be your bedroom. Untouched and unlived in.

The bed is made and pressed against the wide window on the far wall — the most optimal spot to stargaze. Yellow sunlight streams in gentle rays through the sheer curtain, bathing the room in a faint golden glow. It spotlights your desk on the adjoining wall, which is much more lived-in in comparison. Papers, both typed and handwritten, are scattered along the surface. Heavy books have been left open and abandoned. Novels you never got to finish collect dust on the tall bookshelf.

You dig your bare feet into the plush rug in the center of the room and hear yourself say, “I used to live here?”

You don’t realize how sad it sounds until it’s left your lips. I used to know this place like the back of my hand, your words really mean. And it’ll never be truly mine that way again.

“Yeah,” Johnny nods. He parts from your side in a flash, leaving the faint musk of his cologne behind as he hurries to the desk. He waves his hand vaguely off to the side as he searches for something in the drawers. “All those books, those were yours. You wrote some of ‘em, even. And look—”

He turns back around with a wide smile and a stack of photos. “These pictures are yours, too… Some of ‘em are of us, actually.”

Johnny closes the distance to pass you the polaroids. Your colder fingers brush his golden ones when you take them. The pile is heavy in your hands, weighted with nostalgia.

The photo on top is poorly developed, featuring a series of five silhouettes hidden behind powerful white sunrays. You slide that one away and move it to the bottom of the stack.

The next polaroid is a better version of the one before it. The shadows are now people in spacesuits, and the person on the far left is wearing your face. Johnny’s squinting one eye at the orange morning sun with his heavy arm thrown over your shoulder while you scowl at the camera.

You slide that one away with a hesitant hand, and only then remember to blink. The next picture is a face you don’t recognize — a scruffy man with a narrow jaw and gray eyes, frozen mid-conversation with you. This must’ve been Ben, you figure, before the rock-like callouses masked his human features. You tuck that polaroid below the rest, too, in absentminded motions, just before your breath catches in your throat.

You vaguely hear Johnny mumbling something over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. “Hold on, I’ll be right back,” you think he says before his footsteps rush out of the room.

The picture staring back is of Johnny and you, though you hardly look a thing like yourself. You’re in matching baggy blue pants and form-fitting t-shirts, feet off the ground as you navigate the microgravity of the Excelsior.

You’re posed like two people in a waltz, hands clasped together with his free one on your lower back, though he seems to be enjoying it much more than you do. You’re frowning and sleep-torn, while he’s all wild-haired and parted-mouth like he’s midway through song.

You think you can almost hear the music he was singing then. You think you can remember the feeling of his touch, too — warm and gentle and all-consuming. It’s a memory that’s almost yours, but not quite.

“Here,” Johnny says to announce his arrival, panting slightly as he rushes back into the room. You struggle to tear your eyes from the photo in your hand. You find the boy clutching an astronaut helmet between his lanky fingers. “Put this on.”

Without a word from you, Johnny snatches the polaroids from your grip and tosses them haphazardly onto the desk behind you. They scatter there along with everything else.

You flinch slightly when he slides the helmet over your head. It sits heavy on your shoulders, just slightly too big for you. Your nose crinkles at the scent of sweat and stale cologne stinging your nostrils. “Smells bad…” you mumble under your breath

“It’s the… pheremones,” Johnny stammers. “Don’t worry about it.”

Your fingers fidget with the steel edge of the helmet as you peer at him through the raised visor. “I don’t understand—”

“Just listen…” the boy coos before pressing a button on his bulky watch.

Static fills your ears. A series of familiar voices follow suit. “Remember that date I asked you on?” Johnny wonders suddenly, words crackling through like a song on the radio.

“Which one?” yours asks in a much more distant monotone.

“Any of ‘em? Is it too late to hash that out, you think?”

“Well, you can’t exactly take me out for coffee now, can you?”

You hear the pink smile in his words even now when he tells you, “Well, we get back in two weeks, Doc. I’ll have plenty of time to take you out for coffee then.”

“Trust me, Johnny Storm, you’ll be sick of me in two weeks…”

His laughter fills your ears, a bright cherry-pink color, even through the heavy static. It pierces your chest like sunrays. You can feel the honeyed sound almost physically. “I’ve seen you every day for the past year, Doc. If I’m not sick of you now, I don’t think I’m ever gonna be.”

There’s a long beat of silence filled only by the white noise in your ears. You furrow your brows and close your eyes, fingers gripping the bottom of the heavy helmet as you fight to guess your next words.

You should remember what you told him. You should remember everything, all these memories that used to be yours. But you don’t know what happened to them — where they went without you even noticing their leaving.

“…Coffee, then?” you murmur after several long moments. “When we get back, I mean.”

You swear you can almost see Johnny’s bright pink smile stained behind your eyelids. “It’s a date, Doc—”

The boy presses a button on his watch, and the voices click to a sudden stop. You feel their absence in your chest, in the deep void there that’s seemingly replaced your heart. Your eyes stay shut as your face screws in a pained sort of look, trying and failing to remember what was said after that — like that part of your life is just a movie you can only half-remember seeing.

“Why don’t I remember?” you wonder through gritted teeth.

“Because it’s been a long time for you, I think,” Johnny murmurs, ocean eyes round with a palpable sympathy.

Your eyes are slow to open. Your glassy gaze darts wildly over Johnny’s features — over his button eyes and pink mouth, his large nose and sparse freckles — like you’re trying to memorize him. Like, if you think hard enough, your brain will put the pieces together itself, and he won’t be a stranger to you anymore.

Words tumble suddenly from your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them, “I want to remember…”

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          hey you, with the pretty face!

          welcome to the human race!

                            ★。／｜＼。★

The following days are a whirlwind. Between tracking Galactus’ movements, plotting ways to stop him, and dodging an increasingly ornery public, Johnny tries to remind you what life was like before. Before the void. Before your humanity was so ruthlessly stripped away from you. Before you forgot that you had once fallen in love with him.

You made it strangely easy for him in that regard, being the kind of person you are, never wanting attention by any means but receiving all of it anyway.

He shows you all the articles you’d written to help you understand how you saw the world. Then he shows you all the articles written about you to help you understand how the rest of the world saw you. ‘Perhaps the most eminent female astrophysicist of our time’ — that’s how they describe you. Or, at least, the you you used to be.

The news publications show you in vivid technicolor, always so solemn compared to the smiling astronauts beside you, but still more full of life than you are now.

You hardly talk in any of the interviews, despite a few throwaway one-word answers — but there’s one shot on shaky camera footage where you can actually hear yourself speak. You’re monotone and hardly enthusiastic about the crowd in front of you, but there’s still a subtle sort of passion glinting in your eyes that you didn’t know was possible.

Sitting with your legs crossed in the blue velvet conversation pit, you lean closer towards the small television and try not to feel so disconnected at the sight of yourself.

“I wrote a book on the Black Hole Paradox, but I never taught the Black Hole Paradox,” you ramble in a detached monotone with Reed looming at your side, both of you wearing matching blue spacesuits. “We met after a lecture I gave on cosmic radiation— specifically the idea that cosmic rays can penetrate the body and alter its molecules, leading to extreme genetic mutations, which can be passed down for generations…”

Johnny enters the frame then, and the camera shifts immediately to meet him. The boy beams beneath the heavy static. You can almost feel the heavy arm he tosses over your shoulder through the screen. “See what I mean? Best damn cosmetologist I ever met.”

“Cosmologist,” you grumble before ducking from under his hold.

The blonde boy doesn’t take his eyes off you for several long moments, glittering gaze made a more vivid blue in the technicolor. “She’s the prettiest one, too,” he jokes with a gloved hand over his mouth, like he’s telling the camera a secret. “But don’t tell her I told you—”

“Look what I found!” Johnny announces suddenly, much louder and closer than the boy on television.

You blink hard and find yourself back in this reality — not the staticky launch site on TV but here, in this home that used to be yours. You glance over your shoulder and find Johnny strolling into the living room with a vinyl in tow. The hem of his denim jacket flows behind him in time with his brisk stride, leaving behind the scent of his deep cologne.

Just behind him, in the kitchen, H.E.R.B.I.E. whizzes around at Ben’s command. The man rolls his button-down up to his rocky elbows and tosses his tie over his shoulder as he stirs at a steaming pot on the stove. The scent of something savory sits heavy in the air. A floor below, you think you can hear Franklin cooing as Reed and Sue tend to their baby in the lab.

You feel all of it physically in the chest, like a kiss on the forehead followed by a punch to the ribs. You wonder if this is what home feels like.

“What is it?” Ben calls from the kitchen, muffled as he taste-tests the creamy sauce dripping from his calloused pinky.

“Just wait…” Johnny lilts.

He stands at the record player and replaces the vinyl there with the one in his hands. The needle hisses faintly. Satic plays for a flicker of a moment before music fills the air. Morning! Today’s forecast calls for blue skies— a deep voice crackles through the speakers beneath a lively chord of pianos.

Johnny spins around and snaps his fingers to the drums, only slightly offbeat. Your brows pinch at the wide smile on his pink mouth. “Did I like this song?” you wonder aloud, fingers picking absentmindedly at a rogue thread on your gingham slacks.

“You hated it,” Ben scoffs.

“I liked it, though,” the blonde boy insists as he saunters over to you. He towers over your crouching form, and you have to tilt your chin to keep his gaze. “It played every day on the shuttle when we woke up. And you weren’t exactly a morning person.”

He extends an arm out towards you with a crooked smile on his face. Your eyes swim with uncertainty as they dart from his calloused palm, to his hopeful ocean gaze, and to his palm again.

Your hand trembles when you reach for him. A distant part of you half-expects your fingers to go right through him — for him to turn to dust beneath your touch — ‘cause nothingness is all you’ve ever known. So your heart lurches into your throat when his long fingers wrap gently around your own, warm and softly textured like velvet, urging you to stand alongside him.

The song continues from across the room, though it sounds much further away than that now, like you’re hearing it from underwater. Johnny’s touch is much louder in comparison.

It stopped raining, everybody’s in the play,

And don’t ya know, it’s a beautiful new day—

It’s much more familiar to the boy in front of you, holding your hand. He mouths the words embedded in his brain and bobs his hand to the beat, a little stiff in his way but always so casual.

You struggle to match his effortlessness. You tilt your chin down and up again in time with his own, eyeing him carefully, like you’re studying each of his movements.

Johnny grins wider than he realizes. “There you go,” he praises lowly when he feels your tense hand relax slowly in his hold.

You never truly loosen up for him, though Johnny figures he can’t exactly blame you. Rigidity was always in your nature, even before you died and came to life again. But now, you smile softly to yourself when he sings off-key — lips quirked and eyes squinted in a quiet bemusement when he jumbles up the lyrics to the chorus. You let him spin you around, too, which you never would’ve done before. You wouldn’t have laughed out loud back then, either, but now you give him a breathy sort of chuckle exhaled from your nose when he pulls you back into him again.

You stumble over your feet when he absentmindedly tugs you closer, black pleather flats scuffing the white-navy carpet below. Johnny catches you first with two wide palms on the outsides of your elbows — then, almost, with his mouth.

In that split second, where your warm breath fans across his jaw and your unsure palms brace themselves on his fitted white tee, Johnny wants to kiss you. He thinks he would’ve, in a different world. A world where you never left him, a world where he got to build a life with you, a world where he spent more than one night getting to love you like he really wanted.

He blinks once, and reality punches him hard in the gut. The bitter reminder that you’re not that girl anymore makes it very suddenly hard to breathe. The night he held you for the first time in the Excelsior lives only in his mind now. He wonders if the memory’s still in yours, too, buried somewhere deep. He wonders if he can help you find it.

“Is it okay if I…” he blurts suddenly, then trails off. You notice how his fingers tighten in the fabric of your blue sweater as his light eyes glaze over. “If I do something that’s… that’s gonna seem a little crazy to you? Something we’ve done before that might— that I think might help you remember… everything?”

Remember us, he doesn’t say.

It’s a little strange, seeing the wild boy so suddenly solemn. But you nod anyway, with a hopeful gaze that matches his glittering one, ‘cause you think you’d do just about anything to feel human again.

“Do it,” you tell him, a plea and command all at once.

Johnny leans forward, slow and hesitant. His warm breath fans across your cheek as his lidded eyes flutter shut. You blink once and feel his lips against yours — a sudden but no less gentle weight against your mouth. He lingers there, unmoving, just feeling you. Your sigh fans across his cupid’s bow as the music behind you fades into nothingness.

It’s a little strange, seeing the wild boy so suddenly solemn. But you nod anyway, with a hopeful gaze that matches his glittering one, ‘cause you think you’d do just about anything to feel human again.

“Do it,” you tell him, a plea and command all at once.

Johnny leans forward, slow and hesitant. His warm breath fans across your cheek as his lidded eyes flutter shut. You blink once and feel his lips against yours — a sudden but no less gentle weight against your mouth. He lingers there, unmoving, just feeling you. Your sigh fans across his cupid’s bow as the music behind you fades into nothingness.

You blink once more, slower this time, and feel Johnny pull away again just as quickly as he came. You mourn his touch almost instantly, because you hadn’t even gotten the chance to taste him properly. Your lidded eyes struggle to open again when he’s gone.

Johnny’s ocean gaze darts wildly over your face. You look perplexed almost, like a dog turning its head, caught between the state of awe and confusion. “How was that?” he murmurs cautiously.

Your mouth opens, but you struggle to answer. How do you tell someone that you’re grieving their warmth? “I— I don’t know,” you shrug.

Johnny’s unmanicured brows pinch together. “Like… You don’t know if you liked it, or you don’t know if you remember?”

“I don’t know,” you echo, firmer this time. “Maybe… Maybe we should do it again?”

Johnny doesn’t answer you with words.

His plush mouth quirks into a cheeky half-smile just before he leans into you again. He kisses you harder this time, until the tip of his nose smushes into the side of yours — until the pressure of his mouth urges your lips apart for him.

You feel his touch in the pit of your stomach, a swirling sort of warmth there that threatens to make your knees buckle. You wonder if Johnny feels it, too, as his wide hands hold tighter to your arms to keep you steady.

Your unsure fingers wrench finally in the lapels of his jacket, keeping yourself tethered and keeping Johnny close. Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of this feeling — he kisses you like the sun, like you’re tasting yourself in the golden mouth of a bright yellow sun. His weight is warm and solid and familiar. Close. Only the sun has ever been this close to you. Only the sun.

You hold him tighter until your hands begin to tremble. You wonder if this is what it means to be in love? If this is what it means to have nothing left to lose? To be aching for breath but chasing his mouth all the same.

You vaguely hear the music continuing behind you — “hey, you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race!” — just before it's drowned out by Ben’s yelling.

“Hey, hey, hey!” the older man scolds from the kitchen when he turns back around to find the two of you entwined. “Not in front of H.E.R.B.I.E.— Are you crazy?”

“Not in front of your nephew,” Sue corrects as she passes the threshold of the stairway that leads into the lab. Reed is just behind her, keeping a steady hand on her lower back while she sways the sleeping baby in her arms.

Johnny parts from you then, but doesn’t quite let you go. Instead, he keeps you cradled in his arms while Sue lays Franklin in his bassinet and Reed helps Ben set the table for dinner.

The couple wears the throes of parenthood all over. Sue’s blonde hair is always slightly mussed from Franklin’s chubby fingers, and she wears the same iterations of baggy clothes every day because it’s the only thing remotely comfortable to her now. Reed’s business attire is wrinkled and very often askew — tie half-done and buttons out of order. In trying to hide his exhaustion, he only makes it that much more obvious.

“That’s what I said,” Ben shrugs and turns back to you. “Now, stop being gross and come eat— You still eat, right, Doc?”

“No,” you deadpan.

“Great.”

“I absorb my energy from the Power Cosmic—”

“Well, you’re still gonna try my chicken alfredo, alright?” Ben interjects as he sets five steaming plates onto the round dining table. “‘Cause I made it specifically for you.”

Your brows pinch, and Johnny grins quietly at the confused look on your face. “Used to be your favorite,” the boy ducks down to murmur in your ear, squeezing you gently at the elbow to urge you to follow him into the kitchen.

The sound of glass breaking makes you pause. It comes from far away, several stories down, but still loud enough for you to hear — and for Franklin to flinch in his sleep. The baby whines softly in annoyance, but quiets himself down a half second later, even as the yelling outside grows into an inignorable drone.

You glance over your shoulder at the floor-to-ceiling window across the room.

“Don’t mind them,” Reed huffs, chair scraping the tile as he guides Sue into her seat at the dinner table. He takes the one beside hers with a soft grunt. “They’ve been out there all day…”

“Why?”

“Because they’re scared,” the blonde woman tells you.

“‘Cause they hate us,” the older man answers at the same time, rolling the sleeves of his wrinkled button-up to his elbows. “They think they might die, and they hate us for it. All of us. Franklin, too…”

Your chest flares with a strange feeling. “But he’s just a baby.”

Reed scoffs an emotionless laugh. “Yeah, tell them that.”

There’s a brief moment of silence as everyone takes their spot at the dining table, with one seat left open for you between Ben and Johnny. Your idle hands ball into fists as you spin on the heel of your shoe. The sound of the balcony swishing open makes them perk.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Johnny cautions with wide eyes. “Where are you going?”

“I didn’t mean literally!” you hear Reed call from behind you.

The crisp evening air of a late autumn brushes over your skin like silk. A stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the Baxter Building, which you’re still getting used to after so long spent in a freezing void of outer space. The constant noise is still foreign, too — the lights that never turn off, the cars that never stop going, the people that never stop bustling. Johnny tells you it’s worse than normal now, that people don’t use to be this loud, or this angry.

He doesn’t tell you that it’s all your fault, but you know it is.

Galactus may be the world-eater, but you’re the monster who sent him here.

The crowd gathering in the court square seems to be well aware of that, too. You descend over them in a burst of silver-gold, and their unintelligible yelling grows louder, angrier. You can see each of their contorted faces as you land on the edge of a rolling fountain — a memorial, it reads in a plaque below your feet, with your name inscribed in bronze — but you can’t understand what they’re saying. You think you can get the gist of it from the hand-made signs they wield.

4 No More! one reads. Save the world! says another. The Earth Believed In You! reads one more.

“Quiet…” you try to tell them, though it gets lost somewhere in your throat. You swallow hard, face pinched, feeling almost like you’re drowning in their cries. The incessant droning in your ears grows into an indistinct blur that makes your head spin. “Quiet!” you shout, louder this time

The command rolls over the crowd in an unforgiving echo that blankets their yelling.

“The baby… is sleeping…” you tell them, pointing firmly to the glowing building behind you.

“You’re the reason Galactus wants him dead!” a lanky man in a trench coat shouts from within the horde, accompanied by a few shouts of agreement.

Your brows pinch. “He does not want to kill the child—”

“Then why not give him up?” a young woman in an orange sweater and matching cap wonders aloud. There’s a man looming at her side — her husband, you assume, from the matching gold bands on their left ring fingers. He pushes a stroller to and fro, as though to quell the children inside it. “Why not save the rest of us!” she continues.

“Why not give your child?” you ask in an even voice that makes her cower. “Is that not a fair trade? If they must give their child, if you think it’s so easy, then why don’t you do it, too?”

The woman says nothing. Neither does anybody else. The gravity of the situation seems to settle over all of them in that instant — the idea that giving up their child would be a fate worse than death, even with the promise that it would save the world entire. Even when destruction is assured either way, it’s still easier to go together than to live without.

“Exactly,” you huff breathlessly, scanning the crowd with piercing eyes. “Because the life of someone you love— that one life— is worth more than that of the entire universe—”

“Don’t lecture us, lady!” an older man with a round belly and scruffy face bellows. He wags a chubby, accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the reason Galactus is coming here.”

“Yes. I am,” you nod once. “And I am sorry—”

The crowd erupts in a chorus of angry cries. You try to talk over them.

“The only way I can make it better is to help you. And I swear to you that I will give my life for this planet before I let Galactus take it,” you promise in an unwavering monotone. “I am the reason he is coming, yes, but I will also be the reason he fails. I will fight for you— for all of you—”

Your words fall over their simmering rage like a wet blanket on a small fire. The ones who looked at you with hate now soften with a look of sympathy. Those who looked at you with grief now nod with tears in their eyes. One person begins to clap, somewhere in the center of the crowd. They’re followed by another, and then another, and then another, until applause billows over the silent crowd.

“No…” you shout over them with a stubborn shake of your head. “I said, no!”

The clapping dies slowly at your booming command. Confused faces gape up at you, unsure of how to root for you. You point back to the Baxter building and glower. “I said, the baby is sleeping.”

Johnny watches from several stories above with Sue’s tentative hand splayed on his ribcage, keeping him from intervening when he was momentarily frightened of how the crowd would react to seeing you.

They fall very quickly in love with you in spite of everything that came before — because, as Johnny sees it, it’d take much more effort not to love you. He doesn’t think there are many people in this universe or in the next one over who would, when conditioned to be apathetic towards humanity, still find themselves wanting to take care of the little life sleeping in his living room.

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          i had to phone someone, so i picked on you,

          hey, that's far out, so you heard him, too. . .

                            ★。／｜＼。★

There’s a certain tenderness to winter that you didn’t think was possible. Especially not when the end of the world felt more than promising. But for all the coldness, there is a certain beauty in the snowfall and the steel gray skies and the people who make this place feel like home, even when facing its imminent destruction. The winter was ironically rather warm, like blood — though when you told Johnny that, he said you probably shouldn’t repeat that to anyone else.

You don’t repeat much of anything you say to Johnny, though. You don’t do things with other people that you do with Johnny, either. There’s a certain tenderness in that, too, you think — in the way you look for him always, in the way your mind can’t roam anywhere without bumping into thoughts of him, in the way you kiss him like you’re trying to chase a distant memory.

One time, when you got particularly lost in his mouth, your feet lifted off the ground. You started to fly, in the most literal sense of the term, with Johnny’s body pressed like sunshine against yours. You floated together in the pitch-black of your bedroom, and it felt almost nostalgic — like a memory you’d already lived.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Johnny cooed as he pulled back from you, rosy mouth swollen and chiseled features half-lit by the silver moonlight streaming from the window. He smiled a crooked smile and smoothed a palm over your temple. “Let’s go slow, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”

So you kissed him slow.

And so Johnny made a home in your bed.

More often than not, your days are busy with plans to save the world. Reed has described this one as foolproof. With the city already evacuated to an underground town called Subterranea, the five of you will have ample opportunity to ambush Galactus upon his inevitable arrival. Johnny, Reed, and Ben will aid in stunning the god while you create a portal to the opposite end of the galaxy for Sue to push him into.

It’s simple, yes, but it won’t be easy.

Not with Franklin as bait.

The baby will be safe in a carrier Reed has spent weeks ensuring is nothing short of indestructible. And, if all goes to plan, Franklin will be secure in the Baxter Building before he ever sets eyes on Galactus. But still, it’s an understandably hard pill for the new parents to swallow. You think they spend more time fighting about it than they do actually talking to each other. Maybe because they know they can’t stop the inevitable.

Sue left some minutes ago now, cloaked in a burst of refracted light. Reed put his coat on and left without a word. “Where are you going?” Ben called to him.

“Central Park,” Reed answered with an uncharacteristic sort of confidence. ‘Cause even when Sue’s totally invisible, she can’t quite hide from him.

You and Johnny seek a quaint refuge in his bedroom in the meanwhile, still wearing your pajamas like this morning is normal one. His sweatpants sit low on his hips, while your oversized shirt drapes over your form like a gown.

A record spins on a needle across the room, playing softly to ease the once-in-a-lifetime quiet outside your window. You flip through a book on black holes at an admirable sort of pace — though, you did write it, to be fair. Johnny finds himself watching you with an unabashed stare as the words of a question he’s been dying to ask build suddenly in his throat.

“Can I ask you something?” he hears himself ask.

“Mhm,” you hum, gaze averted.

Johnny shifts on the mattress. It dips under his weight as he sits further up beside you, leaning his elbow on the stack of pillows to face you better. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from beneath his long lashes, eyes glimmering with a quiet curiosity. “Do you… Do you remember meeting him? Galactus?” he starts slowly. “Like, how you became, you know… his herald?”

Your fingers freeze with the thin page of the book caught between them. Not because the question offends you exactly, but because it’s one you’ve asked yourself before — and you’re only just realizing that you never found an answer for yourself.

“No,” you tell him. “There was just… darkness, and then… not darkness.”

“So… light?” Johnny presses.

“No. Not light,” you answer with a firm shake of your head. “There wasn’t any light for a very long time.”

You stare at the spinning record across the room with a faraway look in your eyes. You realize the first time you saw anything other than sunlight was the bright neon hues of Times Square: the headlights of passing cars, the spotlights from whirring helicopters, the glowing windows from towering skyscrapers.

And then there was Johnny, following you into the dark heavens in a burst of orange flame like sunshine incarnate — the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. You think his light is stained on your retinas still. You think you see him every time you blink.

“I was pulled to him, like a— bug to a flame… Sometimes I think he was calling me…” you continue, turning to face the boy and finding his gaze trained on your profile. His blue eyes are round and wet, like he doesn’t totally understand what you’re saying, but he’s trying hard to still. “I think he could feel my power, and that he knew I was alone out there. He’d been tired for so long time that he… He knew it’d benefit him more to use me than to kill me.”

Your words spark a sudden flame behind Johnny’s ribcage. A sort of poorly concealed anger that radiates from his skin like sunbeams. You see it in the stormy waves rushing his eyes — in the way he clenches his chiseled jaw, and in the way his golden fingers ball into absentminded fists.

“How long?” he blurts, then clears his throat when you flinch at the sudden volume of his voice. “How long was he… How long was he using you?”

“Maybe using isn’t exactly the right word,” you say in an attempt to soothe him.

“No, I think it is,” Johnny argues with an emotionless laugh. “I mean, he’s asking you to pick which planets he destroys, that’s—”

“It wasn’t always like this, Johnny,” you say with a stern look in your eye. You don’t know why you’re telling him this, ‘cause it hardly makes a difference now, but you feel like you should. “The places I’ve been before— Those planets were habitable, yes, but they were lifeless. Galactus wanted it that way. I think so he could feed without having to carry the weight of his grief, but… No life means no energy. And if Galactus can’t eat, then the entire universe will collapse—”

“And that’s why you came here?”

“I have… never seen humanity on this scale before,” you confess breathlessly. A faraway smile quirks at the very edge of your mouth as your glassy eyes flicker with life. “I didn’t know it was possible to love each other so much… To love one another in spite of danger, in spite of fear. Like you and I—”

Johnny’s chest flares. His bushy brows raise to his hairline, etching three fine wrinkles on his forehead. “Me— Me and you?” he stammers.

“All of you,” you tell him.

“Oh,” he nods. “Right. Yeah.”

“You all brought me in despite what I did— despite everything I did. ‘Cause that’s just what you do. It’s the— the human instinct to help each other,” you ramble. “Like with Sue on the Excelsior. I couldn’t explain it then, but… I knew I couldn’t let her suffer. And then you…”

Your eyes dart back to him, squinting with amusement.

“…Me?”

“I don’t know you— I mean, I can’t remember knowing you, but… There’s something buried somewhere deep that I… I can’t explain it,” you trail off with a sigh. Your eyes go squishy around the edges as they dart back and forth between Johnny’s button ones. “I just— I wonder how many lifetimes we’ve known each other for you to feel so familiar to me…”

Your words pierce him like a knife to the chest, white-hot and twisting. He feels the burning in the warm tears gathering behind his eyes. He wonders if it’s wrong of him to mourn the old you — the grumpy, cynical, quiet you. Or if it’s worse to be grateful that you came back a little different than he remembered — still detached and a little deadpanned in your way, but far more eager to love him.

“You know what the crazy part is?” Johnny mumbles, smiling down at his fingers as he tugs at a loose thread on his striped comforter. “You were gone for a whole year, you know? A year, six months, and twenty-seven days— but it didn’t even matter… ‘Cause every morning, I still woke up with something new to tell you. Like, when Ben made a stupid joke or when Reed did something funny, I wanted to look at you and see if you were laughing, and you… You weren’t there…”

You don’t know what to say to him, what to do to make him feel better, so you find yourself apologizing instead. “I’m sorry…” you murmur.

Johnny flinches like you’ve hurt him. “For what?” he scoffs.

You think for a moment, then shrug. “For not coming back as the girl you remember.”

The bed creaks under his weight as he shifts suddenly beside you. The heavy book in your lap slips from your bare thighs when Johnny takes a firm and gentle hold of your wrists, ducking his head to catch your faltering gaze. “What? No, I don’t— I don’t care about that. I don’t care what you did to get back here, I only care that you’re here, understand?”

You flash him a wordless, dubious glance in response.

Johnny sighs.

“When I was a kid, and our dad was being… our dad,” he rambles with a wild gaze. “Sue would always tell me that you didn’t truly love someone until they’ve hurt you, and you still think they’re the greatest person in the world. And I always thought she was just trying to make me feel better then, but… I get it now, I think.”

For a former genius, it still takes a long moment for his words to register.

“…You love me?” you hear yourself ask.

“Yes,” Johnny blurts without a second thought. “I think I always have. And I think, in another universe, I got to tell you that sooner. And that, when we crashed, I reached for you— so you would’ve stayed, or so I would’ve gone with you, or— I don’t care. We just… We would’ve been together—”

“We are together,” you correct with a knowing glint in your eyes.

You squeeze Johnny’s calloused hand, and he grins. “Yeah. We are…”

He leans in to kiss you. You tilt your head to meet him halfway. His warm breath fans like silk across your chin when the tip of your nose grazes the bridge of his. A sudden knock at the ajar door forces you apart. The two of you jump at the sight of Ben’s broad body in the doorway, who falters at the sight of both of you so close.

“You guys aren’t having a moment in here, are you?” the older man asks, waving a rocky finger between you.

“Nope,” Johnny answers, though his annoyed sigh says otherwise as he slouches back against the pillows. “Not at all.”

Sue materializes suddenly in the threshold. Her thin frame appears in a ripple of rainbow light, leaning on the wall just beside Ben. She crosses her arms over her chest as a cheeky smirk tugs at her plush mouth. “They were definitely having a moment,” she lilts sarcastically.

“How… How long have you been there?” Johnny asks, eyes wide in a boyish sort of horror.

“Oh, I just got here,” the woman shrugs, feigning an air of innocence despite the mischievous glimmer in her icy gaze. “But I’m glad you finally told her, kid—”

“Oh, my god. We’ve talked about this, Sue,” Johnny groans, face flaring, a little brother in every sense of the word. “I hate it when you just appear like that—”

Sue rolls her eyes and saunters out of the room. “Reed wants everyone down in the lab in five,” she says over his yelling.

“It’s annoying—”

“Five minutes!” she shouts back.

Her footsteps are slow to disappear down the carpeted hall. Ben follows soon after, stomping much louder in comparison. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of Johnny’s dramatic groan as he tosses his head back, raking a lanky hand through his short blonde locks.

You try to take a deep breath in, but find it suddenly rather difficult. There’s a sudden leaden weight on your chest that makes it hard to swallow. To breathe.

It’s fear, you realize.

You’re scared, and you never used to be scared. Maybe because you never had anything to lose. But now, as you stare the end of the world in the face, you find that you’re not scared of death, or the planet-devouring god seeking to destroy you. It’s not Galactus that terrifies you, but the thought of losing the only family you’ve ever known — the thought of losing Johnny.

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          i'm burning through the sky, yeah!

          200 degrees, that's why the call me mr. fahrenheit!

                            ★。／｜＼。★

It was all your fault. All of it. Even when Johnny said it wasn’t. Especially when Johnny said it wasn’t.

You were the reason Galactus came here at all. The reason Times Square, once so full of light and laughter, was ultimately reduced to a pile of wreckage and rubble. While its citizens were left unscathed in the safety of Subterranea, many of them would have to build their lives over from scratch, and that was your fault, too.

You were the reason Sue Storm nearly died, and the reason Franklin’s first-ever memories would likely be that of death and destruction — the face of an old god seeking to capture him, and the face of his dead mother lying limp on the cracked pavement moments before he brought her back to life.

You knew what you had brought upon this world.

You think that’s why you’d tried so hard to save it.

You felt Galactus’ arrival before his ship had even punctured the atmosphere, like that sinking feeling you get in your stomach right before something bad’s about to happen. You felt his heavy footsteps like shockwaves up your spine as each of his steps shook the ground. There was a brief moment of eerie silence as the old god scanned the city in search of the lost baby, only to find him sitting safely in a carrier in the center of Times Square.

The plan went somewhat seamlessly thereafter. Ben distracted Galactus in the Fantasticar, which allowed Sue enough time to sneak up on the god and use her powers to conceal Johnny, which allowed the boy to blind him with the orange flames he shot from his fingertips. It gave you only a split second of time to fly the child back to the Baxter Building and for Reed to replace the old carrier with an empty one.

You parted from Franklin with a quiet 'I’m sorry,' and from H.E.R.B.I.E. with a gentle pat on his head, before meeting the others back in the city.

It almost worked.

Almost.

“You were always a clever little bug…” Galactus’ voice thundered in your ears when he realized Franklin was missing.

You fought him with everything you had left, all four of you did. But you were ants compared to the towering god — ants he could crush under his boot without trying. It was impossible to evade both him and the hellfire raining down upon you, a mixture of Johnny’s flame and the destroyed buildings toppling around you, which made it easier for Galactus to take the child.

“Whatever you did with that ship, Doc…” Reed panted with a fearful look in his dark eye as you ducked for safety, his blue suit torn to shreds around his body. “I’m gonna need you to do it again.”

“I can’t,” you said with a wild shake of your head. “I— I need a push. I need… I need Sue.”

Johnny, lingering just beside you and radiating heat, then wondered aloud in a wavering voice, “Where is Sue?”

The mother stumbled from the remnants of a car crash, where Galactus had chucked the Fantasticar into the nearest building with her inside it. She wears the cuts and scrapes all over, along with the ash and smoke smudged on her pale face. Despite her visibly wavering strength, she used all her remaining power on the god looming before her — stunning him long enough to let Reed steal their son back on outstretched limbs, and pushing him backward into the blackhole you formed in the center of New York City.

Your floating body glowed all over, brighter than the fire overtaking the city square. The white-hot sunshine burning in your eyes matched the swirling energy in your fists. The gold lines in your silver suit flickered with an energy that overtook your form as the world began to shift around you. The portal behind your body was lined with a similar silver-gold as it pulsed like a living thing with a heartbeat. Caught inside it was a void — a wide, starless void that rippled with a golden energy — growing and growing around your burning body.

With one last barbaric scream that could be heard a world over, Sue pushed Galactus into that void with a rush of refracted light from her fist. Strong enough to send her flying back towards the toppled building behind her. Strong enough to send you tumbling into the threshold of another universe that you had created with your bare hands.

Johnny watched from the ground as you slipped into the infinite void. He took off in an instant, in a burst of white-hot flame, towards the closing portal before him — despite the darkness, despite the god getting shoved inside it, despite the fact that he might get sucked in it too.

“Tell Franklin, Uncle Johnny loves him,” is the last thing the boy muttered into the comm on his wrist before he crossed the doorway into another cold, dark galaxy.

Johnny did then what he wished he had done the first time he lost you.

He reached for you.

He took your limp, exhausted body in his burning hands, keeping you cradled to his chest while he saved you from the same void he once lost you in.

You were alive but floating in and out of consciousness when Jonny carried you back to the others — one arm holding the bend of your knees and the other wrapped around your back. Sue’s eyes flickered a strange purple color as she swayed her baby in her weak arms. Ben and Reed helped her stand, teary faces gaping incredulously at the miracle they’d just witnessed.

Your head lolled on Johnny’s shoulder as you fought to stay awake. You don’t remember much, but you remembered that he smelled like fire and ash and blood. The scent of it stayed with you for a long while after that. Even now, you’ll catch a strange whiff of the memory, and it’ll send a ripple down your spine.

                            ★。＼｜／。★

          little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter. . .

          little darling, it feels like years since it's been here!

                            ★。／｜＼。★

That was almost year ago now.

A year since you announced the end of the world, just to save it again with a bunch of strangers you forgot used to be your family. The Earth entire rejoices, commending the heroes who had saved them with a tribute that could be heard all over. They praise you in spite of everything you had done before — no longer the herald of death, but the Doc they loved before and grew to love again.

Johnny says that was the best part of it all, getting to watch you fall in love with the world again despite what it had done to you before. You’re almost sure by 'in love with the world,' he mostly means 'in love with him,' though you’re not sure you’re totally inclined to argue. ‘Cause you are waking up in his bed, after all.

Your heavy eyes flutter open to find a bedroom swathed in gold, and a pair of warm lips pressed to the side of your neck. Johnny’s weight is comfortably heavy against you as he leans along your side, one hand propping himself up and his other splayed on your ribs under your oversized shirt. You inhale sharply, writhing beneath the cotton sheets as you rouse. You feel the boy’s smiling lips curl into a smile against your flushed cheek, ‘cause he can practically feel the frown on your face.

“What’s this for?” you murmur, words heavy with sleep, as you stretch your tired legs.

“It’s been a whole year…” the boy answers against your jaw.

“Since what?”

Johnny parts from you with a quiet smack. He fights back a shiver when your fingers rake through the tuft of blonde hair at the base of his neck.

“Since you came back,” he scoffs like it’s obvious.

Your brows bounce, neither pleased nor annoyed by his reminder. “Oh. Right. How could I forget?” you respond in a monotone, ‘cause you’ve devoted the past year of your life to forgetting about all that, even though Reed tells you that’s not the healthiest way to cope.

“So I figured I’d wake you up before the others did,” Johnny mumbles, punctuating himself with another kiss to your opposite cheek. “‘Cause Ben’s got some extravagant breakfast planned that he will not stop talking about.”

You exhale sharply through your nose in place of a laugh, though your sleep-swollen face remains unsmiling. “Of course, he does…”

“And there’s an interview thing scheduled with ABC—”

“Definitely not doing that.”

“Figured,” the boy chuckles, a low rumble you can feel against your skin. “Sue already took care of it. They’re doing some tribute thing, I think.”

Your frown deepens. “That’s worse…”

“Well, you deserve it.”

“No, I don’t,” you scoff.

“You do.”

“Fixing a problem I created isn’t honorable, Johnny, it’s just— it’s normal. It’s what people are supposed to do.”

Johnny parts from you, then, just far enough to see your face. His rosy lips curl into a crooked smile until his swollen eyes squint softly at the edges, ‘cause his best girl is all but back to normal again. The cynical, monotone, self-effacing woman he fell in love with three years ago — who he hopes he’ll get to spend the rest of his whole life falling in love with.

Even though you refuse to see the good in yourself, the good within you that prevailed despite your wrath, Johnny sees all of it. He knows how empathetic you are despite your detached disposition, and how the public grew to love you for that very reason even when you didn’t believe yourself worthy of their affection. Johnny guesses he’ll believe it enough for the both of you until you come around to it.

“Well, let’s just agree to disagree,” Johnny shrugs, scrunching his nose as a mischievous glimmer settles in his eyes. “Because I really wanna make out with you right now—”

You jerk your chin back when he lowers his head, stopping him with two hands splayed on his bare shoulders. “Morning breath,” is all you say in protest.

Johnny scoffs in offense, but rolls off your body all the same. You stay buried beneath the tousled blankets while the boy trudges towards the adjoining bathroom, bare feet leaving vague prints on the yellow carpet. “Morning breath…” he grumbles bitterly as he goes, obeying you but complaining every step of the way. “Just ‘cause you don’t have morning breath, doesn’t mean it’s my fault that I have morning breath…”

You hide your smile in the pillow that smells just like him and wait for his return.

When his breath smells of fresh peppermint, and only vaguely of sleep, you let him kiss you as hard as he wants. You let his golden mouth explore your own like it’s still new territory for him to conquer, while Johnny smothers you beneath his warm weight. His lanky limbs entwine with yours under the mussed covers, caging your body between his warm one and the cloud-like mattress beneath you.

Johnny licks into your mouth. His pink tongue ruts gently with yours in time with his absentminded grinds. You feel him stiffening within the confines of his boxers as his hips rock back and forth. Your thighs part in a feeble attempt to feel him closer, heels digging into his legs to keep him pressed against you there. His half-hard cock drags up and down the length of your cotton panties. You moan into his mouth when he brushes the most sensitive part of you, throbbing like a heartbeat for him beneath the wet spot forming in your underwear.

A groan rumbles in the base of his throat, and the exhaled breath of it fans across your cupid’s bow. Johnny’s mouth clicks faintly when he pulls away. His lips are rosy and swollen and shining with a layer of your spit. His short honey locks are tousled from your fingers and a wild slumber, which he wears in his lidded, puffy eyes that dart back and forth between your own.

“Can I make you feel good?” he wonders in a whispered plea.

You nod wordlessly against the pillow for a moment until you find the breath to beg. “Please…” you sigh, anchoring your arms around his freckled shoulders to pull him impossibly closer.

Your breath hitches audibly in your throat when his hips grind against yours once more. Johnny can feel how warm you are there, how your panties slide from how wet you are. You catch an orange flame flicker in his blue eyes when he remembers he doesn’t have to be so gentle with you — that he doesn’t always have to kiss you like you might break.

Sometimes you want him to break you. Sometimes you want him to rough with you, ‘cause it distracts you from how rough you are on yourself.

Johnny knows this. So he gives you what you want.

He kisses you hard enough to bruise. His broad nose smushes into the side of yours as he licks sloppily into your mouth, swallowing your exhaled moans when his hand slips inside your underwear. His pointer and middle finger slide within the folds of your velvety cunt, finding it already slippery and weeping for him. Your hips buck, your nails dig crescent shapes into his shoulders, and your pulsing hole swallows his fingers further inside.

You’re more than ready for him. You’re always ready for him.

Johnny props himself up with one arm beside your head while his other travels between your bodies, haphazardly shoving the top of his boxers under his balls to grab his half-hard cock in his fist. You lift the hem of your shirt to your stomach and slide your panties to the side with an eager hand. He drags the strawberry tip along the glistening folds of your pussy, then swallows your whimpers with his mouth when he guides himself inside you.

His lean hips tilt forward until he’s buried himself to the hilt. The faraway burning sensation as you stretch around his cock is followed immediately by a lingering and all-consuming pleasure. Your body trembles from where it’s trapped between his lean one and the mattress. It makes Johnny smile against your mouth.

He tucks his head in the crook of his neck when he begins to thrust inside of you, shallow and slow, never quite pulling all the way out. He moans your name into the burning skin there, and it sounds like a language you hadn’t spoken in years.

You sigh at the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut as his cock drags in and out of you. The tuft of coarse hair above his cock glistens with your honey and rubs mercilessly against your swollen clit. A warm, unrelenting pleasure settles there and begins to build in your belly.

“You feel so good… Always so good…” you hear him grumble into your shoulder, plush lips brushing your burning skin. His words are panted and slightly broken from his unforgiving thrusts. “Perfect… So perfect for me… Fuck—”

You’re hardly perfect, but you don’t tell him that now. You just wrap your limbs around his golden body to keep him close and let him make you feel good. Your back arches off the mattress as your head starts to spin. The pressure building between your thighs blossoms into an unignorable thing that makes you feel lighter than air, like you only exist where Johnny touches you, and all the rest of you turns to stardust.

You whimper when his thrusts still suddenly. He groans into your neck and rests his weight against your buzzing body. You think, if it weren’t for your shirt separating you from his bare chest, that you’d be able to feel his rapid heartbeat from where he’s pressed so ardently against you.

“Keep going…” you command in a broken plea

“I don’t wanna cum yet…” Johnny confesses in a whisper, voice breaking when he grinds slowly into you. There’s a coil tightening in the pit of his stomach, one threatening to burst at any moment. He grits his teeth and tries to fight it, anyway. He takes a ragged breath in, one hand balling the pillow into his fist while his other digs bruises onto the skin of your outer thigh. “Wanna make it last…”

Your fingers fist less than kindly into his chopped blonde locks, forcing him to look at you. His lidded, glassy eyes dart over your fucked out features — flushed and glistening with a fine layer of sweat. Something much softer swims in your pleading gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere, Johnny Storm,” you pant. “So make me cum.”

Like all the times before, Johnny gives you exactly what you want. Sometimes he just needs the reminder, needs you to say the words — to promise him that you’re here and that you’re here for good. He fucks you like you need, burying all of his pathetic whines in your sweat-slick shoulder as he babbles a series of nothingness into your ear. His mind’s going fuzzy, all words are starting to lose meaning now.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so fucking— shit— You’re so pretty, you know that? So soft, too. God, your pussy’s gonna kill me,” he rambles, almost inaudibly so. You don’t even think he realizes what he’s saying, how sinful his words are or how each of them finds your throbbing clit.

“Johnny,” you gasp, digging red marks into his shoulder blades. “I’m cumming.”

You feel him nod against you until the words catch up to him. His thrusts go rapid and sloppy and shallow as his cock jerks within your pulsing confines. “Cum— Cum for me— Fuck, cum right now—”

Your drooling cunt quivers around him. A moan rises in your throat and dies in a whimper on your tongue. Your limbs tighten, almost painfully so, and then relax again in a euphoric sort of release. Your body turns to honey along the wrinkled sheets. A contented sigh exhales from your nose as Johnny tenses over you, groaning quietly while his cock spits three warm ropes of cum inside of you.

It’s warm and fragile and barbaric. Like all love seems to be. You let the love drape over you in the form of a lean, golden body as Johnny turns to a puddle on top of you. You feel him all over, inside and out. Nothing has ever been as close to your soul as he is just now.

“…We should probably start getting ready soon,” Johnny pants after a long moment of blissful silence. He presses innocent kisses up and down your neck like he isn’t still softening inside of you — like his cum isn’t dripping out of you and onto the sheets beneath you. “Before the others start snooping around…”

You nod slowly, running your palms up and down his freckled back to soothe the raging red scratches you left there. “Five more minutes?” you whisper.

“Five more minutes,” Johnny huffs, ‘cause he isn’t enthusiastic about leaving this room either.

You melt together in the quiet bedroom. The silence between you is filled only by your heavy breaths, the distant sounds of a slowly rousing Times Square, and the record Ben’s got playing in the kitchen down the hall. You keep Johnny cradled close, savoring every inch of those five minutes.

His body is gentle and warm, like the golden light streaming in rays through the window, which you bathe in now, sun-kissed in every turn of the phrase.

Your grief still lingers like the slowly ebbing shadows in the corners of the room. It’s tremendous and never-ending. But so is the love. So is the love.

if you made it this far, (i'm so sorry) thank you so much for reading!! all the love i got on the first part made my heart grow three sizes, so i hope you all like this one just as much xoxo (▰˘◡˘▰)

It sets a wheel in motion that you are powerless to stop, unable or just unwilling you might never know, like a cat that sees a sparrow beyond it’s window and decides prowling along a too high, too narrow branch, is worth it. 

Your sparrow looks like a man, handsome and sad and weathered and just a little like a cowboy if you use your imagination. If this were a saloon and not a club, if there were some jaunty tune being played on a twangy piano, double swinging saloon doors at his back, not the pulse of too deep bass and the flash of girls’ teeth in the dark. Pulsingly red, dim lighting, the shadows of dancers on the walls, sticky floors and reaching hands, neon lights. 

He doesn’t belong. 

You watch one girl lean against the bar, proposition him, leave a few minutes later, pouting just a little.

Chastity flounces away from him, cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, like she’s a girl again, like there’s something real in her name. You push away from the wall where you watch from the shadows, wasting time, decidedly not making any money though you can’t seem to help it. 

You’re entranced; you need to know. 

You catch her elbow as she passes by.

“What happened?” 

“Just not interested, I guess.” There’s a glow in her eyes, lingering on the surface of her skin. “He’s kind, really. Not like they usually are, thinkin’ they’re doing you a favor.” 

“Why does he keep coming here, then?” 

This is the third week in a row he’s sat there, pretty and unavailable. You’d considered it a waste of time and put him out of your mind the first two times. 

She shrugs, giving a flirty wave to someone over your shoulder. “One of my regulars is here,” she says. “I don’t know, I get the sense he’s real lonely. Maybe he just wants to sit and have a drink.”

Weren’t there better places to just have a drink, to feel less lonely? 

He’s good looking and seems sad, and, well, there’s something about him, repeatedly u internationally reeling in women he apparently doesn’t want. 

It’s a waste of time. 

It’s impossible for you not to walk over, sidle into his space at the bar, close but not too close. 

“You look lonely,” you greet, leaning against the counter next to him. Close enough to lean in and smell his cologne, close enough that he won’t have to work to see down your shirt. 

“Howdy,” he answers, eyes flicking up to yours briefly before fastening to the bartop again. He’s nursing a drink that’s long gone warm and watery. 

You eye him for a moment, the sharp line of his jaw, the lines by his eyes, the way his t-shirt stretches over his shoulders. He looks tired up close, drawn in a way that points your compass toward grief. “You look like you could use another drink.” 

His eyes slide up again from the cherry red wood of the bar to meet your gaze. He blinks and settles back on the stool. There’s surprise in the pretty depth of his eyes. A brown color, cast darker, maybe, because of the low lighting. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I already said no to your friend. Chastity.”  

He says her name so gently, it makes you smile. 

“You remember her name.” 

“Well I just talked to her.” 

You shrug and hop up on the barstool next to him, adjusting your skirt as you go. He might be surprised at how little a girl’s name, fake or otherwise, mattered to so many men. “Oh, sweetheart, trust me I know. I’ve been watching you all night. I won’t bother you for long, I promise.” You can’t waste your whole night with someone who won’t pay you anyway, no matter how enticing the flutter of their wing. 

“Huh,” his eyes flick over you again. “Seems like there’s plenty of willin’, uh, customers, to go around.”

The way he says it makes you want to giggle, and one slips out before you reign it in. He’s oddly polite, and strangely shy. Maybe even awkward, but in a charming, warm way. 

“There are,” you say and wave down the bartender, gesturing at his poor excuse for a drink with one hand. “But you’re different.” 

“How d’ya figure that?” 

You don’t answer for a moment, smiling at the bartender when he sits the drink down in front of you.

You push the whiskey in front of him and then slide the much held onto glass from between his loose fingers. His hands immediately circle the new glass, like it’s some kind of fucked up security blanket. It’s hard not to notice how nice his hands are, thick fingers and broad palms lined and scarred from work. He wears a watch on his left wrist, the green band worn and stained in places. His hands tell a story, that he works with them everyday, blue collared and tired, tanned from the sun, a tiny sliver of paler skin peeking out from behind the watch face. 

When you look up, you find him already looking at you. At your face, surprisingly. When you push out your chest, elbows narrowing subtly in towards your waist, his eyes don’t move. You tilt your head at him and he raises a brow. 

“Every girl on this floor thinks you’re a widower,” you explain with a shrug. “They have since you first came in three weeks ago. And, usually widowers out looking for a girl treat them a certain way.” Your mouth twitches up into another smile, “So you’re special.” 

You glance up and meet his eyes. “And I won’t ask, but I kind of agree with them. You have that look.” 

He breathes out sharply. “How’s that?” 

You tip your chin against your palm. “Sad. Like you’re ashamed to be here, and really lonely, but not in a desperate way.” 

“Jesus,” he mutters and takes a sip from the glass. He makes a face and pushes it away. “All that just from me sittin’ here?” 

You blink and tilt your head at him. “Well, you’ve been coming back. Was I right?” 

There’s a long pause, like he’s considering not responding or agreeing. But then he says, almost defeatedly, “Yeah. Most of it, anyway.” He releases the lowball glass to slide one hand down his face, fingers scraping roughly over his beard before cupping his chin. 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

He just nods. 

“All right, well, I was being honest about not bothering you and I’ve satisfied my own curiosity. I’ll leave you be, and I’ll tell the other girls to leave you, too, if you really don’t want to be approached. I could suggest somewhere better though, where you won’t be bothered, if you only want a drink,” you lean in, brush your hand against his arm. “And, if you take my word on nothing else, take it on this: the drinks here are shit.” 

His skin is warm beneath yours; there’s a scar along the top of his forearm, a scrape and pull of hair against your nails when you let your hand slide off and turn away. 

Before you can vacate your seat, his hand covers yours, and you pause. 

The touch is brief but warm, and enough to make you stay. You can suddenly feel the eyes of all the other girls working that night on your back, hot with jealousy, holding their breath, curious as the cat finally stepping off the window ledge, that much closer to the sparrow. 

You cross your legs and prop your chin on your fist again, watching him spin the glass on the bartop and not drink it, not say anything. “You don’t really look like you belong here,” you murmur, reaching out to trace your nails along his forearm absently. “You don’t really fit in here.” 

In fact, no one has ever looked more uncomfortable. Nervous, you see that all the time. But not this. 

He clearly wants something that he doesn’t know how to ask for. Or, maybe it’s the shame and the loneliness again, tangled up and impossible to unravel. 

“We could just talk, you know,” you say gently. “Or. . .sit together. You don’t seem like much of a talker. And sometimes it's enough to have another warm body in the room.” You don’t say it, but you could pet him like this too, nails against his wrist, catching at the dark hair on his forearm. 

He fidgets with the watch on his wrist, looking down at it like it holds the answer to a question he doesn’t know how to ask. After a long moment, he scoffs. “Startin’ to see why I’m special.” 

You nearly backpedal, but the gruffness is directed inward, not at you. The last thing you need is to offend him, not see the swing of a fist and flinch fast enough. 

You nod, knot between your shoulders smoothing away again. “Yeah. It’s usually about the. . .companionship more than anything else. You’re missing someone and that’s okay. I can fix that. Or, ease it, at least.” 

He turns to look at you fully then, eyes flicking over your form, and you can tell exactly what he’s thinking. This isn’t a place you really fit in. Like him. There’s something different about you, that’s not like the others that have approached him. 

You just smile at him again, run your nails along his arm again. 

“Do you have somewhere quiet we can go?” 

His gaze casts away, and he clears his throat. “Yeah.” 

“All right, sweetheart. Ready to go now?” 

A tendon in his jaw jumps when he clenches it hard, the muscle pulsing beneath his skin. You’re afraid for a moment that you read it wrong, his tone and the shape of his shoulder, and he is about to hit you, but the turmoil seems to be turned inward once more. 

Instead of answering, he tosses back the rest of his drink and stands, offering you a hand as he goes. “You’re right about the drinks.” 

“Gentlemanly of you,” you say and take his proffered hand, balancing heavily on him as you stand. “And I usually am.” 

His fingers are light against your spine as he guides you out of the dim interior of the club, the pulse of light coating him in harsh reds and blues before you push through the doors out into the parking lot. “Not a compliment I usually get.” 

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” you coo as he directs you across the pavement. “You are exceedingly polite.” 

This is usually the scariest part, getting into a car with a man you don’t know. By the time you get to their room you’re settled, but this is where you’re always reminded of the risk you’re taking, the very real danger you could land yourself in. That anything could happen to you, and that probably no one would know or care if something did happen, that no one would look for you. 

He stops beside an older pickup truck and opens the door for you with a squeak, hand offered for you to brace yourself on again. “Well I’d like to know who isn’t calling you a gentleman,” you say with a smile as he releases your hand. 

It earns you another amused huff, before he closes the door and rounds the hood. 

The interior of the cab is worn but clean. In the dark, you can only make out a few details. A tree shaped air freshener hangs from the review mirror that no longer puts off any smell. There’s a woven mat spread over the leather bench seat, a friendship bracelet knotted around the gearshift, a tangle of straw wrappers in the side of the door and an empty pack of cigarettes on the dash. 

The dome light flickers back on briefly when he opens his door. 

You’re plunged into shadows again just as quickly, but the flash of light is enough for you to see the box of cassette tapes by your toes that you’d missed. 

The truck rumbles to life beneath you, a calming purr against the bare backs of your thighs. It reminds you, just briefly, of evenings spent in a different truck. More rundown than this one, more likely to break down on the side of the road than get you to your destination, the smell of cigarettes and your mother’s perfume thick on the air, billowing up from the stained fabric seat. 

Pushing the memory away, you point to the box. “Mind?” 

He inclines his head slightly. “Go ahead.” Then, “Seatbelt.” 

“Who bothers with seatbelts?” You ask, crossing your ankles delicately, plucking up the box to deposit on your knees. 

“Me,” he grunts.

Well, so do you, but the men you find yourself with usually don’t. They want to put their hand high on your thigh and talk about their car as they drive. They want you to lean over and suck their cock. 

This man puts one hand on the steering wheel, the other along the back of the seat, as he reverses out of the parking spot. 

Jesus, he’s good looking. The relief of his face is sharp, plunged into shadow and light as you pass beneath streetlights. 

When he pulls out onto the highway, lined with scrubbrush and cacti and hot red dust, both his hands anchor on the wheel. He doesn’t even glance over at you, and remains quiet. It unsettles your nerves further, just a little. Either he’s nervous and worried about what his dead wife would think of him, or driving you to the middle of some open plot of desert next to an emptier stretch of highway to kill you. 

You pick through his cassette collection as he drives to calm your nerves and try to glean something about him from it. He asks you twice if you’re cold, despite how hot the night is. “I’m fine,” you say. “Really. It’s actually a little warm.” He rolls down the windows so the sweltering summer air filters in. 

You’re grateful for the warm air, for the soft caress of the late breeze against your face. 

It feels good on your skin, chilled from the air conditioning at the club. He must have noticed your cold hands when you touched him. 

At a red light, you hold up one of the tape cases. “You have good taste.” 

Johnny Cash, Garth Brooks, Pearl Jam, Metallica, Halican Drops are only a few you skim over. 

“Well, ain’t all of it mine.” 

“Whose are they?” 

He hesitates for a long moment. “My daughter,” he answers eventually. “She left ‘em in here.” 

You nod. “She has good taste then.”  

The light flickers green and the truck rolls forward again. His pretty face is still, unmoving, revealing nothing. You admire it anyway, the curve of short graying hair behind his ears, the scar along the bridge of his nose, the way he blinks hard, thinking something over, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “That don’t bother you?” 

“What?”

“That I have a kid?”

“Does it bother you?” 

He doesn’t answer, but the muscle in his jaw tightens again as he runs a hand over his chin. 

Thinking again, you suppose, as you cross from one side of town to another. It’s a wealthier area, usually you only see the inside of the motel down the road from the club. 

Eventually, he pulls into the parking lot of a hotel, imitating Spanish style vistas in a way that feels real, the front entrance manicured and clean. 

It’s a nice hotel, one of the locally owned ones with charm, not a soulless chain. He kills the engine and looks at you through the dark, through the yellow light of the buzzing streetlamp on the corner. 

“Yeah.” It takes you a moment to realize he’s answering your question, if it bothered him that he has a kid. You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already out of the cab, door slamming behind him. 

He’s at your side of the vehicle before you have a chance to reach for the handle, holding your door open and offering you another hand. It’s strange; you try not to think about it. “Why?” 

“I figure you two must be about the same age.” 

Ah. Still, surprising for a man to care. 

“You must have had her pretty young.” 

He doesn’t answer you again, hand pressed lightly to your back, like this is a date and you’re a lady he’s taking home, guiding you toward the brightly lit, glittering facade of the hotel. 

It’s very odd and sweet and totally unexpected. This isn’t how this usually goes, how any of this usually goes, and it almost makes you resent him. 

As much as you can resent someone you just met and who you’re about to fuck and forget and be paid for the privilege. Still, it stings, persistently itches at the inside of your skin, in a way that makes you wish he’d just be rough with you instead.

“You’re never going to see me again after tonight. I’m just an ear, sweetheart. You can tell me and I’ll keep all your secrets.” You say it low, leaning into his side; intimate and just a tad sweet, a secret between lovers. 

“Sweetheart,” he repeats. 

Oops. Maybe the familiarity was a mistake. 

“What’s your name?” You course correct as he pulls open the heavy front door for you. “Doesn’t have to be your real name. Just need something to call you if you don’t want me calling you sweetheart.” 

The hotel is different, too. 

You’ve become accustomed to flickering neon motel signs seen though tattered window shades, rough, threadbare carpet beneath your knees, rust stained shower drains, furniture a decade or so behind the times, a persistent smell of mothballs and grease that permeated the lobby, if you even got to pass through it. Most times there was no need, a parking space right in front of a too flimsy door, a chain lock that hasn’t been attached to the wall in at least a year. The belch of refrigerant that only ever served to make you sneeze and cool down the room not at all. 

“Never said that,” he grunts. 

“Okay.” 

The lobby is cast in a strange white, gold light. A quiet kind of elegance seeps in around the edges of your vision, deep green walls and softer cream accents, dark woods and crystal that you fear might be something more expensive. 

Plants thrive in the front window, lending an air of carefully curated locality to the space. The employee at the front desk greets you as you go by, not a hint of judgement in her carefully schooled features. “Good evening, sir,” she inclines her head at the pair of you.

“Ma’am,” he answers, just as polite. You like how he sounds, how his voice touches the farthest reaches of your lungs when it reverberates against you. You feel bad for it, but you can’t help but notice how at odds he is with the place, and wonder briefly what he does for work. 

The rest of the lobby is deserted. 

There’s a bar, you notice, and a restaurant, empty at this hour.

The warm ghost of his fingers against your spine again urges you slowly along through a dark wooded archway and then up the stairs. 

He seems mindful of your heels and how short your dress is as you ascend. You wouldn’t mind if he tried to look up your skirt or touched the back of your thighs, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” he says when he unlocks the door to room 202 with a keycard. 

“Hm.” The room is intimate but not small, dominated by a large bed, sheets a crisp, clean white. The furniture here, too, is dark and quietly luxurious. It smells nice, not like cheap disinfectant and dollar store room spray. “Joel,” you repeat, and perch on the edge of the bed, cool against the backs of your legs. “That’s a nice name. I don’t even mind if it’s not your real one.” 

Joel fidgets with the lock, then slowly sits down next to you. He seems tired. “You got somethin’ I can call you, darlin’?” 

“Darlin’,” you say, imitating his drawl. The sound of his voice is comforting. It reminds you of the people you had grown up around, of your mother; your own accent shaken like a bad habit when you finally got away from them. “I like the sound of that.” 

“So you don’t got a name?” 

“Not really, no.” 

He leans close to you, there’s a hint of laughter in his voice for the first time. “That’s a damn lie.” 

You smile, flutter your lashes down, just a tad of innocence. “They call me Cherry.” 

“Cherry,” he repeats, trying it on for size. “Why?” 

“Why not? They have to call me something.” 

You aren’t fond of it, in truth, but you were loath to pick something like Chastity or Divinity or something worse. At least Cherry had a meaning, connected to something more. 

“Hm.” He looks like he’s thinking it over, eyes on the far wall and then back on you, watching you curl your legs up on the bed, palms braced on the mattress behind you. “I think darlin’ might work better.” 

“You’re giving me a name?”

The beginning of a smile tugs at his mouth. “I reckon so. There a reason they call you that?”  

You lie back on the bed. “Doesn’t matter. You can call me whatever you want, Joel. I don’t mind.” 

He looks at you, eyes flitting over you again with a sudden clarity. The crease between his eyes deepens and then something firm settles in his gaze. “You mind me askin’ how old you are?” 

You blink hard, surprised, like cold water was thrown over you. “How old do you want me to be?” 

Something pained passes behind his eyes. That’s a first for you. That coy little response usually gets you a laugh and a worryingly low number as a reply. “That ain’t—I really want to know.” 

“My real age?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

When he doesn’t answer you slide your hand across the bed, rest your finger tips at the base of his spine and work into the tense flesh. If anything, he goes more rigid, so you let your hand drop. “My, my you are riddled with guilt.” 

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, if my wife knew I was with a woman half my age she’d crawl out of her grave to take me into it with her.” 

You shrug. “But she doesn’t know. And we aren’t really doing anything uncouth.” 

“Uncouth,” he murmurs, a huff of reluctant, almost laughter on his tongue. “You are somethin’ else.” 

You aren’t sure where to place that assessment. Supposing it’s a compliment, you pay him one back. “Well, I don’t think I’m half your age.” 

“You gonna tell me how old you are?” The question is barbed on his tongue, a sharp rebuke to your teasing. This is serious to him, and means the difference between spending the night with him, or wasting time getting back to the club, finding another john. You need the cash, you need him to decide. 

You have only a brief moment to consider if you should lie or not. But really it’s an easy choice, older is clearly going to soothe him. You tweak it and add a couple of years. If it soothes his conscience, let him relax, the lie is worth it. 

Besides, it doesn’t really matter. You’ll never see him again, after tonight. 

“I’m twenty-seven.” You press one hand over your heart, “Scout’s honor.”  

He squints at you. “Serious?” 

“If you were a different kind of man I’d guess I’d tell you I’m freshly eighteen and you would believe it.” 

“Jesus,” he mutters, not laughing. 

“I look. . .younger, I guess,” you say, earnestly as you can. That is true, at least. “Which is important in this line of work. I also don’t think men can really tell how old women are, most of the time anyway. I’d show you my ID but I think that’s bad business practice.”

“No, I believe you.” 

“Why? How old did you think I was?” 

He thinks for a moment, and then finally sinks down beside you. He stares up at the ceiling, fingers threaded together over his stomach. “At least twenty-two is what I was tellin’ myself.” 

“So if that’s half, you must be. . .forty-four?” 

“Try fifty-two,” he grunts. 

You think for a moment. “So not half your age, exactly,” you murmur, tentatively reaching out to touch him, waiting to see if he tenses up again when you stroke your fingers over his beard. 

He really is unfairly handsome. 

It’s no wonder all the girls had tried with him. A pretty, sad, lonely widower that just needed someone to talk to. 

Still, you wouldn’t mind if he did want to fuck you. 

“Close enough,” he says. 

“Is that why you said no? To Chastity?” 

Chastity, as far as you know, really is freshly eighteen.  

Those dark eyes meet yours. You can see streaks of gold in them, even in the dim lighting. He doesn’t stop you when you move your hand from his face to his chest, slowly rubbing back and forth. “You’re real good at this.” 

“At what?” 

“Gettin’ me to say more than I should.” 

“It comes with the territory. Besides, isn’t that the point? You can say it to me, and it won’t matter in a couple of hours. Like speaking into a void. Wishing it away.” 

He swallows and looks back at the ceiling, covering your hand with one of his own to pause its path. You can feel the echoing beat of his heart against your hand. It’s an oddly intimate move and for a moment you’re taken aback and unsure what to do. “One of my daughters is older n’ you. Than all of them girls that—” He glances at you. “Hard not to feel like a dirty old man.” 

“You’re a dirty middle aged man at worst.” 

A grunt of surprised laughter leaves him. “You’re funny.” 

“I know. It’s part of my charm.” You move your hand again and he releases your fingers to let you, eyes closing. The tension pulling at his neck and shoulders loosens as he finally relaxes. “It’s a good age though, really.” You notice the sheaf of little gray hairs starting to creep into the hair at his temples, a few in the bristles of his beard. It’s more honest that you usually dare to be, that you usually can be. 

You like older men; like the lines by Joel’s eyes and at the curve of his cheek when he smiles, the worn, steady quality of his palms, the gray hair, the not yet faded strength in his shoulders. “A handsome age. Girls like an older guy, you know.” 

“Uh-huh. Now you’re just sayin’ shit.”

You mean it though. He’s a dream, in more ways than one. You wonder what he’d think of you if you told him this isn’t your day job, that this is simply a means to an end, that you are more than this, a girl literally and figuratively on her knees. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to at least take my clothes off?” You offer. “I promise I’m pretty.”

He laughs again, still that slightly surprised huff, and the lines by his eyes crinkle up. “You’re plenty pretty right now, darlin’.” 

“See? A goddamned gentleman if I’ve ever met one.” 

He chuckles, there’s a looseness in his limbs now. You’ve satisfied something at least, enough to have him relax. 

You don’t ask, but he tells you a little of his wife, then. It wasn’t a love marriage, it seems, but convenience. She had a child from another man, him, a daughter from another woman, and it made sense for them to be together. Logistically and realistically and for tax reasons and trust reasons. But they lived together and shared everything, adopted a third kid together. His kids moved out years before, and now he’s alone so much of the time, now. They were companions and partners and he loved her in his own way, even if it hadn’t been strictly romantic.

It had been complicated, tangled. He seems like he still isn’t sure what they really were together. But he misses her, loves her still. 

“So you’ve never been in love?” 

He blinks. “No. I guess not. Not like that.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

“You? Really?” 

“It just doesn’t seem to find me.” 

Joel doesn’t ask what you mean by that. 

You listen and touch him, tracing the thick veins in his arms, the minute wrinkles by his eyes and the lines in his forehead. His is a face you’ll never forget for how long you’ve been gazing at him. It’s a face you won’t want to scrub from your memory the moment you leave the room. 

It’s nice to know you were right, that he is just lonely, just unused to being alone. 

Joel is a stranger, but it doesn’t really feel like you met him just hours before. You move his shirt and feel the outline of a scar on his side, the coarse hair on his belly, and he doesn’t stop you. 

He acquiesces when you tug it further up and then over his head. Some of them don’t like to be kissed on the mouth, so you don’t, pressing your lips along his neck and chest and belly. You listen to the hitch of his breathing, the sigh of his lungs. He closes his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he sounds nervous.

It’s impossible for you not to notice when he gets hard. Your skimming fingers and the close heat of the room seem to have been enough. “It’s all right to want this,” you murmur. You cup the bulge of him and squeeze gently. Air hisses through his gritted teeth. “Relax,” you coo and look into his face for a moment, his closed eyes, rubbing him gently through the thick denim of his jeans, relishing in the harsh breath that leaves him. 

Joel opens his eyes and meets your gaze. His stare is heavy and watchful, but he nods. 

With deft fingers, you unbuckle his belt. You have to look away to get the button undone and slide his zipper down. His breathing hitches when your fingertips brush his lower stomach, the dark thatch of hair that draws your hand lower. 

He groans lowly and threads one arm behind your back, tugging you into his side when you circle your fingers around the base. He’s bigger than you expected, thick. A whine spills out of his throat when you move your hand down him slowly and then back up, thumb sweeping over the already leaking head. 

“You like that, huh?” 

“Damn,” he mutters against your hair; the brush of his facial hair against your temple is a delicious little scratch. 

You turn your head to suck a harsh kiss against the side of his throat. He tastes like the salt of sweat there. Familiar and somehow new. “Been awhile, sweetheart? Is this all it takes?” You squeeze a little tighter as you twist your hand up.

He takes the teasing in stride, but shutters in your grip all the same, arches into your hand. It’s desperate, and he’s trying to keep it in.  

You like them like this, shivery and needy, and had not expected this man to be that way. You move your fist along his length, warm and heavy in your palm, pulsing with need in your grip. It makes you feel powerful in a way this moment usually makes you feel dirty.

You curl your fingers softly through his hair, watching him closely. There are spots of color high in his cheeks, eyes clenched closed. “Let go,” you murmur. “It’s just me and you here,” you assure. “Don’t keep it in.” 

He grunts softly, a breathy fuck whispering past his lips when he suddenly covers your hand with his. For just a second, he guides your fist, then stops. “Hold on. You sure?” It’s a panted question. 

“Sure?” You tilt your head, confused. 

“It ain’t what we agreed on, necessarily.” 

You laugh and sit up, stroking him from root to tip slowly, twisting your wrist. “Do you want me to stop? Kind of already in the middle of something here.” 

“Christ, no,” he grunts. 

His palm moves to press flat against your spine when you sat up. You expect it to wander, but it stays in place, warm against the naked expanse of your spine exposed by your top, like he’s supporting you. 

“Mhm.” 

He arches into your hand again when you move your hand faster, eyes fluttering shut. It really must have been awhile for him, or he’s incredibly sensitive, and you aren’t sure which is better. Warmth pools heavy between your legs, a formless ache that twists in a curl up into your gut. 

You want to touch yourself, and wish Joel would be a little more handsy, that he’d slide his fingers beneath your skirt and push your panties aside. His hand arcs from your hip to your spine and back again. 

Instead, you lean over and take him into your mouth. “Fuck,” he whispers, one hand against the back on your head now. “Warnin’ woulda been nice.” 

You pull back and spit lightly against him, rubbing the tip against your lips, and keep stroking him, fast and firm. You glance at him and then shift to move to the floor between his legs, not stopping the movement of your fist. “I’m about to suck your dick,” you say. “Unless you don’t want that. Is there something else you want from me?”

You slot yourself between his legs, curl one hand on his stomach and squeeze the other around the base of his cock. “Please?” A whine slips into your voice that you don’t work to put there. “You taste good.” 

There’s an oddly conflicted look on his face, lust tangled up with that earlier guilt, the shame of what he’s doing.

You slow your hand and rub his thigh. “Don’t feel bad about it. I promise I don’t.”

Sometimes, you have to lie. You do feel gross and disgusting and used. 

You aren’t lying to Joel now; there’s no need to. 

He covers your hand, big palm running up your arm to cup your elbow as he sits up. It’s surprisingly, so strangely, tender.

He surprises you again by reaching back with his other hand for a pillow. “Here,” he says and drops it on the floor. You want to tell him this is nothing, you’re used to kneeling on much rougher surfaces, fiberglass laden carpets that haven’t been vacuumed in years, scratching and leaving a rash that persisted until the day before you found yourself back there again. 

Instead, you wriggle forward onto it, the cool relief on your knees immediate, twisting your hand up his shaft as you go. 

Joel cups your cheek and presses a thumb over your mouth, spreading the shine of spit and precome left there against the seam of your mouth. You part your lips, and he touches your tongue, depresses the pad of it there until you close your mouth and suck gently, curling your tongue around him and let your eyes flutter closed for a moment. 

“Hell,” he mutters, caressing your cheek again when you release his thumb, waiting patiently for you to open your eyes. “Look at you.” 

A shiver tightens at the base of your spine. The light praise punches you squarely in the chest. You want him to keep looking at you like that, a songbird in a cage, a docile thing to do what he asks, for him to say that again. 

You let him lower your head to slide your tongue against his balls before flattening your tongue against the base of him, licking slowly up to the tip. You suck lightly, not looking away from him, running your tongue along the slit. He tastes like salt, a clean muskiness.

“Can you take all of it, darlin’?” 

You pull back with a little gasp and cough, feel the cup of his palm slide to your chest. “Yes,” you murmur, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip until he hisses through his teeth. “I can try.” 

You take his cock down your throat slowly, relaxing your esophagus, stroking what you can’t take yet. His palm is against the back of your head, guiding you down and then back up. “Good girl,” he mutters, the glow of that praise taking up residence in your chest again. “Takin’ me so well.” 

A fiery need pulses through your pussy, an ache that sits hollow between your legs, as you bob your hand, taking a little more of him each time, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. “C’mon, baby, you’re almost there. Know you can take it all.” 

The praise settles itself deep in your chest, thick and welcome. He guides you back and you take a gasping breath, coughing and looking up at him through tear webbed lashes. For one horrible moment, you think he might kiss you, but he just rubs his thumb against your lips again. 

You jerk his cock, not looking away from his eyes, the sound of your spit and his precome squelching in your first. 

His head tilts back, lips parting. You’re treated to the sight of his throat working, thick muscle contracting, veins standing out in a prominent green against the sheen of damp, golden skin. Joel’s hand slides to the back of your neck, then the top of your shoulders, palm flat against your spine. 

You lean down to suckle at the head again, and take a breath before sliding his thick cock down your throat, until your nose nestles against the thick thatch of hair at the base. The burn makes you choke around him, but you hold yourself there, tongue sweeping out against his balls. 

“Good girl,” you hear him mutter, the sound distant, throat contracting when you swallow around him. “Good job, darlin’.” 

You draw slowly up, and then look at him, releasing his dick with a pop. “I want you to come in my mouth.” 

Fingers curl against your jaw and draw you down. He hisses when you circle your tongue around him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge of his orgasm. His body strains against you, hips bucking up to follow your mouth when you pull back. “Please,” you whine and lick the pulsing vein. “Please, Joel.” 

He grunts and then moans when you seal your mouth around him again. He pulses in your mouth, bitter and warm but not altogether unpleasant. You swallow it all, sucking until he makes a pained noise and pulls you up. 

You lick your lips and watch him flop back against the bed, hands beneath his head. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Just me.”

His laugh is exhausted and weak.  

You crawl up beside him, taking the pillow with you from the floor, ignoring the agony between your legs, how soft the bed feels beneath you.  Just the slightest brush of his fingers against you would probably make you come. The need is so intense your thighs ache, muscle spasming in little jumps. 

Still, you lie next to him and watch him breathe, chest rising and falling evenly. You brush a hand against his chest, the wiry curl of hair like lightning over your skin. He’s falling asleep and trying not to. “I can go.” 

He blinks and looks at you and the expression on his face tells you he forgot for a moment. He forgot that you’re whore, forgot even, maybe, that you aren’t his wife. 

“Do you smoke?” You say, to soften the blow of it.

“Not usually.” 

“Do you smoke right now?” 

“Sure.” 

You turn and scrabble for your purse, fishing in the depths for the carton of cigarettes. His fingers brush gently against your curled legs, against your ankle and calf and then jerk away, remembering himself with sudden alacrity. “Here,” you murmur, flopping on your back next to him. You flip the package open and pull out a cigarette and the lighter you stuffed inside earlier. 

You light it, blowing smoke toward the ceiling and hand it off. 

For a while, you pass the cigarette back and forth, fingers brushing, shoulders pressed together, before you curl over his stomach and put his soft dick back in your mouth. This time it only takes him a few minutes to come, sensitive and too spent to hold off longer, panting quietly into the warm air of the room.

You sit up, after, and peer in the mirror across the room to make sure you don’t look too much of a mess.  

Joel smokes again and then stubs the cigarette out in the tray on the bedside table, shifting to search for his wallet.

He has the gall to still look a little embarrassed. 

You take the cash out of his hand, doing a quick count, smiling, before you throw a leg over his hips and push him down, bracing your palms against the mattress by his head. You take a long look at him, knowing you’ll never see him again. Too guilt ridden, loneliness soothed for the moment. Shame will keep him from ever returning. You memorize his face, his shoulders and arms, the feeling of his wet cock between your legs, pressing against your underwear where your skirt had ridden up. 

“Don’t think about this too hard, okay?” 

“Think about what?” 

“About needing something.” 

He blinks and you shake your head. “It was okay. To need this. You’re welcome to come find me again anytime. Goodbye, Joel.”

With that, you roll away, adjust your skirt, and slink toward the door.

You hear him shift on the bed as the door snaps closed behind you, and sense there was something he wanted to say. But you don’t turn back. 

You ask the woman at the front desk to call you a cab back to the club, to your car. Joel tipped so well, or maybe just overpaid so much, that you don’t need to go back inside.

When you get back to your tiny, shitty apartment that you can barely afford, there’s no other face that you can conjure but his when you finally touch yourself in the darkness of your too hot bedroom, fingers working quickly, not bothering to hold back the moan in your throat. The sound of his voice, his praise, won’t soon fade. It loops on repeat in your mind, imagination trailing to what his beard would feel like on the inside of your thighs, if his cock might feel good inside you. 

Sweat beads at the backs of your knees and under your breasts, hips lifting toward an invisible mouth. 

When you come, you feel like you should mourn it being over. 

It had only been an hour since the nightly show had wrapped up, darkness falling quickly due to the colder months looming. The gang of outlaws had stormed your small campsite, locating your leader and employer, Duke Elkhorn, and demanding they be entertained! The candles had been lit, and the music was playing. The animals had been brought from their cages once more, and dancers and performers were laced back into costumes. Barnes had asked for entertainment, so you would provide it, lest you find yourself dead in a ditch. 

Thankfully, you had not yet taken off your own outfit and makeup. A kohl to line your eyes; your lips painted red; hair loose with intermitten beading and braids. You wore large jewled earrings and layers of necklaces that partially covered the deep v of your neckline. Your dress was tightly fitted, your breasts were pushed upwards by the corset beneath, and your skirt was a deep green that swirled around your legs with each movement. Your small tent was filled with a haze of incense, lavish velvet, and silk used as draperies. Your tent was divided into two sections—your working space and your personal quarters. You had been checking your appearance in your cracked mirror when the ruffle of fabric alerted you to his presence. 

He stood with an unquestionable air of confidence, a cigarette in hand. His eyes narrowed as he looked you over, a cruel smirk playing across his lips. He was large and burly, with muscular forearms that bulged against the fabric of his sleeves, which had been pushed up to gather at his elbows. Blood stained his collar and sleeves, and a gold pocket watch was tucked into his vest. His dark hair was windblown, bits peeking out from under his black, cattleman hat. 

As he flicked his cigarette, you realised his knuckles were bruised and split. A subtle splatter of blood across his cheek, smeared, as if somone had reached up and grasped his face in their dying moments. 

“Our mutual friend, Mr. Elkhorn, told me that if I was lookin’ for a pretty thing to come find ya.” His voice was deep when he spoke, gravelly and rough. It sent a shudder down your spine. Damn Elkhorn. You always knew he was a coward, even though he thought himself a big man. You and the other performers were not strangers to his temper and desperation. You all tended not to challenge it, as he could be a cruel man as equally as he could be fearful. 

“He weren’t lyin’ was he?” He lets out a low whistle, exhaling smoke. “How’s he kept you a secret for so long, huh? Guess mah boys don’t come pokin’ in the tents that often. Too busy pokin’ their bits into them dancer girls.”

You remain silent as he chuckles to himself. He eyes you greedily; his icy blue eyes are anything but discreet. You could feel how his gaze rested on the curves of your hips and breasts, watching how your skin moved with each breath. Desire was a strange thing—how easily you might shift from feeling confident and powerful to nothing at all. 

You certainly felt like a squirming idiot under his gaze. 

“I’m not a whore.” You speak up, though your voice is hushed, hesitant, or even uneasy. You knew men like Barnes would not take being denied well. If you thought Elkhorn’s brutality was something to fear, your knees would positively buckle before Barnes. 

Barnes barks out a laugh, his brows raising in something between delight and surprise. He strides towards you, grinning as you flinch back. “Yer employer seems to think differently.”

Your eyes slide closed as he reaches forward, a finger sweeping a strand of hair from your face to better look at you. You swallow hard as he chuckles, smoke blowing across your face. Teeth grit, you slowly open your eyes, a shuddering exhale leaving your nose as he runs a finger across your cheek.

“He’s a spineless excuse of a man.” You dare to bite back, your voice wavering, but you stand tall. His amused expression has morphed into one of intrigue. His actions falter; hesitation is clear in his demeanour. 

“He make ya do things ya don’t wanna do, darlin’?” The outlaw asks, his voice surprisingly genuine. He is still close to you, close enough that you can smell the tobacco on his breath and feel the vibration of each word in his chest. 

“Sometimes.” You admit, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze. He curses under his breath, rubbing his jaw in annoyance. Barnes backs off a few paces, putting out his cigarette on one of your sidetables. From your side view of his chiselled face, you see a muscle in his jaw tense. 

“Well, sweetheart. I ain’t in the business of bein’ with women who don’t want it.” He says with a roll of his shoulders. He has stalked over to your reading table, bruised knuckles white as he grips the back of your chair. 

You are at a momentary loss for words. You had anticipated being repulsed by this man, the one who repeatedly terrorised these lands and enabled his dogs to do what they wanted and take what they pleased. There was something strangely endearing about his care for your consent. 

“Well, I am glad to hear it.” You finally uttered. “Can’t say the same for some of your boys, though.”

A tense silence washes over the tent, and you almost immediately regret your words. Against your better judgement, you creep towards him. He doesn’t flinch away from your touch as your hands smooth over the top of his hands and wrists. Beneath you, he feels like stone, each tendon and muscle expertly chiselled like the statues you saw in the big cities back east. 

“Yer right. Pack o’ wild mongrels they are. Good for puttin’ folk in their place. I think I’ll get ‘em to pay yer employer a little visit. Remind him whose land he’s on.” 

Barnes goes to leave, pulling away from your touch. A wave of horror washes over you at his implication. You find yourself reaching for him again in an unexpected panic. Your hands latch around his bare forearm, tugging him back an inch. 

“Wait.” You shake your head, gripping his forearm. The outlaw looks back at you in curiosity. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt anyone else, sweetheart. Just him. ” He drawls, eyes darting to where you hold his arm. You drop it immediately, backing off. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. 

“He will think your lesson is because I turned you down or because I wasn’t good enough for you.” You explain desperately. His eyes narrow, as if offended on your behalf. “Whatever you do to him, he will do to me twofold. As punishment. He is a cruel man, you understand?”

“Yer definitely not pleading his case well, darlin’.” There is impatience in his tone and ire that you could not even begin to comprehend. Your eyes flicker to his bruised knuckles, the splatters of blood. If Elkhorn found out, well, you would have to wear a veil for the rest of your life. Your face would be so mishapened and destroyed that you would bring fear into the hearts of anyone who laid eyes upon you. You would no longer be a fortune teller but a featured freak of Elkhorn’s sideshow. Men and women alike would pull faces, with children throwing food and rocks. The deformed woman— another beast in a cage. 

You have seen this fate play out too many times. Too many were lost to Elkhorn’s wickedness. 

“Please.” You beg. His brow arches and his adams apple bobs. 

You swallow nervously, then hesitantly step forward. With gentle hands, you take his forearm once more, guiding him to your reading table. “Just… I will entertain you for a suitable time. I can read your cards. Then, you can tell Mr. Elkhorn that you laid with me; embellish it if you wish.”

Barnes seems too intrigued to protest. 

He unbuttons his vest with a soft grunt, taking a seat at the table. His legs are spread wide in a domineering pose as he leans back into the seat with cool confidence. As you take a seat at the opposite end of the table, he reaches into his vest pocket. 

“So, how does this work?” He asks. You can tell he is irritated from the way his brow twitches and jaw muscles are still tense. He is playing along for your benefit, you realise. He is looking to you for amusement to stop himself from marching out of the tent and dealing with Elkhorn as promised. 

“I will shuffle the cards, then draw three. Each card has meaning, and all together, it will tell you the message you need to hear.” You explain. Barnes had pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering you one. You decline with a wave of your hands, instead taking the cards into your palm. He shrugs, lighting it with a half-interested sigh. 

As he inhaled and you shuffled, you noticed his interest lay closer to your exposed skin. Even if he had backed off per your request, it did not seem to stop him from undressing you with his eyes from the opposite side of the table. He seemed emnamoured by the layers of necklaces and how they clinked and rolled across your skin. 

As you shuffled, the first card fell out. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip as he watched you work. You slid the escapee card onto the table, facedown on the red tablecloth. 

“Anything in particular that you want to hear, hm?” You ask. As you lift your gaze, you find Barnes enraptured by your movements, so much so that he has forgotten to take another drag. “Most people want to know about their careers… their families. Love.”

“I don’t believe in love.” He says, sucking in a breath. You tilt your head. He didn’t believe in love, no. He believed in lust. Desire. From the way his pupils were blown and his lips parted in awe, he was positively eating out of your hand. A second card falls. You slide it next to the first. 

“Business it is, then.” You breathe. The final card falls from the deck just as the words leave your lips. You put it in place, then place the stack of the remaining deck to the side. Barnes is transfixed as you lean your arms parallel to the table and tilt forward. “Flip one.”

“Does it matter which order?”

“No.”

With unwavering confidence, he reaches forward, flipping over the first in the row. Your gaze falls downward to view the card, a frown pulling at your lips. You examine the familiar figures on the card. Two figures stood on either side, naked and chained. Behind them, in the darkness, loomed a beast with claws, horns, and wings. The Devil. 

How fitting. 

Barnes seems to find it ironic as well, as he scoffs in disbelief. “Ya playin’ a trick on me?”

You look up at him. The tension in the small tent is as thick as the smoke that hangs in the air. “No. The cards tell the truth, if you want to hear it or not.”

You reach out, stroking a finger over the card.

“The figures, they are chained. They don’t want to be there, but if you look closely… their chains are loose. They could escape at any moment.” If Barnes had a snarky comment, he does not say. He hung on to your every word. “And the longer they remain, the longer they become more like the devil. He represents the darkness within them, their shadow selves. It is the evil within you—the short-term pleasures—to ignore the long-term pains. Instant gratification. Greed, violence. You think you have free will, but you have sold your soul to the devil.”

“Tell me somethin’ I don’t already know darlin,” The outlaw says with a chuckle. You notice that his shoulders have relaxed, a cool amusement embodying him. 

You hold his gaze. “Next card.”

His fingers brush yours as he flips over the centre card. The King of Pentacles. 

“The Devil and now the King? You’re spoilin’ me, sweetheart.” He chuckles. 

You eyed the card. The king sat upon his lavish throne, surrounded by wealth. You tap your nail across the yellow pentacle symbol, humming in thought. “King of Pentacles. It represents wealth and abundance. He has influence and is a skilled leader.”

Your head tilts. “It’s a warning.”

“A warnin’? Sounds like a good card to me.” 

“The king has all that he wants. An abundance of wealth. Everything he touches turns to gold, like King Midas.”

“King Midas?”

“It’s an old tale. One of caution. About a king who was blessed with the power to turn anything he touched into gold. His kingdom flourished with wealth, but he soon found himself to be unhappy. He could not eat, as any food that touched his lips turned to gold. He could not know the comforts of the flesh, for the women would also turn to gold. Everything he once cherished…gone. Then, one day he lost the one thing he loved most, his daughter. She kissed her father upon his forehead and instantly became a statue of gold.”

“I would be a far richer man if I were this…King Midas.”

“But don’t you see? You are him. You are a king who is flush with wealth; your influence is strong. Your people flourish. Everything you do and everything you touch becomes profit. But at what cost? How much more will you lose? How much more will you give up for greed?” You finger turns to point at the Devil card. His lips are set in a straight line as he scowls at you. 

“You best be careful now.” He warns. You shudder, leaning back in your seat, motioning for him to flip the final card. 

You stare down at the table, your breath held in horror. The figure in the card sits up in bed, hands to their face in anguish. Decorating the wall behind them are a row of swords, two of which could be seen to be piercing through the figure. Stabbed through the back. The frame of the bed is carved, illustrating two figures fighting. Nine of Swords. 

Your mouth feels dry as Barnes peers at you expectantly. “Well?”

You can’t find the words; your brows are scrunching as you try to find the best way to articulate the meaning without triggering the brooding outlaw’s wrath. Your finger taps on the table, and you clear your throat, squirming in your seat. 

“Nine of Swords.” You utter quietly. “The figure… they are troubled by their own thoughts. Their worries, speculations… so much so that they manifest it into reality.”

Your fingers trace over the fighting figures. “You worry of a rising conflict.”

You ghost over the swords next. A backstabbing. 

It was all very clear to you how it all intertwined. Barnes was a man possessed by evil and greed. He had sacrificed much to accumulate his wealth; like King Midas, he had all the gold he could need, but at what cost? His followers, his people—they were afraid. Weary of their cruel leader. A coup was in the works. Jealousy brewed within his men; all they knew was evil, so all they could give was violence in return. 

“A betrayal.” You breathe. Your eyes snap up to meet his. His pupils were no longer blown, instead replaced with an icy rage. 

“How do ya know this?” His voice had dropped, low and threatening. His cigarette was discarded, flecks of burning ash glowing across the floor. His shoulders were tensed, straining against the fabric as he began to loom over you, slowly standing from his seat. 

You shrunk back. “I don’t, I just read the cards—” 

You let out a shriek as Barnes gripped the table, flipping it in one solid motion. The cards fluttered to the ground around you, the glossy paper flickering in the low candle light. You recoiled in your seat, limbs trembling as Barnes stood over you. 

“Did Rumlow put you up to this, huh? I know what him and his little pack of vermin have been whisperin’.” He spat on the ground beside you, and you flinched back. Barnes reached down, gripping your throat as he forced you to look up at him. 

“I don’t know anythin’. I swear—” You begged, tears prickling at your eyes. 

Barnes scanned your face, then released you with a huff. You scrambled away, retreating to the furthest corner of the tent. Barnes waved his hand at you with a sigh, re-buttoning his vest and straightening his shirt. 

“I’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt, darlin’. But if I find out you’ve been lyin’...I’ll kill ya myself. Ya understand?” 

You nodded wordlessly, whimpering as the outlaw marched out of your tent without a glance back. 

—

“Where is she?” The enraged roar of Bucky Barnes sent a nauseating wave of panic through your body. 

A couple weeks had past, and Elkhorn’s Travelling Circus and Freakshow were wrapping up their stay. Duke Elkhorn wanted to push further west, bring entertainment to the drivers and rustlers of the far reaches of the country. Within two days, you were set to leave this awful place and flee the clutches of Barnes and his boys. 

Well, it seemed that had been hopeful thinking. 

You were in your tent, in your personal quarters. You had pulled shut the draperies to allow yourself privacy. The strong men, slick with oil and always sporting toothy grins, were always eager to deliver you water to bathe in. It had become a sort of ritualistic routine of yours to undress and wash the makeup from your face. After hours of sitting in a stuffy tent stinking of incense, it was a relief to wash the smell from your body. 

You wore a silk robe, loosely tied at the waist. It had been a gift from a patron back east—some rich city boy who had a fascination with you. When Barnes crashed through your draperies into the back of your tent, chest heaving with a livid look in his eye… you froze. You were perched on a stool before your cracked mirror, pulling a brush through your long locks of hair. 

You stumbled to your feet, stool knocked to the ground. 

Barnes was covered in blood, his shirt so drenched that it clung to his skin. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his teeth were bared in a growl. The blood was still fresh on his arms and neck, the liquid glinting in the candlelight. He had not bothered to wear his hat; instead, his hair was messy, with a splattering of blood across his cheek.

“I told ya I would kill ya myself.” The outlaw snarled. 

You backed away, back meeting the tent wall. “I didn’t do anythin—”

You were cut off as Barnes marched forward, large hands wrapping around your throat. He squeezed tightly, a breathless whimper escaping your mouth.

“How did ya know?” He demanded, his face twisted into a look of rage. 

You claw at the front of his shirt, sticky blood coating your palms as you struggle. 

“Ya knew about Rumlow. Ya warned me of a betrayal.” 

He releases the pressure on your throat, and you meekly gasp in air, nails digging into his shoulder as you try to keep your knees steady. 

“I didn’t know, I just said what the cards showed—” You rasp. Barnes doesn’t seem pleased by your answer, jaw muscle ticing. 

“I don’t believe in yer magical horseshit. I know it’s all tricks and acts. How did ya know?”

“The cards aren’t magical. Each card has a meaning that can be understood in different ways, it’s my job to apply them to whoever walks into my tent. The cards just reveal thoughts you have not quite spoken aloud—ideas at the back of your mind. They ask you to confront your inner self. You knew Rumlow was a traitor before the cards, you had a suspicion, but you did not act on it until prompted by the cards.” You wheezed out. The outlaw slowly releases your throat, his face controrting into something closer to frustration than rage. Your palms brace flat on his chest as you steady yourself against him. 

“Deep down, you already knew he was a traitor.” You reiterate. 

“You’re a fuckin’ witch.” He breathes, then runs a hand through his messy hair. Blood streaks across his forehead, clumping his strands of hair. His head tilts as he looks down at you. His face has relaxed, as if a silent clarity had overcome him. “Even if ya deny it… ya did warn me.”

You clear your throat, hand raising to your neck as you brush your fingers over the tender flesh where he had gripped you. “You warned yourself.”

He stares down at you, then frowns guiltily. “Apologies, darlin’. I shouldn’t have done that to ya.”

You believe him.

You hold your breath as his fingers briefly skim over your neck. His gaze falls deeper, his eyes following the curve of your breast that was half-exposed by your robe. The fabric was bunched into a deep v, leaving the swell of your breasts, sternum, and skin down to your belly button exposed. The outlaw sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, then stalks away with a frustrated growl. 

“Barnes—” you call to him softly.

“Bucky.” He corrects.

You catch a glance at yourself in the mirror. The silk robe hangs perfectly from your curves, blood smeared across your chest and neck. You suck in your own deep breath, sweeping your hair over your shoulders as you hesitantly approach the outlaw. He paced like the beasts Elkhorn kept caged up, endlessly forced to perform for cruel crowds. You knew what he needed. A delicate touch, a sweetness to lean on. 

“Speak to me.” You whisper to him, gentle hands guiding him to the edge of your bed. The canopy was draped with deep purple fabrics, furs, and blankets over the straw mattress. He silently obliges. 

“One of my boys, one I thought I could trust. He betrayed me. Thought he could make a little gang of his own and overthrow me from the inside.” The outlaw explains. His voice is stiff, and his posture is tense. You smooth a palm over his forearm, and your thigh presses against his as you sit closely together. 

There is a distant look in his eye as he stares past you at the wall of the tent. It shifts with the cool breeze outside, rising and falling like the night itself breathes. “I dealt with it.”

You cock your head to the side, hand running up his arm as you examine his face with a frown. “Dealt with it?” 

His eyes snap to yours, and your hand wavers in hesitation. There is a darkness in his eyes. His expression made goosebumps rise across your skin. You could only explain it as something primal, something caught between violence and arousal. 

“I made them pay.” He explains, his body twisting as he faces you fully. A bloodied hand raises, his thumb rubbing across your cheek as he cradles your face. “After two days, they begged me to end it. To end their lives.”

“And did you?” You dare to whisper back. His thumb traces inward, across your lower lip. 

“No.” He says simply. “I cut out their tongues so they could no longer beg. I made them pay.”

Your eyes must have been wide in shock because he chuckled, his hand sweeping through your hair. Then, with an uncharacteristic softness to his tone, he utters a question. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart thunders in your ears, a short gasp leaving you as your lips part. In all your travels, you have heard stories of women who could make men fall in love with them with just their eyes. Women who used their bodies and seduced their way to the top. Even violent men like Bucky had one weakness—a woman who showed them kindness. A woman who could momentarily take control. The men would let their minds drift away; the burdens were lifted, if only for a night. 

Heat pools between your legs. You nod, a hand reaching to stroke across his jaw. The two of you meet in mutual desperation and touch once gentle, now needy. His tongue brushes against your lips, effortlessly parting them as he licks into your mouth. A moan escapes your throat at the taste of his tongue.

Your hands find the front of his shirt, blindly unbuttoning as he grips your hair in one hand. The outlaw groans as his hand slides across your shoulders, pushing away the robe. Your top half is exposed, nipples have hardened, and silk has pooled at your waist. 

As your tongues tangle, Bucky tilts his head to gain better access to your mouth. Your gasps meet his as he moans heavily into your mouth. His hands trace along your body, one squeezing your waist and hips, the other coming to grasp your breast. 

With a tug, you pull his shirt free. The two of you part, your head lulling back as he paints sloopy, feverish kisses down your neck. A groan rises in your throat as you lean into him, one hand gripping his dark hair and the other beginning to palm him through his pants. 

His kisses move further down, head dipping as he licks a stripe across your breast. He takes a nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking as you gasp and lean into him. The space between your legs is throbbing; a wet neediness rising. 

You clutch his thigh, squirming with desire. The stubble along his jaw prickles your flesh, and a shudder runs down your spine. Your hands find his, easing his grip on your hips as you slide off the bed. Lowering yourself to the floor on your knees, you sit between his legs. Bucky lets out a groan as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown, and his lips are swollen and glossy. Your hands trace up his thighs, and your quick fingers relieve him of his belt. 

“Let me.” You hum to him. You tilt your head, your cheek brushing against his knee. His adams apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I can make you feel good.”

You can see his bulge under the fabric. He eagerly helps you pull his pants down, his cock springing free already fully hard. You press a kiss to the tip. His cock twitches in response and a low moan vibrates in his chest. You look up at him through your lashes, biting your lip. He leans back, looking at the tent roof, as his chest rises and falls with a loud, satisfied sigh. 

There was a power that resonated in your chest, seeing the outlaw so vulnerable under your touch. He did not protest your lead, instead eagerly following your command. You take him into your mouth slowly, one hand running up his thigh as the other wraps around his length. 

You bob your head, feeling him tense with pleasure beneath you. As you come up, you whisper to him quietly. “Relax.”

As your tongue swirls over his tip, then down his broad length, you feel his hips rock beneath you. His hand comes to fist your hair, subtly guiding you as you take him fully into your mouth once more. You follow his needs, taking notice of each pleasured twitch or motion in response to your touch. His fingers tangle in your long locks of hair, tugging as you pull unimaginable, explicit sounds from the outlaw. 

“Fuck—” He groans above you, his breath coming in short pants. You hum in response, relishing the sensation of him falling to pieces beneath you. The spot between your legs was slick, and wetness was beginning to drip down your inner thigh. There was a selfish urge within you that desired to reach down between your legs to gift yourself some friction. 

You swallowed him down deeper, flattening your tongue against his ridgid length. His hips started to jerk, stronger than the previous gentle rocking. You could feel him growing undone, his breath coming shorter, and his nails desperately digging into your scalp as he desperately tried to guide your head deeper and deeper. 

You obliged, but only as you felt his cock twitch once more did you pull away fully. Not yet. You weren’t finished with him yet. The outlaw let out a pained grumble. His hands caressed your shoulders as you rose to your feet. 

“Darlin’—” Bucky protests, but you shush him. 

“How much do you want me, hm?” You ask him. He has propped himself up onto his elbows to look up at you. His cock was still erect, glistening in the candlelight from your saliva. 

“I want you.” He affirms.

“How desperately? Would you get on your knees for me? Beg for me?” You say it breathlessly. You take one of his hands in yours, pressing a kiss to the palm. 

His breath stutters. “Yes.” 

“Go on then.” As the words leave your mouth, your eyes flicker upwards. You look at him through your lashes.

“Please, sweetheart—” He whines. You cock your head to the side, peppering more kisses along each fingertip. 

“Louder.” 

“Please.” He begs. You smirk down at him wickedly, shifting closer. Your palm meets his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed as his elbows buckle beneath him. 

“Lie back.” You instruct, helping guide his legs so he lies flat along the bed. In one fluid motion, you straddle his waist, his silk robe still pooling around your hips. You lean over him, taking one of the waist straps of your robe. With slow breaths, you move the soft fabric across his bloodied chest, tracing each vein and muscle before finally grazing it across his nipples. He shudders beneath you, his grip bruising where he grasps your hips. 

“Say it again.” You breathe. You are embarrassingly wet as you sit perched upon him. 

“Please. I need you.” He obeys, and another wave of arousal washes over you. Only now did you give in to your selfish desires, dead rolling back as you ground your hips slowly. Your lips parted, a small mewling moan leaving you as you clenched around nothing. You flatten a hand over his chest, allowing him to help guide you as you raise onto your knees. 

With one gentle movement, you lower yourself onto him. Your wet heat engulfs him, and the two of you groan in unison. You feel yourself stretch around him, and you moan as you allow your body to take him in completely. His hands tighten their hold on your waist. 

Bucky looks at you with a slightly slack-jawed expression. “Fuck, sweetheart. I think I’m gonna make ya my wife.”

You manage a smile through your own arousal, your hand gliding up and down his chest as you move your hips in a grinding motion. You gasp out a low, “Oh yeah?”

His head tips back with a moan as you clench around him. You experiment momentarily, brows drawn and biting your lip, until you find a grinding rhythm that ignites a fire within you. Bucky meets you halfway, helping guide you with his hands still gripping your hips. Your head lulls forward, small panting gasps leaving you as your eyes squeeze shut. 

“I’ll make you beg for that too…Fuck—” You whine, and Bucky chuckles beneath you. He continues to help direct your hips, and your thighs begin to shake as you lower and raise yourself. 

A strangled cry leaves you as Bucky’s hand lowers, his thumb circling your clit. Pleasure spikes up your spine, your knees wobbling as you nearly double over at the sensation. His fingers swirl with purpose, pulling all manner of illicit words and sounds from your throat. 

“You like that, sweetheart?” Bucky hummed.

Just as you feel like sobbing from the pleasure, you cock your head to the side. With a deep breath, you tug Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him upright to meet you. The two of you clash, breath hot. His arms wrap around you, pinning you to his chest as he kisses you with a primal hunger. You moan into his mouth, your tongue sloppily moving against his as he begins to thrust vigorously. 

You could feel your climax building steadily within you, the peak of a tumbling wave that had not yet crested. Bucky was a panting, sweaty mess beneath you. He greedily kissed and sucked along your neck, head dipping as he ran his tongue along your collarbone. 

Your own head fell, teeth grazing across his neck. He tastes like salt and copper. You nuzzled your nose against his jaw, taking his earlobe between your teeth. Deep within you, you felt his cock twitch. 

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your fingers tugging at his hair. That pulled a groan from him, the noise vibrating across your skin. With a devious smile pressed against his cheek, you lean in close to his ear. Breath hot, you whisper into his ear. 

“Come for me.”

As if he had been waiting for those exact words, he explodes within you. The sensation tips you over the edge, a thundering in your ears defeans you as your eyes roll back into your head. You clench around Bucky tightly, your body milking every last drop of him as he lazily ruts the last of his energy into you. 

The two of you pant, catching a breath as you both come to a halt. The outlaw nuzzles your neck with a content sigh, then laughs against your sweaty skin. 

“I wasn’t jokin’ earlier.” He finally speaks up, his voice somewhat more dignified now that he wasn’t a moaning mess beneath you. 

“Hm?” You respond sleepily, too fucked-out to be bothered opening your eyes. 

“I’m gonna steal ya away from here. Make ya my goddamn wife.”

You wonder if your seatmate can feel your leg shake as the nerves tap out against the plane floor. Sure, you’re excited, you’re ready to meet Din in person but there still is trepidation twisting inside of you. You’ve never done anything like this at all. You’ve never met a client and now you’re on a plane headed to one. You’ve known him for only four months, but the connection the two of you share is something you’ve never believed to be something you’d find. You’ve dealt with enough men wearing wedding bands who tell you they love you, that you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve seen, that you’re their whole world. Love is a ridiculous concept when you charge ten dollars a minute. 

With Din, it’s different, it’s something that can be named, can be felt, can be solved, and yet so many questions about it remain. What do you call the quiet silence that exists between the two of you, happy to be on the phone keeping each other company every night? The small laugh and head shake he does whenever you tell him he’s cute? The random texts of his life that always brightens your day? The way he nods with zero judgment when he hears the ding of your new client alert? What do you call the decision that got you here on this plane? 

You read the same page over and over in your book. Will you sleep in his bed tonight? 

You give up on reading and stare forward at the little map on the seat screen. What does he smell like?

You look out the window and watch the clouds disintegrate around you. Is he just as nervous as you?

You turn the volume up and try to drown out your racing thoughts. Will this all be worth it?

Two hours left to find out. 

___

You step off the escalator, eyes scanning the crowded baggage claim area for the reason why you’ve taken a six hour flight halfway across the country. Your hands grip the backpack strap tighter trying to calm the nerves overtaking your heart and brain.

There, right there, leaning against a column alone in the shadows is Din and the brown eyes you’ve only dreamt of seeing in real life. He straightens when you make eye contact, but makes zero attempt to move, still frozen against the column. You lose the fight to hide your smile and excitement hurriedly shuffling over to him, he smiles as you get closer, the same shy half grin he gives when he says good night. His hands slip out of his pockets as you approach. Goodness, he’s so big and handsome, he could be a heartbreaker of all sorts to anybody he sets his sights on. The phone doesn’t do his beauty any justice.

“Hi,” you smile.

“H-hey, I can’t believe you’re… here,” his voice sounds even smoother and deeper in person.

“I am,” you shuffle on your feet. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

He tucks his hands back into his hoodie pocket, his silent rejection shoots a pang of longing through you. 

You thought it’d play out like a grand romantic movie, you’d jump into his outstretched arms and he’d never let go. Din’s rejection fills you with jealousy… screw all of the happy couples. You hate those movies now.

Touch me.

Of course he’s nervous, you’re nervous too, you’re just better at hiding it. He still leans against the column, shielded by the liminal space.

“Do you have luggage?” He’s right in front of you and yet you’re too scared to touch him, too anxious you’ll scare him away. 

“Nope, just my backpack and carry-on.” 

Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Oh, okay, did you want to leave then?”

“I didn’t come here to see the airport Din,” you place a hand on his hoodie clad arm. He looks down and stares. 

Did you overstep? You couldn’t have, you just watched this same man orgasm for you last night while chanting how he couldn’t wait to paint you with his cum. 

“Din,” you snap him out of his stare, “come on, I’m ready to leave.” 

You know he’s not trying to reject you, but his nervous aloofness is overwhelming when all you want is for him to touch you… just once. 

“I—uh, here, let me take your bags,” he mumbles, reaching past you to grab your suitcase. “It’s really cold, do you have a heavier jacket?” 

“No, but I’ll be okay,” you reassure. The cold won’t sting nearly as much as Din’s seemingly innocent rejection.  

“Here,” he pulls the collar of his hoodie over his head. “I’m used to this cold. You aren’t.” 

You take the bundle of black fabric from his outstretched hand, not realizing just how cold you were until you put the hoodie warmed by his body heat on. It smells of him. Faint hints of campfire, wood, leather, citrus, and cinnamon. You wish you were wrapped up in Din himself, touching him, smelling him, tasting him. Hug me, kiss me, let me hug you, let me kiss you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Whatever is happening inside of him seems to be bleeding over into your mind. You’re now second guessing every decision to come here. He was excited last night, he texted you this morning how he couldn’t wait to see you, is he disappointed? 

“Yeah, of course,” he nods and turns towards the door, walking away in quick strides leaving you alone in the dark corner near that damn column he’d rather touch than you. He has your suitcase and backpack, so either this is a really expensive way to get robbed or he has zero clue how his actions are affecting you. 

He turns back to you as he reaches the automatic doors, his eyes wide with guilt when he spots you still standing in the same place he left you. Well, at least he feels bad. 

You let a deep breath out to steel yourself and walk to him.

“I-I’m sorry, just not used to ever having to… you know…”

“I know, it’s okay Din,” you gently smile. What in the world have you gotten yourself into?

“I’m just—“

“Nervous. I know Din, it’s okay. I understand this is a lot.”

“It is, but just… know that how I’m acting is not how I’m feeling. I’m really happy to have you here. You’re so… beautiful and I—thank you for being here with me.”

There it is. Everything is worth it now. The early morning Uber to the airport, the neverending TSA line, the cramped airplane seat, the nervousness you feel. You’d do it all again to hear that sentence. 

“Of course, I know. You’re okay,” you take his hand. If he’s not going to do it, you’ll do it. “Come on, let’s go.” 

His eyes stay downcast staring at your hand wrapped around his.

You clear your throat to get his attention, his eyes snap up to yours. “Din, let’s go.”

“R-right. Of course. Right.” 

He leads you out the door, gripping your hand harder when the bitter wind lashes against your skin. 

The two of you weave your way through the parking lot until you reach a large silver truck. It’s clean with a few dents and scratches. Well taken care of but old. 

Din opens the creaky door and helps you step up. The black leather seat is smooth as you slide across it.

Din places your luggage in the back before opening his door and deftly stepping in. 

You hide a deep exhale when he starts the engine.

He clears his throat and you look over. “It’s–uh nice to see you in here.”

“I’m glad,” you smile, turning and reaching your hand out to touch his cheek. Your thumb finds the little heart patch on the side of his face, you’ve been thinking about how it’d feel since you first saw it. You can’t help yourself, he looks so delicate, as if he’s aching to be touched but too scared to ask for it. You’re holding a scared fawn in your hands. Don’t scare him, don’t move too quickly, let him figure things out on his own. 

His lips part as he inhales, deep brown eyes staring into yours, the nervousness radiating off his skin fills the truck cabin. You wish you could just throw caution to the wind and force him to tell you exactly how he’s feeling, to slide across the bench seat and beg him to take you right here in this airport parking lot. You don’t. You pull your hand away and put your seatbelt on.

“I can’t wait to see your home. I’ve never been to an actual farm before.”

___

You’ve seen glimpses of Din’s home in random pictures he’s texted you or your nightly FaceTime sessions, but you never imagined just how picturesque it could be. A large white two story farmhouse situated in the middle of a vast expanse of green grass, a small tin roofed barn sits to the side with a herd of goats happily grazing. Din’s life must be so peaceful here, very different compared to your townhouse in the middle of suburbia.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse as he pulls into the driveway. “I can understand why you never wanted to leave.” 

The truck stops in front of his home, a german shepherd and a little schnauzer run down the porch steps and head for Din’s truck.

“They’ll be fine with you, but let me get out so I can control them.” 

Din gets out of the truck, you chuckle to yourself as his clipped directions to the dogs are drowned out by excited barks. 

He opens your door and reaches his hand out.

“Grogu! Boba! Back!” Din shouts as he helps you step down. His raised voice makes your heart skip a beat. You didn’t know he could ever be this loud.

“It’s okay, I like your dogs, you know I think they’re cute,” you bend down and tap on your knees to beckon them over. “This must be Grogu,” you scratch his soft ears. “He does have big ears.”

“They’re not that used to other people.”

“Hmm,” you stand up and pat the top of Boba’s head, “sounds like someone I know.”

He chuckles as he walks up the porch steps and unlocks the front door. 

Warmth fills your body as you walk over the threshold. White walls, worn floorboards, antique furniture, all of it taken care of and clean. Tidy and well kept up, a lot like his truck, aged but in better shape and made to last; a far change from your newbuild townhouse and IKEA furniture. 

“Diiin,” you breathe, “it’s beautiful in here. Like… I knew you lived in a nice house, but wow, between this and the farm… when do you sleep?”

“I sleep enough. I’ll go get your bags, make yourself… at home.”

You take a seat on his couch, it’s perfect for him. Beige, simple lines, nothing fancy, not too comfortable, but probably the height of cozy after a long day working on a farm. Grogu jumps up and sits next to you, his little bearded face panting happily next to yours. You scratch his chest and praise him as he inches closer towards you. Boba stays near the entry, waiting for Din.

“Think he likes you,” Din says as he places your bags by the steps. “Don’t take Boba’s standoffishness personally he’s–”

“Like you. I know,” you smile.

“Did– what would you like to do?”

“Can I see the computer where you first talked to me?”

“Um, yeah,” he walks down the hallway leaving you behind yet again, “it’s just in here.”

You shake your head and rise off the couch to follow, obviously he’s not used to company.

You walk into a small office, everything has a place, efficient and tidy, perfectly Din. Paperwork stacked in neat stacks, a calendar with his sharp writing all over it hung on the wall, today’s date circled with your name written in the box. 

A black monitor sits on a mahogany desk. 

“This is the computer, huh?” you ask, running your hands across the black keyboard,

“It is.”

“So this is where it all began? You sat there, clicked on my picture, and now look. I remember when I first heard your voice,” you face him taking both of his hands in yours, “it was so deep and warm, it lit something inside of me.”

You guide his arms to wrap around you, his hands rest on your lower back.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after our first session ended. There was something so pure and mysterious about you, I knew you weren’t lying about wanting to know. It wasn’t some kink you had, I knew you needed help. I felt lucky to be the one to show you.” 

He sighs as you rest your head against his chest hearing the rhythm of his heart. “I closed that window so many times before finally agreeing and joining. I-I kept on thinking about how I could talk to someone as beautiful as you, all it would take is just a click. You were so pretty.” 

“Just a click,” you whisper, craning your neck up as Din lowers his head. His nose bumps against yours, his plush bottom lip is captured between your lips, another part of him you’ve wanted to touch since you first saw him. You finally kiss him, sweet and tender, his lips molding to yours perfectly. He pulls you in closer, his tongue hesitantly dipping into your mouth as you lick against him. The past fifteen weeks have finally led to this moment inside of this old farmhouse office in the middle of nowhere. Your Din and his soft lips, tense hands against your back, your soft coos mingling with his low groans, you could stay in this moment forever, if it wasn’t for Din’s phone beeping in his pocket. 

“I’m sorry,” he pulls away, a bashful smile adorns his face, “I need to go take care of the goats before sundown.”

“Of course.” 

He hugs you, planting a soft kiss against your forehead and inhaling your scent before leaving. He’s warming up…

___

Din loves soup. You know this by the nights you spend with him over the phone. The man eats soup almost every single night. Soup with bread, soup and a baked potato, soup and steak, soup, soup, soup. 

You can’t blame him, the stew and homemade rolls he serves you for dinner are delicious. He shyly tells you it’s his speciality when he places the porcelain bowl in front of you. 

You could get used to the farm life. A fire burns in the fireplace while the tv plays Din’s favorite movie he’s been wanting to show you, some film about a galaxy far far away and an unlikely hero. The man loves space. 

His arm slung across your shoulder lies heavily on you, warming you inside and out. Grogu sleeps on your lap, softly snoring as you pet his gray fur. Din occasionally sneaks a kiss against your hair, you don’t know if you’ve ever been more comfortable in your life. 

The movie ends, a grand symphonic score plays over the credits. 

“That was really good,” you smile towards Din. “I liked it.”

A grin slowly stretches across his face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, thank you for showing me it.”

“You’re welcome,” he gazes at you, the same look he smolders through the phone, like he can’t believe his luck that you’re talking to him. 

You attempt to fight a yawn and lose. Your eyes blink tiredly at Din when he reaches and rubs his thumb against your cheek. 

“Did you want to,” he clears his throat, “sleep in my room with me tonight?”

“Only if you want me to Din.”

“I, uh, I do.”

“Okay, I’d like that.”

___

The airplane and long day washes off and rinses down Din’s shower drain. You use his washcloth and think of his hands touching you. You smell his soap and think of inhaling the scent as he holds you close. You don’t know what’s about to happen once you leave this room. If you’re this nervous, how does he feel? 

Din looks up from the book he’s reading and watches you step out of the bathroom shyly padding over and getting into bed.

“What are you reading?” you whisper.

“Some book about a cowboy warrior in space…”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s good.”

“You know,” you look around the simple bedroom, “I see this room all the time, but only the wall behind your bed, hardly anything else. It’s been really nice seeing more of your life.”

He nods, blinking back to his book. 

The night can’t end like this. 

You grab the book from his hands and place it on the table.

“What are you thinking about Din? I never know what’s going on inside of you.”

“H-how pretty you look wearing that.” 

You look down at the pink silk tank top and shorts and swallow down a smile. You specifically wore it because you know how Din’s eyes light up whenever you put it on. “It’s my favorite because it’s so soft. Do you want to feel it?” 

He turns to you wide-eyed and gives you a solitary nod. 

“Go ahead Din.”

His tan hand splays across your stomach, golden toned skin rests against the blushy silk of your tank.

“S’soft,” he murmurs to himself.

“Here,” you place your hand over his and press down, “really feel it.”

His eyes angle down watching your hand navigate his around your stomach to just below your breasts. His mouth sits slightly agape, thick brows furrowing in concentration as you slip his hand underneath the fabric, his trembling calloused fingers making contact with your skin. 

“Am I soft here Din?”

“Y-Yes,” he stammers. 

“Touch me, as little or as much as you want. Wherever you’re comfortable doing, okay?” you remove your hand from his. “I came here for you… whatever you want… I want..”

“I want to,” he gulps, “I want to touch you all over.”

“I’m all yours baby.” 

His shoulders deflate with a groan, he trails his hand higher to cup one of your breasts. The tips of his fingers peek out of the top of your tank. Tan, well worked strong hands lay against your smooth skin. The sight makes you moan, your teeth gnawing at your lip, trying to qualm the temptation to touch him further. 

“Take it off Din.” His dark brown eyes beam up to yours. “Go ahead baby.” 

He grabs the hem of your tank top, softly bundling it in his hands and lifting it over your head leaving you bare chested. 

“Kiss me and touch me baby,” you gently will. 

His lips form over yours, his hands return to your skin, petting and caressing your breasts before you cover them, pushing them farther down your stomach. His breaths quicken against your mouth when you slip his hands underneath the band of your shorts. 

“Fuck,” he pants against your lips when his hand meets the wetness seeping from your pussy. “Fuuuuuck.” 

“You feel me baby? That’s how wet you always make me, ever since the first time we talked and all you were was a black square with a sexy voice. It’s like we were destined in the stars.” 

“God damnit, you’re so soft,” Din’s hips buck into the air, his head thuds against the headboard when his thick finger slips in between your folds. “I-I-I oh god, I’m– I think I’m going to cum. I’m sorr–” 

“It’s okay baby, I’m here, cum for me.” Your hand reaches down and grips his hard cock through his black sweatpants. “Cum for me Din.” 

You feel a warm wet spot spread against your hand, pulling a moan from you.. 

“I’m--agh– sorry,” his big eyes stare at you, a hint of shame rounds them. “You feel so amazing.” He pulls his hand out of your shorts.

“No,” you whimper at the loss of contact. “I like it baby, I like that you like me so much that happened. Please don't apologize. Keep touching me if you want to. Do you?” 

“God,” his eyes shrink in determination, “yes I do.” 

“Okay baby.”

You sit in between his stretched out legs, lifting your hips to take off your shorts, spreading your legs wide, much the same way you do for your clients. 

He stares at your exposed skin, eyes mapping every dip, curve and dimple of your body. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I can’t believe you’re here… for me.”

“Of course I am baby.” 

His fingers trace the plains of your legs, moving their way up to your thighs. His face set in a determinative scowl, eyes fixated on your core as he inches closer to it, now aching and soaked for him. 

“I-I’ve never done this.”

“I know baby, you remember our first call?” 

He nods.

“Remember what I told you what I liked?”

Another nod.

“Do that for me baby, touch me. Make me feel good.” A thick finger meets your lips, tracing a line up from your entrance to your clit before softly rubbing a circle around your sensitive nub. He remembered.

“You’re so wet for me,” he breathes out, his eyes staying planted staring at your pussy beguiled by his own actions.

“I am Din, only for you. I think about you every time. I-I,” you moan when he sticks a finger inside, slowly pumping it in and out, “I only want you.” 

“Only want you too, baby. C-can I taste you?”

“Ye–oh my god, yes Din, I’m yours, do whatever you want to me.” 

“I’m yours, anything you wa–”

“Sit on my face,” he growls. 

“O-of course.” 

You crawl towards him, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips before straddling his face, your dripping cunt hovers right over his mouth. He grips your ass and pulls you down, smothering himself with all of your slickness. You cover him like a mask, he worships your taste like a religion, moaning and groaning into your sweet pussy. Your praises about how good he’s doing and how amazing you feel incant out of your mouth as he takes you to paradise. Plush lips suck and savor you, your hands grip the bed frame like a precious artifact, his devotion to you and your pleasure pulls a melting orgasm from you. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pray at his altar, knees bowed and quaking against his ears as he drinks your offering down. You’re shattered, everything you’ve ever believed in replaced by Din and his idolatry of you. 

You move your lust drunk body off and lay down next to Din. His face shines with a gloss of you, his tongue peeks out and licks his lips, before sending you a shy smile.

“You’re amazing,” he incredulously mutters. 

“You are too,” a doting grin lights your face before pulling him in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on him, a moan leaves your throat at the realization. 

Strong arms envelop you, pulling you closer to him, his hard cock juts against the soft skin of your thigh. 

“Already?” you pull back and tease. 

“C-can I feel you?” 

“Feel me?” 

“Yes, c-can I… can we….?”

A rush of anticipation thrums through your body at the implication of his nervousness.

“Yes Din, we can. Are you sure this is what you want tonight? We can wait.”

“N-no. I want you, I-I want this,” he moves his sweatpants down, kicking them off. 

“Okay baby, okay,” you kiss him, grabbing his face, petting the soft hair of his sparse beard.

He rolls on top of you, cradling your head between his strong forearms, a heated kiss licks into your mouth as his naked weight covers you. Your legs open in a silent offer for Din to take everything you have. You can just feel the heft of his cock ghosting against your entrance. 

He looks down at you, brown eyes wide, plush mouth parted, brows softened with adoration. 

You send him a silent nod and smile when his cock enters you, feeling a sense of honor that you’re the one Din has chosen for this. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The green accept button, the reserved man dressed in all black, the deep voice, the connection between two screens. Now, you’re here with Din, moaning and rolling your hips to accept the length of him.

His neck strains when he sheathes his cock fully inside of you, panting and groaning as he slowly rocks back and forth.

“You … feel … like … heaven… I love your pussy… I love your body…. I… love you.”

He freezes at the divulgence, body locked in shock at his slip. 

Your face lifts in a reassuring grin. “I love you too,” your hand grabs his chin, bringing his lips to yours. 

You love him, you’ve known it for so long, but here in this farmhouse bed you can hear it, you can feel it. 

Your bodies meld, hips meeting, lips locked, he gives you everything, you give him everything. Your pussy clenches around his slow, full strokes. This is making love. 

“Baby, I-I.. I’m going t–” he strains. 

“Go ahead Din, I got you.” Your hands trail up and down the expanse of his smooth back. He grunts, burying his head into the crook of your neck, fevered breaths hit your skin as his cum fills you.

He rolls off, pulling you to his side and kissing the top of your hair. 

“Wow… I.. are you okay?”

“What?” your head perks up.

“You didn’t… uh–”

“I did when you fucked me with your tongue Din, I’m very happy and satisfied.” 

“Oh, I just… I want to make sure you’re good.”

“Baby, I am very good. Trust me.” 

“I love you,” he breathes.

“I love you too Din…” you rest your head against his chest, the exhaustion of the day settling in, quickly lulling you to sleep. This is the way to go to bed.

___

The faint sound of running water gently rouses you from the most peaceful slumber you’ve had. The sun has barely peaked over the horizon, the room’s still shrouded in a lazy darkness. 

Din’s long sigh echoes against the tiles of the shower like a siren song. 

You pad out of bed toward the bathroom, pushing the door wide open. 

Your mouth drops at the sight ahead of you… Din’s muscular, toned golden body shines underneath a glistening sheen of water. He runs a gray wash rag across his stomach, the mop of dark, curly hair right underneath his hand beckons you to look farther down. You’ve seen him so many times before, almost every night, but this is the first time you’ve been able to see all of him in person. Din is a big man, his cock matches his stature. Just as long, just as broad, just as golden. God, he’s gorgeous. 

You knock on the doorframe catching his attention, surprise tensing across his whole body. 

“Good morning,” you purr, “can I join you?”

He nods, his cock grows visibly hard when you walk over and get in. The warm steam, Din’s naked body, and the smell of Din’s cedar body wash engulfs you, this is the way to wake up. 

“Mmm, the hot water feels good,” you sigh, leaning your head against his chest. Din’s cock rests heavily in between you, tempting you to touch it. “Want me to wash you?”

He groans a yes. 

“You can wash me too,” you propose, squeezing a dollop of body wash onto your palm, running it across your chest before leaving suds on your hands. “Go ahead Din.”

Drops of water land against your skin as his trembling hands slowly reach for your breasts. He massages and kneads, both palms laying against your tits, his touch turns more searing when your hands land on his chest, rubbing in the soap along the dusting of hair stretched across his broad body. 

Your nipples pebble under his nervous, firm touch and undivided attention. He hisses when your hands slink farther down, running across the damp curls of his happy trail leading you to his cock standing between his thighs, thick and dripping. You wrap a fist around his length, his knees weaken causing his body to smash against the wall, his face grimacing in pleasured agony.

“Fuck,” he pants, water rains down into his wide open mouth, splashing out with every exclamation of your name he repeats as he cums all over your stomach. 

Your tongue runs up the column of his neck to his mouth, swallowing his rapid breaths. 

“You feel so good against me,” he gasps against your lips. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I am baby, I am,” you coo, wrapping your arms around him, wishing you could live in this tiny shower forever. This is the way to wake up.

___

Din settles on the porch swing next to you, pulling your blanket wrapped body close to him. 

“Is this what you do every morning?” 

“Just about,” he says before taking a drink of his coffee. 

“It’s nice,” you yawn, “early but nice.” 

He chuckles, “You get used to it.” “Mm,” you rest your head on his chest, smelling the fresh dew and hay on his flannel jacket. 

“I really like you being here,” he softly says.

“I really like being here too.”

“You know,” he gulps, “you can do your job here… with me.”

___

A/N: Thank you for reading! This ending makes me feel:

“Learn?”

“Yes, learn, I-I,” he sighs, “I’ve never been with anybody before.”

“Oh.” With that voice? You don’t know what he looks like, but his voice has already turned you on so much you can’t imagine somebody who sounds like that is a virgin. You turn the volume all the way up. “So, you want me to show you what girls like?”

“What a girl like you likes, yes.”

“I can do that for you. I’m going to start the timer now.” 

You know this feeling, the click of the mouse on the green BEGIN button, the lean back to get your body in the whole frame, the spreading of your legs to show your viewer what they really want to see. 

“What do you want me to show baby?” You ask as you run your hand along your neck and down to your breasts.

“Show me what you like when someone has you.”

How are you so turned on by his voice? The way it flows through your speakers, the deep baritone of his serious voice, it does something to you… and it’s just a voice.

“I like when a guy plays with my nipples,” your hands cup your breasts, pulling and massaging them into peaks. “I like when they lick them,” you dribble spit down to your chest, swiping your fingers through it and spreading it across your chest. 

His long exhale massages your body through those damn tinny speakers. Usually by now your  screen is full of your client’s dick, you’ve become very good at staring at the camera, ignoring the tugging and actions on the screen in your peripheral vision. This time, that voice makes you wish you could see him. 

“I like when they drag their hands all over my body,” your hand travels down your stomach to your thighs and back up. 

“I like when they tell me they want to touch my body. Do you want to touch my body?”

“Y-yes.”

“What do you want to touch?”

“E-everywhere, you look like you’re so soft. I want to touch your legs, they look so smooth.”

“I’d like that,” you smile at the camera, “do you want me to touch my pussy for you?” 

“Uh huh.” 

You lay back, spreading your legs wide, dipping your hand down to pet yourself. You’re not surprised to find that you’re already wet, the mysterious man’s deep voice mixed with the desolate black screen and the sight of his black shirt moving as he breathes is enough for you.

You wonder how old he is, what he looks like, why he chose your room, why he’s obviously not touching himself. He’s a mystery you want to figure out. You welcome the luxury of not having to pretend you like what you see. You like knowing that this total stranger is sitting in a dark room only focusing on you.

You rub a finger against your clit, your hips rising at the feel of the pressure against your sensitive nub.

“I like when they can feel how wet they make me.” You glue your eyes to the camera letting out a moan while your finger teases your clit. “I like when they dip a finger in my cunt and bring my juices up to my clit. Feels really good as they rub me with my wet.”

Your finger dips down to your entrance, sliding it into yourself. “Ohh baby, I am so wet for you,” you moan as you begin to fuck yourself. 

Your other hand begins its descent down your body until it reaches your pussy. It works over your clit as you fuck yourself slowly, your cunt already clenching around your singular finger. 

You’re so turned on right now, the excitement of this black screen, the knowledge that he picked your picture and trusts you to show him what makes you feel good. 

“You’re pretty quiet over there, you good?”

“Y-yes. I like watching you.”

“Why’d you choose me?” you slip another finger in with a moan. “Couldn’t you just have watched a video?”

“I wanted to see it for real. Is it for real?”

“With you, yes.”

You don’t know what it is about his voice. Why are you getting off on the mystery? 

“Are you touching yourself?” You never have to, nor want to, ask, but you want to know this time. 

“No,” he sighs, “I want to focus, I don’t want any distractions.”

“Okay, that’s okay baby,” you give him an understanding smile as you begin canting your hips up to pump yourself harder. 

Five minute warning. The red box pops up on the screen. You’re too focused on your bliss to close the warning. You’re always so good at turning off the video vixen and going right into businesswoman mode but tonight, you just want to make this stranger feel satisfied. 

“I really like it when my pussy is stuffed with a cock, I love feeling the stretch and I love when my hole is stuffed so full.”

You hear his deep groan. You can’t hide the smile on your face.

“Ohhh, you liked that didn’t you? How would you take me if you were here with me? Let me know baby, tell me.”

“I-I’d want to fuck you as I looked in your eyes, you have beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss you while I fuck you.”

“Oh,” a chill blooms through your body at how gentle his words are. Most men are crass and too forthcoming with their fantasies, never soft, most of their answers just turn into white noise. His answer is going to stay with you. “I like when a guy wants me to cum all over their cock, I love the feeling of my cunt pumping around a hard cock as I orgasm. I’m close, do you want me to cum for you?”

“Please, yes.”

His voice, you can’t stress this enough, his voice is so fucking hot. Your body begins to feel feverish as the loud squelch of your fingers working your cunt faster and harder gets louder. You hardly ever cum during these sessions, especially when you use just your hands, needless to say, you’re really good at pretending. 

You love your job, you really do, it allows so much freedom and pays well, but some nights are so monotonous and boring. Tonight seemed like one of those nights, until you accepted this call. Tonight you’re going to cum.

Your orgasm hits you hard, back arching, limbs tightening, eyes fluttering as a rush of slick soaks your fingers. You pant for air as you come down, slipping your fingers out and resting a hand on your chest. 

The countdown begins in the corner of your screen 60, 59, 58…

“Time’s about up,” you whisper as you sit up, “I hope I helped you.”

“Y-you did. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.” 

He disconnects.

Your account shows $250 extra. He’s an excellent tipper and you actually came for him. You really love your job tonight. 

——

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

The way, the way, the way. You’ve thought about him for the past week, wondering if he joined any other room, if he chose someone else over you. All you know about him is he owns a black shirt and has never been with anybody… and yet you’ve thought about him every single day since. Have you crossed his mind? You sure hope so because he picked you again tonight. Your heart beats faster as you try to hide the smile when you hit the accept button. 

“Hi again,” you grin. 

This time there’s a light on behind him, you can just make out the broadness of his shoulders, really fucking broad, he’s in a black shirt again, but thanks to the light you can see he has golden skin.

“Hi, it’s nice to see you," he shyly says.

Goodness you’re so thankful for that light, you can see the way his chest moves when he talks. There’s tiny peek of his toned neck at the top of the screen, you pray he dips lower exposing his face. His voice is just how you remembered it, low and bassy, you’re already getting wet at the anticipation of hearing more.

“I can see a little more of you now,” you wink, “I like it.”

“Heh,” he chuckles, it's the first time you’ve heard him laugh. His hand comes into frame and scratches his chest. It’s beautiful and large, his fingers are thick, you wonder what they’d feel like against your skin.

“I have to give you the same spiel even though you’re a repeat. Once again, you have fifteen minutes with me once it’s up, I disconnect. Please feel free to touch yourself for me and I’ll do what you want as long as I am okay with it. I’ll hang up if I don’t feel comfortable. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Wonderful. Are you going to touch yourself for me tonight?”

“Uh, n-no, not yet.”

“That’s okay, I’m happy to do the work for you. You want me to use my hands, or do you want me to use a toy?”

“Do you have anything shaped like a-a—uh, a—“

“A dick?”

“Yeah.”

“I do. You want to watch me fuck myself with a cock?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll grab my favorite one just for you.”

You roll over and pick up your “briefcase” of sex toys, grabbing your favorite, the silver toned dildo. It’s thick, it vibrates, and it fits your cunt just right. 

“Is this what you want to watch me fuck myself with?”

“Ye—“ he clears his throat. “God, yes.”

You giggle. “Okay, I’m starting the timer now.” 

You tap the button. Fifteen minutes of him.  

“What do you want from me baby? You want to see how this cock looks in my mouth?”

“Yes,” he strangles out.

“You want me to pretend it’s your cock?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“L-lick it.”

You smile, leaning closer to the camera as you bring the dildo up to your lips, sticking your tongue out and swirling it around the tip, your eyes focused on the screen, not the camera… the screen. You want another glimpse of his skin. 

“Mm, wish I could taste you. You think you’re leaking for me right now baby?”

You lick a line down to the base and back up. 

“I bet you’re so warm and soft there,” you whisper against the tip before opening your mouth and sucking it. You hollow your cheeks as you take the dildo in deeper, eyes widening and tearing as it hits the back of your throat. 

“Fuuuuck,” he leans back farther in his chair his chin comes into sight, well trimmed facial hair, strong chin, you know he has to be beautiful. 

You can’t stop looking at him, you don’t even know his name, where he lives, what he does, why in the hell he’s still a virgin. 

Drool escapes your lips as you fuck your mouth moaning around the silver latex. 

Most of the time this job isn’t the greatest, you usually find yourself going through the motions, moving on to the next client, the next responsibility. Sure, sometimes you really connect with a watcher, sometimes you look forward to the name appearing knowing you’ll actually really enjoy the session, but most of the time, you deal and move on. It’s business. Sure as hell beats sitting in a cubicle. With this stranger, this puzzle you’re slowly figuring out? You love your job. 

“Want to see my pussy take this cock now baby?”

“Please.”

You nod, leaning back and spreading your legs open. 

“Do you feel safe telling me your name? I want to say your name as I get fucked by your cock.” 

“Ye—fuck yes. It’s Din.”

“Diiiiiiin,” you moan, as you begin to pump the silver cock in and out of you. It moves smoothly, you’re soaking wet for him, only due to his voice and whatever sights the light of the lamp wants to bless you with. 

Din. Three letters. Simple. Direct. Unique. Strong. 

“Oh Din, you feel so good in me baby, like how I take your cock? Tell me baby, talk to me, I want to hear you.”

“Yes. God, you’re so beautiful.”

“You’re so big, you’re stinging me so good. You like how my pussy looks stretched around you?”

“Yes, I-I do.”

“I feel desperate, so desperate for you. I love how you feel inside me. What are you looking at baby? Can’t see your eyes, what are you watching me do right now? Where are you focused?”

“On your face. I like watching the way you bite your lip as you f-fuck yourself.” 

God, he still sound so nervous. So new. He can’t be too young, not with that body.

“What color eyes do you have, Din?”

“Brown, b-brown eyes.”

“Mm, I like brown eyes, I bet you’re real handsome all brown eyed and tan skin. Now, have those brown eyes watch my pussy baby, watch how I take you. You can look at my face as I cum for you, Din. Right now I want you to look at my cunt. Are you hard for me Din? Are you as hard as the cock I’m fucking myself with?’

“Yes.”

The five minute warning box shows up again, this time it’s your nemesis that you ignore.

“Do you imagine a pussy as wet as mine when you get yourself off?” 

“Y-yes.”

“Did you make yourself cum after our last session?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, “right after, I-I jerked off.”

“Did you think about me?” Your voice coming out with more curiosity than you’d like. 

“I did, and every time since.”

Your body shivers from his words, “That’s a good boy Din, I like that,” you smile as your hips raise off the bed to meet your quickening thrusts fucking yourself harder.

He groans, long and low.

“I’m going to cum for you, Din,” you pant. ”I’m going to cum on your cock and then I’m going to lick myself up off of you, okay?”

“Fuck, yes.” 

You chant Din’s name as you pound your pussy, tingles shooting through you as you orgasm. You haven’t cum like this on camera in a long time. It’s devastating that not every one of your clients can be Din. 

You stretch your limbs out as you come down from your climax.

“God damn,” you giggle, “that was really fucking good.”

You slowly take the dildo out and bring it to your lips, raising your eyebrow at him and resting the tip against your lips.

“Yes, please, yes,” he growls.

You lick yourself off the silver latex, sucking your juices from the top, smiling as your mouth forms around it. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” Din’s voice edges you on.

“Mmm, Din, I taste so good, look how fucking shiny I made your dick.”

“Goooooood, fuck,” he pants, “you’re so pretty, fuck. Fuck, I-I-I I’m going to cum.”

The one minute countdown shows up at the worst time. You quickly lean forward and hit IGNORE, DO NOT CHARGE EXTRA.

“Cum for me Din, cum for me,” you try to disguise your prideful smile behind the silver dildo. 

The groans he lets out as he cums, the way his neck stretches as he angles his head up… it’s all you get, but it’s enough to keep you thinking about him at any chance you get. 

Sometimes a self esteem boost can be as simple as somebody complimenting your shoes or an attractive person giving you a friendly nod… this boost isn’t nearly as simple. Din just came in his pants just for you, without even touching himself.

“I’ve never done that, sorry,” his voice dripping with shame.

“No, Din, baby, no. I really liked it. A lot. I’m glad I could make you feel that way. Really.”

“You’re really… sweet, you know that?”

“I suppose I can be. Depends on the person,” you wink.

“I—uh, think I’m over my time.”

“You are, but I’m not going to charge you for it.”

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. Don’t be a stranger, Din.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects. You lay back on your bed and grin at your ceiling. 

——

THEWAY would like to chat. Accept?

“Din,” you smile as the familiar black shirt appears on your screen. Thank god, the lamp is on. “It’s only been three days.”

“I know, I-I wanted to see you.”

“That’s good, I wanted to see you too.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you these past few days,” he pauses, “I’m sorry, i-is that okay?”

“Oh, of course it is. I’ve thought about you too baby.”

“You say that for everyone?”

“I do, but this time I mean it. Now, you know I have to give you the same base instructions. Fifteen minutes and then I disconnect. You can touch yourself, I’ll do what you want as long as I am okay with it. I’ll hang up if I don’t feel right. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Good, so what do you want tonight?”

“Yeah, I, uh, want to um—will you watch me tonight?”

“Of course baby, I’d be happy to.”

“Okay, yeah, thanks.”

You shake your head and laugh. “No need to thank me, I’m always happy to help you. I was really happy to see your name. So you want me to watch you tonight? Do you want me to do anything else for you?”

“Just, touch yourself and talk to me like you do. I-I’ve never done something like this, nobody has ev—nobody’s seen me like this before.”

He sounds so fragile, you want to take care of him.

“You want me to use a toy or my hand?”

“Just your hand.” 

“Okay baby, I’ll use my hand. I’ll start the timer.” You softly whisper the last part, trying to ignore that at the end of the day he’s is just your client.

He moves the computer farther away, new views are unlocked. His stomach, his crotch, his thick thighs all clad in black. 

You click the start timer button. Fifteen minutes left of this view. Fifteen minutes left of Din. 

You lean back and spread your legs to show him your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to play with my pussy for you? Get you nice and hard so you can fuck yourself until you cum for me?”

“Yes,” he hisses. His hand moves down to grip his crotch. 

Fuck, that sends a wave of pleasure through your body as one of your hands spreads your folds wide open.

“Do you see how fucking wet I am Din? How turned on I am by you, I don’t even know how you look, but you drive me crazy.”

He groans as he squeezes his bulge.

“I love how you groan, I wish I could feel it against my pussy while you eat me. I bet you’d lick me so well.”

“I want to taste you, fuck.”

“I want you to test me too. Now, go ahead, take your shirt and pants off. I want to see the rest of you.”

He quickly removes his shirt. God damnit, he’s perfect. Tan chest, tan stomach, the perfect amount of hair running from his chest to his stomach, down to where he’s currently unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. You can’t believe your eyes, as he lifts his hips to move the fabric down. Everything about him is big and strong. Lean, but filled out in all the right places. Strong and soft. How the fuck is he still a virgin? Your mouth waters at the sight of his erection now barely hiding behind the thin black fabric of his briefs. 

“Din,” you begin to rub circles around your clit, happy for the pressure, “you look so good for me, let me see your cock. Let me stare at it, you want me to see your cock?”

“Yes.”

He’s such a man of few words, you love it. His words are simple, straightforward, efficient, just like his name. Din.

He pulls his boxers down, his cock springs up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’s rock hard, pulsing, golden toned, leaking from the tip, all surrounded by dark brown hair, you knew he had dark hair. He’s HUGE.

“Din, you’re fucking beautiful baby, I can’t believe it,” you gasp. “Fuck yourself for me, I can’t wait to see you cum all over your beautiful skin for me.”

His fist wraps around his shaft, you’ve seen some pretty hot things in your line of work. You’ve had some really attractive clients call in, but right now? Right now is the hottest thing you’ve ever been blessed to witness. Din stroking his cock for you, watching his stomach move with each breath he takes. You’re too focused on him to realize your finger has been paused on your clit since he first unsheathed his cock. 

“Fuck, Din, you’re making me forget what I’m doing, you look so good. I can’t believe it.” 

He groans, his grip tightens at the tip as he fucks himself. 

“Something about seeing you like this, hearing you moan and groan for me,” your finger runs a line back and forth between your hole and your clit. “It just does something to me. It’s so fucking sexy.”

He lets out a strangled grunt raising his hips and pumping his hand faster, “I-I don’t think I’m going to last long.”

“That’s good baby, watching you is already making me want to fucking cum,” you stick two fingers in, your cunt already fluttering around them. 

“Wh-what would you do if I was with you right now fu—fucking you?”

“I’d kiss you,” your other hand travels down to begin circling around your clit, “I’d kiss your strong neck, I’d lick into your mouth and taste you. Wrap my hands around your big arms and hold on as your big cock destroys my pussy.”

“Goddddd,” he whimpers, “I-I’d like that.” His hand becoming a blur on your screen as he strokes quicker. 

The stupid five minute warning pop up shows up. You’re getting real good at ignoring it with him.

“You like that I’m about to cum on your cock? You really do something to me Din, I can’t believe how quick and hard you make me cum.”

His hips begin bucking into his first, the chair he’s on squeaking as he rapidly moves up and down. You love hearing the sound of him fucking himself mixed with the sound of you fucking yourself. 

“I’m going to cum baby,” he grunts, he called you baby.

Your eyes widen as you watch him spurt white ropes of his cum all over his stomach and thighs. There’s so much. 

Your cunt begins to spasm around your fingers as your climax crashes through you.

“Din, you feel so good. You came so good,” you gasp as you orgasm, trying to keep your shaking legs wide for him to watch. You pant for air as you get your bearings back, you’re obsessed with how this comedown feels. 

“That was amazing Din,” you smile, “not to be too forward, which is a funny thing to say right now, but you look really good.”

“Wow,” he laughs, “thank you. I feel the same way about you.” Your smile widens, you bet his face is so handsome when he laughs.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how in the hell are you a virgin with a dick like that?”

“Some weird religion stuff… I’m no longer a part of. Long story, maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

“I’d like that.”

The one minute timer shows its ugly head. 

“Fuck, we have a minute left,” you frown. “I, uh, would you take my number?” Now it’s your turn to feel nervous. 

“Y-yes. Sure.”

You lean forward and type your number into the chat box. 

“Please call me here next time you want to… talk with me.”

“I will.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Din.”

“I won’t.”

He disconnects.

——

DIN DJARIN WANTS TO FACETIME 

You almost drop your phone at the name. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your heart begins to beat loudly against your chest. You click accept, and this time you really almost drop your phone. 

His face, you knew it… he’s beautiful.

“Hi,” he shyly smiles.

“Hi. Y-you’re gorgeous?”

He laughs, his big brown eyes disappearing behind the crinkles of his eyes. “If you say so.”

“I do. I’m so glad you called me.”

“I am too,” his smile is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

Sometimes you love your job, especially when it brings someone like Din Djarin into your life. 

___

You’re going to hell.

That’s what all the billboards say. The televangelists. Nixon and his whole committee. 

You’ve spent your whole life hearing that sex is a sin. Every Sunday, pressed into a pew wearing your pretty dresses, you’d listen to the pastor praise those who kept themselves pure, chaste. You’d learned that a good girl kept her knees shut tight. That those led astray by lust would fall into the Devil’s clutches. That sex would ruin you. And it hadn’t once stopped you from wanting it. 

Well, now you’re waiting in line to get your tits out for a room full of strangers. If sex is a sin, what you’re doing is downright blasphemy. 

But there’s good money in dirty movies. And you figure if the Devil is already keeping a seat warm for you, then you might as well earn it.

When they call your name, you feel like you might be sick. Which is stupid, since you’ve been waiting in the goddamn hallway for half an hour, sitting on a sticky plastic chair in a whole line of girls who look a lot like you. 

The casting office is cramped, almost cozy. A mustard-yellow carpet stretches between you and a small folding table, where a man and a woman sit. Another man stands a few paces back, fiddling with the view-finder on a film camera.

It’s the woman who speaks first.

“Go ahead and stand on the mark there,” she indicates a spot on the carpet. She’s got a harsh, angular kind of beauty. Her gaze is sharp as it meets yours. “My name’s Tess. What’s yours?”

You tell her, conscious of the way your accent softens the syllables, makes it all too obvious that you’re a long way from home. 

“So,” Tess says, leaning forward and folding her hands under her chin, “You like sex?”

You feel a blush rise on your cheeks, but hope it isn’t too obvious.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It slips out without your permission. You’ve tried so hard to beat out that good-breeding, the debutante bullshit, but sometimes it sneaks up on you. You see the corner of Tess’s mouth quirk up at it, like she’s trying not to laugh. 

“You any good at it?”

She’s testing — teasing. But you hold her gaze.

“Never had any complaints.”

Tess nods. Gives a slight flick of her pen.

“Can you take your top off for us?”

Your breath catches in your throat. And you knew this was coming, knew it was part of the whole deal. But still — it sends a nervous sort of thrill through you, and you have to suppress a shiver as you reach for the buttons of your blouse. 

The air is cool against your bare skin, and you feel the way your nipples stiffen. The camera whirrs and you clench your teeth, painfully self conscious. You’re not sure where to set your gaze. It’s strange to be looked at just for the sake of looking, not as a prelude to anything else. 

Then Tess let out a low whistle.

“Linda Lovelace who?” she smirks, “Where the hell have they been hiding you?”

You flush, the praise washing over you; that warm reassurance that you are worth looking at. 

Tess tilts her head, “You know what you’re getting into here, right? This isn’t a business for nice girls.”

You think of your mother. Your tidy, Catholic upbringing. The chastity balls and purity rings. The housewives and the husbands that hated them. All the ways women were stripped of themselves in the name of being nice.

You meet her gaze.

“Never said I was a nice girl.”

Tess grins, and there’s something wolfish in her smile. 

“Well, then. Welcome to the sexual revolution.”

x x x x x x x x 

You’ve done three films for Tess since then. All solos — splayed out on silk sheets, touching yourself while she told you what to do from off-camera. Proof of concept, she’d called them, and paid you fifty dollars for each. 

You were the concept. The idea that was only half-formed. A bit lip, a slip of pink. Girlish pieces waiting to be shaped into a sex symbol. She said she was still figuring out where to put you, finding the right role.

God, your mother would cry if she could see you like this. And your father would shout himself hoarse and try to scare you into behaving, like he has so many times before. But you’re too far away to hear them now. Besides, they haven’t answered any of your postcards. Maybe they knew you were a lost cause the second you stepped foot out their door.

But you don’t feel lost. Not when you’re sweaty and sated and smiling at the camera. Not when there’s a song playing on the radio, and the windows are rolled down, and it feels like the first time you’ve ever really breathed. Not in the tiny apartment you share with three other girls, where you never feel lonely. 

You’re not some sob story, not a lost kid clinging to a last resort. You chose this, all of it. You’ve been a sinner since the day you found out what that thing between your legs was really for. And all the pearl-clutching in the world couldn’t have kept you shut up in that small town.

You want to be seen. 

You want to shock, to disgust. To rip away all the ribbons and bows tying you to some expectation of decency. You’re so tired of being decent, being clean. You like being messy, like the sheen of sweat and sex that makes you feel like life is something that belongs to you. 

Tess calls.

“I’ve got a scene for you.”

You coil the phone cord around your hand, trying to force down the little thrill of excitement that zips through you. You keep waiting for the shame to sink in, but it never does.

“It’s not a big part, but it could get you some attention,” Tess goes on, “You know anything about Joel Miller?”

You don’t. You’re still new to all of this, green in a way that Tess warns could get you in trouble if you’re not careful. 

“Should I?” you ask.

“He’s an old friend,” Tess says, “Does a couple of films a year under the name Texas. The housewives love him, they eat his shit right up. Not a bad way to make a name for yourself.”

That was important too, the name. You were still trying to figure out yours. What would they call you when they watched your scenes? What name would they say when they came thinking of your face?

You take the bus downtown to the video rental store and slip through the beaded curtain at the back. The air inside is heavy with the smoke of someone’s joint, the tapes bathed in blue lighting. It turns out Texas occupies a whole shelf all to himself. The titles range, but they all convey a similar sense of rugged masculinity. 

Cowboy Take Me Away

Lone Star

Fix Her, Up Her

Saddle Tramp

The Mechanic

Spur Me On

You rent three tapes and try not to blush when the cashier tells you which one is her favorite. 

Your roommates go out for the night, but you stay in. Wedge the window open with the phone book. Pour a finger of vodka over a single, sweating ice cube. Turn the volume dial low and start up the first tape.

It’s all sort of silly at first. The sun-baked ranch. The farmer's daughter. The cowboy hat and coveralls. A soft, twanging guitar underscores the whole thing and it feels just shy of parody.

Then he enters the scene. Tall and broad. Sharp jaw, strong nose. Handsome in a way that’s solid, sure of itself. He looks like he belongs there, leaning against the barn door, his dark eyes taking in the scene.

And there’s no posturing with him, no clumsy performance. Suddenly the whole thing feels that much more real, and it’s like you can see the tension simmering on screen. You press your legs together at the low rasp of his voice, laced with suggestion, as he offers to teach her how to ride. 

You watch, enraptured, as the scene unfolds. They move together in a way that doesn’t feel rehearsed, lacks any sort of pretension. You watch as he bends her over, tugs down her cotton panties, and fucks her with his fingers until she’s coming hard all over his hand. 

You think it’s real. Fuck, it looks real, the way her fingers flex against his forearm, her stomach tenses, and her mouth falls open with a faint cry. No screaming or flailing, none of the overwrought drama. The camera catches the way her legs quake, the way she sucks in a breath before turning to face him. 

There’s a close up on his crotch as he palms himself through the rough denim of his jeans. He undoes his belt to reveal a dark thatch of hair and then the long, thick shape of him. His heavy hand slides to the hilt, lining himself up against the gleam of her wet and waiting cunt. The tip of him presses against her entrance, parting her swollen lips as he pushes inside.

Your own hand is between your thighs before you realize what you’re doing. But you're aching — restless and unsettled as you stare at the screen. 

You can’t take your eyes off of Joel. The way he moves, the way he fucks. All long, slow thrusts at the start, letting her feel every inch. Then the steady increase in speed until he’s fucking her in earnest, his massive hand holding her down as he drives in deep. 

Your own fingers slide beneath your shorts, slipping through your slick to press against the hard nub of your clit. You try to relieve some of the pressure, the overwhelming arousal as you watch the farmer’s daughter whine and writhe on his cock. 

Only, in your mind it’s you. Your hips he’s holding, your hair he’s tugging on as he drives deeper into your aching cunt. Your hands are the ones reaching back to feel him, to scratch along his forearms, searching for purchase as he pushes you closer to climax. 

It’s his voice that undoes you. The low growl of it, the way he grits his teeth and tells her to just —

“Take it. Yeah, that it’s. Take this fucking cock.”

It pushes you over the edge and you’re coming, hard, drenching the sheets beneath you. You watch in a daze as the scene finishes, the farmer’s daughter smiling through her facial and giving the camera a cheeky wink. The credits roll over a cactus.

The tape whirrs and then clicks to a halt. The only sound in the apartment is the distant grind of traffic, your own heavy breathing. You stare up at the ceiling, still reeling from the force of your orgasm. 

So. That’s Joel Miller.

x x x x x x x x 

You tell Tess that you’ll take the part.

You run out the rental period on the first three tapes and return to the store for the rest of them. You’ve orgasmed more in this past week than you have in your entire life. All to thoughts of him. His hands, his voice— God, his fucking cock.

You feel untethered by your attraction to him, the raw want that he awakens inside of you. And even though you tell Tess yes, you feel a thread of panic rise as the shoot day approaches. Because watching him is one thing. Fucking him, actually fucking him, feels like another beast entirely.

The idea of it terrifies you. He terrifies you, if you’re being honest. There’s nothing warm or welcoming about his onscreen presence. He’s all stern silence and stoicism, only ever losing composure when he comes, and then just for a second. You’ve memorized the expression he makes. How his eyes fall shut and his jaw goes slack, the way he loses himself in that moment. 

You want that. You want to be the reason.

The late summer heat washes over you as you step out of the cab; August in all her sweat and shine. You have the address Tess told you scrawled on a scrap of paper, held tight in your hand. You’re somewhere in the Arts District, but the area looks rough, rundown. The building in front of you seems abandoned, but the cab is pulling off the curb before you can question it. You check the paper in your hand, matching the numbers to the faded paint above the boarded front entrance. 

There’s the screech of metal as a side door is kicked open, and Tess sticks her head out, squinting against the sunlight. 

“Come on then,” she calls, waving you over. You hurry to catch up before the door closes on you.

Inside is dark, musty. Peeling wallpaper, yellowed posters clinging to bulletin boards. Dust catches the light as it filters in through dirty windows. None of the sleek, sexy style you’d come to associate with this line of work.  You cast a sideways glance at Tess as she leads you down the hall. 

“What is this place?”

“Not a real school, obviously. We’d all go to jail,” Tess says, “It used to be a rec center. We got it on the cheap.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, but she seems to sense what you’re thinking. 

“It’s not all silk sheets, kid. Think you can handle that?”

That’s the thing you’ve liked about Tess from the beginning — the blunt edge of her honesty. She didn’t bullshit, it’s not in her nature. She calls it like it is, doesn't try to spin it into something else. It makes you feel safer, somehow. She’ll tell you if you get too close to the sun.

“I can handle it.”

You can. You didn’t come here to be coddled.

“You got your list?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah.” You dig in your pocket and pull out your hastily scribbled list of hard no’s. It had taken a while to come up with. The trouble was, there wasn’t much you didn’t want Joel to do to you. Even the most debased things made you feel all fluttery if you thought about him doing them.

Still. You had some limits.

Tess scans over the paper and she nods.

“Great, no issues here. Joel’s not really a piss-shit-puke kinda guy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What about knives?”

Tess gives you a wry smile. “No knives for the cheerleader movie. At least, not yet. We’ve still got three more scenes after yours, so who knows.”

She stops short in front of an open door and motions you inside.

“This is your dressing room.”

There’s a rack of flimsy cheerleader costumes up against the wall, bright blue with red accents. Cosmetic bags are spread across the counter, spilling out eyeshadow and tubes of lipgloss. It’s all a reminder that you’re not the first girl to come through here, not the star of anything. Not yet, anyways.

“You good to do your own makeup?” Tess asks

You nod, dropping your bag onto a chair. “Yeah, sure.”

“Try not to go too heavy. We’re playing the fresh-faced innocent thing here.”

You glance at the mirror, as if trying to catch a glimpse of exactly what she’s describing. It’s funny to think about yourself like that, the way Tess sees you. It feels like you straddle the line — too hard for your hometown, too soft for this city. 

“And here’s the script.”

She slides a stapled stack of papers over to you.

From what you’ve gathered, there isn’t much to the premise: a coach fucking his way through a cheerleading squad. But it’s not like anyone would be watching for the plot. Each scene had a loose sort of set up — stretching, showering, showing up late to practice. And they all end with a cheerleader taking a load somewhere the camera likes looking at.

You flip through the pages, searching for your scene. It’s noticeably scant on both dialogue and direction. The words “they fuck” appear more than once. 

When you reach the end, you look up at Tess. “This is the whole thing?”

“Were you expecting a monologue?”

And no. Not exactly. But you always sort of assumed these things were more structured. At least, you had hoped they might be. 

“There's no dialogue.”

Tess shrugs, “Most of these girls will go cross-eyed if we try to get ‘em to memorize lines. And nobody gives a shit what you’re saying anyways.”

A nervous coil twists in your belly.

“What if I say something stupid?”

“You won’t,” Tess says firmly, “I’ve seen your stuff, you’re a natural. And Joel will take care of you.”

That did nothing to ease your anxiety. You look away to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

A door opens in the hall, and Tess glances over her shoulder.

“Speak of the devil,” she waves someone over, “Come here a sec.”

There’s the head tread of boots down the hall, and then he’s there. Standing in the doorway. 

Joel fucking Miller. In the flesh. 

The subject of so many fantasies, so many wet dreams. How many times have you made yourself come to his videos? Hand between your legs, fingers drenched in your own slick, fucking yourself as he railed someone else on screen. You know the exact cadence of his voice, the way his breath hitches when he’s close. You could pick his dick out of a line-up.

And now he’s here, all broad shoulders and deep brown eyes. The tousled dark hair, the beard that is just starting to gray. The videos don’t do him justice. He’s painfully handsome, good-looking in a way that unmoors you, makes you feel small and sort of silly. Like a kid with a crush, girlish and inconsequential. 

You’re in way over your head.

“Hell of a place you found,” he says to Tess, and the low timbre of his voice scrapes through you. That familiar rasp, the heavy Texan drawl.

“Yeah, well, you want big budget, you go work for Spielberg,” Tess tells him, “This is what we call in vérité, asshole.”

Joel scoffs at her.

“That a fancy way of saying asbestos?”

Tess flips him off, then jerks her head towards you.

“This is your girl, by the way,” she says, “Lucky cheerleader number seven.”

His gaze finds you for the first time and it feels like you’ve been struck by lightning. His eyes are dark, a deep brown that doesn’t catch the light, that seems to go on and on. You feel the weight of his gaze dragging over you, giving you a full-once over before it slides back to your face.

You feel a familiar, anxious unease. That ache for approval. Did he think you were pretty? Was he disappointed? Or had he become numb to things like that. Maybe for him, sex was narrowed to its essential parts — aesthetics were irrelevant.

Joel nods once, then turns back to Tess.

“You got a room for me or was that out of budget too?”

“Second door on the left,” she tells him, “Extra roaches, on the house.”

He gives a sort of unimpressed grumble and heads back down the hallway.

You look at Tess, hoping that the heat in your cheeks isn’t too obvious. You want her to think you can handle this, handle him. 

“He always that friendly?”

“Pretty much,” she smirks, then pulls a tidy slip of paper from her back pocket, “Speaking of - here’s his rider.”

You look it over the list. Many of the same extremes you had included in your own. From everything you’ve seen, he isn’t much of a sadist. No biting, no scratching, no hickeys. Reasonable, assuming he has more scenes to shoot. Even if all you want is to sink your teeth into him.

You stop short on the last bullet point.

“No kissing?”

Tess rolls her eyes, “Don’t take it personally. He’s just like that.”

You try to think back, but you can’t recall seeing him kiss any of his co-stars. How had you missed that? All the hours you spent watching him fuck, and you hadn’t even noticed. 

You ignore the slight sting of disappointment. You wanted that — the scrape of his beard, the slide of his tongue, the taste of him. But you’re a big girl. You don’t need it, really. 

You’re going to get everything else.

x x x x x x x x 

The stupid cheerleader costume clings to you, the fabric flimsy and coarse. It doesn’t make you feel particularly sexy. It’s like playing dress up. But your hair looks nice, high in its ponytail, and you’ve done your makeup just so. 

You aren’t exactly some blushing virgin. But still — the idea of stripping down in a room full of strangers has you all riled up, anxiety thrumming through you as you hover at the edge of the set. 

No one seems to pay you much mind. The crew moves easily around you, cracking jokes as they adjust the lighting and clear the cables from the shot. Your scene takes place in the hallway outside the gymnasium, where you catch the coach coming out after practice. 

You try not to think too hard about the set up, the absurdity of it all. You feel the buzz of anxiety and excitement, the tangle of nerves, the taste of arousal already on your tongue. You stare down at the waxed linoleum, counting your breaths, waiting to get fucked in a room full of strangers.

“Well, look at you.” Tess’s voice jolts you out of your own head. You turn to find her giving you an approving smile. “You look like a wet dream.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Yours?”

She laughs, “You wish, kiddo. But every man in America is going to be creaming his jeans seeing you like that.”

You’re not sure what to make of that, to think of the eyes of every man on you. You’re mostly worried about the one waiting down the hall.

“Your mark is over here,” she indicates, “Joel’s going to enter from that door down there. Give us a couple lines to set the scene, then get to the good stuff. Easy enough, right?”

“Sure. Easy.”

Tess settles into a chair to the right of the camera. Everyone else seems to have found their places, the set quieting around you. You find your mark, white sneakers squeaking against the tile. The set lights heat against your skin, and your heart hammers against your ribcage.

“Let Joel take the lead. He’ll get you where you need to go,” Tess says, then catches the look on your face and asks, “You ready?”

You must look nervous. Unsure, out of place. Wide-eyed, waiting to be told what to do. The good Christian girl, always minding your goddamn manners. Saying your prayers, your pleases and thank-yous. 

But you’re not that girl anymore.

You straighten. Set your spine. Remind yourself that this is something you can do. 

Sex is easy. It’s a skin you can slip into. You’ve been tying cherry stems with your tongue since you were eleven, and by now you’ve perfected the art. You like playing the part: wearing the gloss and glitter, getting all dolled up just to get stripped down. It makes you feel powerful, being watched. Being wanted. Like you’re more than some soft kid from a small town. Like you’re someone who could mean something.

“Ready,” you tell Tess. 

She smiles and she sits back in her chair, giving the crew a once over before calling out — 

“Action.”

The door at the ends of the hall slams open and you jump, turning around to face Joel. 

He's wearing gray sweats and a t-shirt that stretches across the broad expanse of his chest. There’s a whistle around his neck. It should be ridiculous, but it is definitely not. You can’t think of anything less funny than the way he’s looking at you right now. 

“What are you doing here?”

His voice is rough, decidedly unfriendly. It’s the role, it’s exactly what was written in the script, but it still stirs a strange embarrassment in you. You shouldn’t be here. You’re going to get in trouble. 

“I, um -“ you swallow and start over, “I was looking for you.”

“Is that right?”

Fuck, his voice.  The low rasp of it seems to reverberate in your ribcage, stoking a flame that started burning from the first the second you saw him.

You nod, “I - I wanted to ask you something.”

You feel the scorch of his gaze against your skin, and when his eyes meet yours he looks pissed. You’re wasting his time. He doesn’t want you here.

“Practice is over. You got a question, you can ask me tomorrow.”

He starts to walk past you, like he’s going to leave, like he has better things to do. You speak before you know what you’re going to say.

“Some of the other girls were talking,” you say quickly, and he stops short. You have his attention, so you keep going, “They said you helped them. I was hoping you could help me too.”

He takes a step closer, and he towers over you. This is the closest he’s ever been. You can feel the heat of him, his skin sun-warmed and tan. You notice the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. 

“Help you with what?” he asks. 

You don’t know what to say. Everything you think of sounds too crass, too cringey. There’s nothing explicitly sexual about the scene so far; you can tell he’s waiting for you to take it there. To cross that boundary.

You take his hand in yours. His palm is rough, calluses catching against the soft pads of your fingertips. You draw his hand slowly down your body, his knuckles dragging across the thin fabric of your dress. When you reach the top of your thighs, you feel him tense. You hold him there, between your legs. Let him feel the heat of you. The want already burning in your core. 

“Here?” he asks, and you nod.

He cups you, his hand covering your whole sex. 

“Does that needy little pussy want some attention?”

You nod, and his hand moves against you, pressing hard against your clit. Even through the fabric, the feeling is intense. A whimper slips through your lips. 

And oh, he likes that. You can see the way his gaze darkens, his pupils blown wide with arousal. 

“Gonna have to ask nice,” Joel tells you. 

You feel tense — taught. A bowstring about to snap. You’re not above begging.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

He grabs you by the hips, turning you, pulling you tight against his chest. You sink into the warmth of him, the scent of sweat and sun. You feel his hardness stiff against your lower back, already straining in his sweatpants.

Joel flips up your skirt, exposing the pretty lace of your panties to the cameras.

Oh right, the cameras. 

You almost forgot, so caught up in his gaze, the furious heat of his attention. But his eyes aren’t the only ones on you. You’re being watched. Your gaze skims the edge of the scene, sees the eyes staring back. You wonder if they can see the way you tremble, taught in Joel’s grip.

“You already wet for me?” he murmurs against your ear.

You tense slightly as he pulls your panties aside and dips his finger into your slit. You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet. It’s almost embarrassing. 

His finger drags through your slick, the heavy drip of your arousal. He groans against your neck, and his grip on you tightens.

“Fuck,” his teeth scrape along your jaw, “You’re soaking. All this for me?”

“Yes,” you pant, “All for you. Just for you.”

“Poor baby,” he coos, his finger ghosting over your clit. You flinch, the feeling almost overwhelming, “Sitting through practice with your panties soaked. You just wanted some attention, huh? Wanted me to play with you like all the other girls.”

He presses hard against your clit and you gasp, writhing in his grasp. You’re already so close, on the knife’s edge of it. You just need a little more, just the tiniest bit of friction —

But then he’s gone, stepping away. Palming himself through his sweats. His gaze is dark, burning, but he still looks so composed. 

“You’re gonna have to earn it,” he tells you, “Get on your knees.”

You felt almost dizzy, overwhelmed with arousal. You know that you’re wrecked already, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and shining. You can barely catch your breath.

“You heard me. On your knees.”

You don’t wait to be told a third time. You drop to your knees, feel the cool linoleum against your bare calves. You position yourself beneath him, folding your hands in your lap. Waiting for instructions, waiting to worship at the altar of the man above you.

Joel rubs the outline of his cock through his sweatpants, his eyes tracking over you. 

“You gonna be good for me?”

You take that as permission, reaching out and carefully tugging down the sweatpants to release him. The thick length of him slaps up against his belly, fully at attention. He’s big. You knew that already, had admired the size of him in so many of his tapes. 

But it’s different now. Almost overwhelming. The tip of him flushed red and angry, already weeping. Your mouth waters.

You look up at him from under your lashes and he nods. Go ahead.

Your hand wraps around him, marveling at the way your fingertips barely touch. You stroke along his length, feeling the silky warmth of him, the heat. You squeeze softly at the tip and precum beads at the slit. You lead forward quickly, tongue darting out to taste him. 

Joel groans above you, tangling his hand in your hair and tilting your head up. 

“Mouth open.”

You open obediently, sticking your tongue out. 

“You gonna let me fuck your pretty face?”

Pretty. The word stirs something low in your stomach. He thinks you’re pretty.

He slides inside your waiting mouth. He stays shallow at first, gliding across your tongue, wetting himself with your spit. His forehead is furrowed in concentration, dark eyes fixed on yours. 

Fuck. Arousal burns in your core, heavy and molten. You know you’re soaking through your panties. You want so badly to touch yourself, but he hasn’t told you to. You want to be good. Want to impress him, show him how well you can play your role.

“This what you wanted?” Joel grunts, “Got jealous of me fucking all those other girls. Wanted some of me for yourself, huh?”

You moan around him. He’s just playing his part, but fuck if it doesn’t strike a nerve. You were jealous of all the other girls in his videos, had wanted so desperately to be in their place. But you hadn’t known it would be like this, the want so powerful, so overwhelming.

He pulls you back, holding your head away from his cock. It shines with your spit.

“I want to hear it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide, chest heaving. Barely able to catch your breath, to form words through the haze of arousal.

“Yes,” you pant, “I wanted you. Wanted to taste you. So bad.”

Joel makes a satisfied sound, tapping the head of his cock against your lips so you open again. He presses back inside, the salt and musk sliding heavy over your tongue.

He picks up his pace, his cock kissing the back of your throat with each stroke. He holds your head steady, ponytail wrapped around his fist, keeping your mouth in place as he begins to fuck your face.

Your eyes water, but you stay put. Letting him use you, chase his high, press deeper and deeper into your throat with each thrust. Spit pools at the corner of your mouth, dribbling over your lips and down your chin. 

“Fuck, look at you. Being such a good girl, such a good hole for me.”

You whimper, his words going straight to the heat between your legs. 

He presses you down until your lips are wrapped around the base of him, your nose buried in the dark curls there. You’re surrounded by his scent, struggling to breathe. You can feel him down your throat.

He groans, low and guttural. “Jesus, fuck.”

You gag and Joel pulls out, a strand of saliva trailing between the tip of his dick to your lips. You fight to catch your breath, blinking back tears as you stare up at him.

His jaw has gone slack, and there’s something new in the heat of his gaze. His hand cups your cheek, feeling the flushed heat of your skin. His thumb traced over your cheekbone, down to your mouth, running over your spit soaked lips. 

“So good for me, baby. You feel so goddamn good.”

He slips back between your lips, pressing deep. You dig your nails into the flesh of your own thighs, fighting against your gag reflex. Tears spill down your cheeks, mixing with the spit dripping down your neck. You choke and he pulls out, letting you catch your breath.

“Taking it like a champ. One more time.”

Joel presses forward again, forcing himself further down. His hand moves down to your neck, and he gives it a careful squeeze, feeling himself in your throat. You gag, but he holds you there a second longer, letting your throat flex around him. He groans as he pulls out.

He uses his grip on your hair to pull you up, pressing your back to the lockers that line the hall. There’s a new sense of urgency in his touch, a kind of fervor. He grabs roughly at your breast, thumbing your nipple through the fabric. You arch into his hand, craving his touch.

“So desperate, baby. You like this? Like me using you?”

He runs his hand along your body, over the swell of your breasts, across your stomach. Feeling the way you tense and tremble for him. He reaches beneath the hem of your skirt, and his hand meets the sticky slick of your inner thighs. You’re fucking dripping for him. 

“Jesus Christ,” his eyes move over your face, taking in the flushed cheeks and tear tracks, “Show me.”

You fumble for your skirt, but he’s already tugging the uniform up and over you, impatient. He balls up the cheap fabric and tosses it aside, leaving you bare and aching for him. Only the damp scrap of your panties between you. His fingers skate along the band of them, inches away from where you need him.

“Shit,” you gasp, hips bucking involuntarily, “Please.”

You expect him to fuck you then. It feels like he might, the length of him hard against your hip, slowly rocking against you, dragging spit and precum across your stomach.

Instead, Joel lowers himself to his knees. His hands skate up your thighs, thumbs hooking under the band of your panties and dragging them down your legs. You stand above him, fully exposed, your skin flushed and feverish from his attention.

He takes your thighs in hands, carefully coaxing them apart. His eyes go dark as he stares at your wet cunt. Your swollen clit, skin damp with slick. His palms slide up to your burning core. His thumbs drag up your lips and pull them apart, exposing you — to him, to the camera, to the room full of strangers. But you can only see him. The way he’s looking at you.

He leans forwards and spits.

His thumb moves up to rub your clit, mixing his spit with your slick. A whine slips through your lips.

“So pretty, baby,” Joel mutters, voice low, “Got you all worked up, huh.”

He begins drawing tight circles over your clit, finally, finally giving you the friction you so desperately need. You bite your lip, nerves sparking, already close to overstimulated. He drags your wetness down to your entrance and slides two fingers deep inside you. You both groan at the feeling. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

His fingers are so much thicker than your own. His knuckles rub against your inner walls, hitting you exactly where you need him. His thumb drags over your clit with every stroke.

Your legs begin to shake. He hooks his free hand around your calf and lifts your leg, hitching it over his shoulder. You lean back against the lockers, letting him hold you up like this, keep you open.

“There you go.”

His fingers drive deep up into you, thumb grinding against your clit. Your hips move against his hand, chasing the feeling. His gaze stays fixed on your cunt, focused on the way you grip his fingers, your arousal dripping down his wrist. He twists up into you and scrapes against a spot that makes you see stars. Your breath catches in your throat, you’re so fucking close —

“Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and then tension inside you releases all at once, snaps and sends you hurtling over the end. Heat flares inside of you and your cunt clenches around his hand, walls rippling as you ride out your orgasm. Joel works you through it, his fingers keeping a steady rhythm inside you. 

You struggle to catch your breath. Trying to remember what’s supposed to happen next. 

But Joel's eyes haven’t left you. He looks up from between your legs, roving over your body, taking it all in. The flush on your chest. The faint sheen of sweat. The slick shining at the apex of your thighs. 

“Fuck, that was pretty,” he murmurs, real quiet. Too low for the cameras. His thumb ghosts over your clit and your body jerks in his grasp, already so sensitive. 

“Want you to give me another one.”

You open your mouth to respond — to say what, you’re not sure. You feel unfocused, television static fuzzing your brain, scattering your thoughts. 

“Can you do that? Can you come again for me?”

Joel presses harder against your clit and you choke on a moan. 

“Yes,” you whine, the words catching in your throat, “God, yes. Please.”

There’s a gleam of approval in his eye.

“Good girl.”

Then he leans forward and licks a broad stripe over your dripping cunt. You flinch at the sudden intensity, thousands of nerve endings lighting up at once. His grip tightens on your thighs and he holds you steady as he buries his face between your legs. 

His tongue slips through your soaking folds, lapping up the slick that has gathered there. His mouth moves hungrily, devouring you, drinking you down. His beard scratches along your sensitive lips, sending little shockwaves through you. Your hand shoots out, tangling in his hair. He lets out a low groan of approval.

You can feel your second orgasm building, sparking up your spine as he scrapes his teeth carefully across your clit. The tension in your stomach coils tighter and tighter, everything inside you drawing taught. No one has ever made you feel this good, nothing has ever felt like this.

Joel slides two thick fingers inside, sucks hard at your clit, and you’re gone. 

Your vision goes white as you clench down on him, coming hard, your orgasm ripping through you in a way that’s almost painful. Joel’s tongue catches your sweetness as it spills from you, tasting you from the source, letting you soak his face.

When you whimper at the overstimulation, he pulls away, beard shining with your release. His eyes are so dark they look black, pupils blown wide with lust.

He slides out from under your leg, standing and keeping you steady with a hand on your hip. He drags his damp fingers across your flush skin, over your stomach, between your breasts. Up to your mouth, swiping across your bottom lip.

You hold his gaze as you wrap your lips around them, tasting yourself, licking him clean. You’re panting when he pulls away.

He gives you a long look, chest heaving, the heavy scent of you on his breath. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” Joel murmurs.

You feel his cock rub up against your belly, and you look down to where it’s trapped between your sweaty bodies. He thrusts against you, smearing precum across your stomach. 

You bite your lip. He’s so big. And even though you’ve had him in your mouth, all the way down the back of your throat, you’re overwhelmed by the idea of all that inside of you. 

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and it’s like he can see what you’re thinking. He thumbs over your cheek. Almost affectionate.

“It’s alright. We’ll make it fit.”

Joel turns you around, hands sliding over your waist. He drags your hips out so that you’re bent over, exposed, breasts flush against the cool metal of the locker. His hand smooths down your spine, forcing you to arch for him. You feel his fingers drag through your folds, teasing your entrance.

Your breath catches as his head presses against you, the weeping tip parting your lips. You brace yourself, cheek pressed against the metal, looking over your shoulder as he finally, finally slides inside. A moan tears itself from your throat at the stretch, the way your walls flex around him. 

He fills you in one slow stroke, until his hips are flush with yours, cock kissing your cervix. You’re so full you can barely breathe. It’s like he’s everywhere all at once, choking the air from your lungs. 

“Fuck, baby,” Joel growls, “So fucking good. Gripping me so goddamn tight.”

He sounds almost as wrecked as you feel, voice low and hoarse. His fingertips dig into the meat of your hips, holding you tight to him. You can feel yourself bruising beneath him, but you don’t pull away. You want him to mark you, to leave something of himself behind.

He gives you a second to adjust, then pulls back, almost all the way out. The slow drag of him is excruciating. You whine when he thrusts back in, nails scratching against smooth metal, struggling to catch your breath. You can feel the way your walls grip him, clinging to the hard length of his cock as he takes you in long, deep strokes. 

“That’s it,” he grits his teeth, “Taking it so well.”

All you can do is take it, barely holding yourself up against the locker, letting him set the pace. He increases the speed of his thrusts, his hips snapping against yours. The sound is filthy, wet and wanton, the slap of skin on skin. 

He gathers your sweaty hair in his hand, pulling your head back, baring your throat. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin there, and you keen, high and reedy. You’re already so fucked out, unable to focus on anything but the slide of him inside you, slick and raw. 

He lifts your leg, exposing the place where your bodies are joined, where your sex is stretched so obscenely around him. His hand slides over your stomach, down between your legs, to where you’re still so raw, soaking wet. You cry out — it’s too much, way too sensitive — but he’s relentless, fingers rubbing hard against your overwrought clit, wringing a third orgasm out of you. 

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

You shiver through it, feel the weak flutter of your cunt around his cock. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you up. You can tell he’s close, the way his body draws tense, how he crowds even closer. 

“Look at me.”

He cups your jaw with his hand, tilting your head back, angling it so he can see you. Your eyes are glassy, tears clinging to your lashes. Your spine bows in a delicate curve, and all you can feel is him. The hand on your face, the one at your hip, and his cock driving deep, deep inside you.

His jaw goes slack — that expression you’ve memorized, the one you know means he’s close — but his eyes stay open this time. He stares down at you, brows furrowed, his hips stuttering through the final few thrusts, and then he’s coming. He pulls out at the last second, spilling over your skin, streaks of thick cum painting your pussy. 

His hand is still wrapped around your jaw, thumb pressed against your frantic pulse. You stay like that, breathing hard, gazing up at him. 

“And cut.”

You blink. It’s like coming back to yourself. Everything is suddenly in sharp focus. You feel the floor beneath you, the sweat cooling on your bare skin. The sticky tack of his cum over your aching cunt, slipping down your thighs. 

Joel releases your leg, steadying you before stepping away. His touch feels different now. Formal, almost. Perfunctory. He doesn’t quite meet your eye as he tucks himself back into his sweatpants.

He looks so composed, like he hasn’t just fucked you within an inch of your life. You’re suddenly conscious of just how naked you are.

“Great job, guys,” Tess says, stepping out from behind the camera and passing you a robe. You slip it over your shoulders, tying the front, tucking yourself away. Even though everyone had already seen everything, your nudity now stings with a kind of self-consciousness, a strange obscenity. 

Tess is saying something, and you have to shake your head to refocus on her.

“Sorry, what?”

Your throat feels raw, stripped from sex.

“Statement of consent,” Tess repeats, pointing, “Straight into camera.”

“Oh, right.”

Your knees are shaking, and Joel’s semen is slowly dripping down your thighs. Your pulse hasn’t slowed, still racing beneath your skin. You’ve barely had a second to catch your breath.

You make eye contact with the camera lens.

“My name is —“ you start, but cut yourself off with a breathy laugh, “Shit, sorry. My name is —“

A fresh wave of giggles overwhelms you. You feel giddy. Freshly-fucked and freer than you have in your whole life. You manage to gasp out your name before biting down on your knuckles, trying to suppress the laughter.

Joel glances at you. 

You struggle to pull yourself together.

“Right, sorry. I consented to, you know,” you wave your hand, “Everything.”

Tess gives you an amused look.

“Good enough for me,” she says, then claps her hands together, “That’s a wrap, everybody.” 

There’s a general shuffling as the crew begins to move, striking the sparse set, packing up the equipment. Tess turns away to speak to one of the grips, and you linger at the edge of the hallway, unsure of what to do with yourself. 

You feel raw, every inch of your skin oversensitive. There’s a tenderness between your legs, bruises ripening on your hips, but nothing hurts. It’s a good kind of sore. You lean into it and find you like it. You search yourself — for shame, for regret — but find nothing but a low hum of satisfaction, the pleasure that still pulses through you.

“You did good.”

You look up sharply and find Joel watching you. You feel yourself flush, the blush rising high on your cheeks. Which is ridiculous, after everything. After he’s touched every soft and secret part of you, laid you bare and made you come undone. 

But still, you blush.

“Thanks.”

Joel’s expression is unreadable, but the earlier intensity is gone. He’s just looking. 

You feel like you should say something, anything, so you stammer out, “You too. I mean. You were — that was. Thank you, for that.”

Stupid. What a stupid thing to say. But you think you see the corner of his mouth twitch up, the faint suggestion of a smile. He opens his mouth to say something else, then seems to think better of it. 

He gives you another, slightly stilted nod, then turns back down the hallway. And there’s a funny sort of feeling low in your stomach, a longing. You want so badly for him to look back at you.

But he doesn’t.

x x x x x x x x 

part two here

“After this, we should get married.”

“Bucky-”

“I’m serious,” he confessed, stopping to look directly at you. “I know I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Why shouldn’t we?”

You halted your movements to return your lover’s gaze. Sighing, you corrected lightly, “You’re just saying that because you feel like the world is ending.”

“Maybe because it is.”

“It’s been ending for the past five years,” you said, taking his hand back into yours to pull him along to your final destination.

“All the more reason. Doll, say yes and we get back and ditch this life for something simpler. Just you and me.”

“Buck-”

“Welcome,” an unfamiliar voice spoke out as you reached the peak of the rocky structure. You both whipped out your weapons, taking a defensive stance. A shadowy figure emerged from behind one of the stones, cloaked in a cape of darkness, face blood red. Not an ounce of flesh clung to his body, revealing an unnaturally bony figure.

“Bucky, son of Winnifred. Y/N, daughter of-”

“Cut the crap, what’s your game?” you spat, still ready to attack.

“There’s no game. I’m just a guide to the soul stone.” Bucky lowered his weapons, detecting this man was no threat to either of you. Not here, at least.

“How about you show us and we’ll be on our way,” he said, placing his gun back into its holster.

The stranger with the velvet face shook his head lightly in disappointment. “If only it were that easy.” Turning, he approached the edge of the cliff, Bucky and you cautiously following.

You looked over, seeing nothing but a long drop to the bottom, filled with uneven ground and rough terrain. “So the stone is down there?”

“To obtain the stone, one must lose which they love. The other must lose their life. A soul for a soul.”

For a few minutes, Bucky and you assessed your options.

You now leaned against one of the rocky walls, gazing out into the lovely dusk. Bucky paced slowly, trying to figure out what to do, if there was another way.

“He’s lying.”

“I don’t think he is,” you replied, nervously fixating on your hands.

“Why not?”

“Think about it, Buck. Thanos came here with Gamora and left with the stone, but not his daughter. . .”

You two knew what had to be done, but saying it out loud is what made the weight fall upon your shoulders. Although not tangible, it was suffocating at best and harrowing at worst.

You now shifted your position from the wall and stood at Bucky’s side. You both faced out to the edge, only feet away from obtaining the soul stone, looking out.

“If we don’t get that stone. . .” he spoke quietly.

“Billions stay gone. . .”

“I guess we know what we have to do.”

“Yeah, I guess we do.”

You turned to face each other, slowly. His faded eyes beamed into yours. You took the moment to remember his face, bask in it just one last time.

The bluest sea.

The quietest breath.

The strongest jaw.

The saddest eyes.

You rested your foreheads together, lacing your hands with the others. Bucky was ready to crumble at that moment, but he refused to cry. He didn’t want the last memory you saw of him to be such a tragic one.

“The answer’s yes.” You let out a weak smile, eyes closed.

His eyes remained shut as well, but he heard the grin in your cadence. “We’ll have to start planning when we get back, then. You’ve just made me the happiest man alive.” His voice remained low, stricken with grief.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“Hey,” he cooed, “‘I love you’s are only for the dying.” You sniffled as you let out a defeated laugh in response. “I love you too.”

He pulled his forehead back from yours, studying you. His hand cupped around your cheek and wiped a silent tear that threatened to spill over. Don’t cry for me, now.

“Another lifetime maybe?”

“I’m just sad it couldn’t have been this one.” He gently laid a kiss upon your forehead, lingering for longer than he meant to; he was just making it harder for himself. It was supposed to make up for the words he’d never get to say, the moments you’d never get to share. Taking your hand in his, he gently laid a kiss upon the back of it. For later. Finally, he gave it one last squeeze before letting go.

Simultaneously, you both turned to walk towards the edge. Your heads snapped immediately into the direction of the other.

“I don’t think we meant the same thing,” he said lowly.

“Seems like we have different ideas of who’s going.” Your voice remained steady.

“You have to let me do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I won’t.”

Like machine work, he gathered all his strength to toss you as far back as he could to the ground before he started bolting towards the rocky ledge. Grunting, you shot up and ignored the pain in your side to pursue him. Your adrenaline began to surge as you pounced him, taking him down as he swiftly moved.

“Please don’t make me fight you,” he begged.

“Bucky, you’re not going,” you commanded, frustration and sorrow arising in your voice.

He shoved you off of him and went to regain his footing. Before he could begin to run again, you conjured rocks out of the ground and wrapped them around his feet, causing him to come to an aggressive halt midmotion. You surpassed where he was quickly and dashed off the side of the cliff, free falling for only seconds before Bucky collided into your body.

Bucky wrapped his flesh arm around you and used his remaining metal one to grab on for dear life to the side of the jagged rocks. Now there you were, dangling, Bucky’s arm being the only tether you had left keeping you from a long way down.

“Bucky,” you breathed, “you have to let me go.”

“There’s no me without you, I can’t.” Tears were beginning to brim his eyes as he desperately tried to think of a way to get you back home.

Bucky’s grip was slowly slipping on you. Your fingers were finding ways to escape his grasp, shuffling and twisting, making it harder to keep a study hold. This was the way it had to be.

“We’re going to be okay, I promise.”

It was hitting him, there wasn’t anything else he could do. Your hold was too loose, he’d never be able to pull you back up. In that brief second, as he stared down at the love of his life, he contemplated letting his arm go, falling with you. He knew it’d be selfish, that you would’ve died in vain, that they’d never get the soul stone, that the world would have perished because of him, but his mind was a cloudy mess. He couldn’t begin to fathom a life with you.

Before you started your spiral down, he took one final moment to take in all the features he’d never see again. The ones that kept him safe at night, the ones that’d now haunt his dreams.

The softest lips.

The starriest gaze.

The truest heart.

The warmest smile.

One by one, your fingers released themselves from Bucky's hold, try as he might to keep his grasp on you. You were now falling, making your way down. You felt the air slide between your fingers as they left the safety of Bucky’s. The smell of the cold wind stung your nose as your further plummeted. Even from halfway down, you could see a pair of desperate blue eyes looking down at you. The final thing you heard was the blood curdling scream Bucky let out, the swan song of your love. The last thing you tasted was the grotesque flavor of metal that came with blood.

-

The world was smiling again, in all her glory. Families had been reunited, friendships were brought back together, and the sun seemed to be shining on the Earth once again. All was well.

Well, for most anyways.

There were those who crumbled under the wait. Faces that used to be called home were different now, unfamiliar. Some learned to move on, starting new lives without those from before. Others suffocated in the waves of the past.

Bucky returned with the stone.

They saved the world.

You saved the world.

He was supposed to be happy, joyful as the rest of the Earth. You died a hero, a true martyr. People sang your name in praise and for generations to come children would learn of your sacrifice. You died for a cause and that was supposed to help coax the pain. It never did, though.

There were nights where he’d wake up, aching for your touch once more, whispering your name. No matter how hard he hoped or how much he tried, he could never conjure you. You were a memory, a picture in the hallway, a piece of the past.

Bucky had always been a reclusive person, but your passing amplified his hermit tendencies. He never ventured out anymore. He confined himself to the small house you used to share, barely leaving the bedroom most days. The coffee cup you last used remained on the counter, undisturbed. He refused to move any of your things out, despite what everyone suggested. He couldn’t corrupt the last remaining traces of you. The team sent their condolences, words of pity to try to console him.

They’ll never understand. They didn’t know her like I did.

Of course, visitors came, not in droves, but a fair amount. As the days passed, they stopped coming by and Bucky stopped asking for them. What was the point? They couldn’t give him what he wanted.

The last person from the team to see him was Wanda. It was a brisk early winter night, not a star in the sky or a flake of snow on the ground. She stood at his door, hands in pockets, shielding what she could from the cold. It had been two months since that day.

He creaked the door open, looking out to see a familiar face, red hair tucked inside her coat hood.

“You look like shit.” His face had noticeably grown gaunt and his flesh was a sickly pale color. He looked beyond exhausted.

“It’s nice to see you too.” He was too tired to quip back.

“Can I come in?” Without saying a word, Bucky turned around to enter back into his house, leaving the door ajar as her only invitation in.

“How have you been?” Wanda asked, stepping in, taking in the house around her. Unopened mail piled up near the door greeted her. As she passed by the coat hanger, her fingers quickly lingered at the fabric of one of your jackets. If she didn’t know any better, it was almost like you were still there. Your shoes were still neatly placed near the door where you’d left them, your keys still on their usual hook.

“Never better,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky,” she sighed, “I want to help, but you can’t keep shutting me out like this.” She followed him into the kitchen where he stood, opposite the counter to her.

“Maybe I don’t want your help!” he barked back. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he had grown so frustrated. He didn’t want sympathy, he wanted you. No amount of I’m sorry or this is what she would’ve wanted eased the ripping sensation in his chest.

“You’re not the only person who lost somebody,” she snapped.

Vision.

Steve.

Tony.

Gone.

Bucky sighed. He hadn’t realized how hard his hands were gripping onto the kitchen counter, knuckles turning white from the strain. She was right. “I’m sorry.”

“She was my friend too.”

“I know.”

Wanda sighed, rubbing her temples in frustration. “I don’t even know why I came here.”

“Wait.” Bucky released his grip from the counter, looking up at her. “Stay, please”

Wanda nodded silently. Bucky decided to concoct a small pot of tea to fill the silence. Despite being best friends with you, Wanda and Bucky never talked much. It wasn’t because they didn’t get along necessarily, they just existed as separate pieces of your life.

It wasn’t until now that they realized they were the closest thing the other had to a family left. The world had learned to move on without them. They were both caught in a state of purgatory, seemingly endless mourning. What bound them was that nasty sting of survivor’s guilt. The phrase it should’ve been me played in their minds like a broken record.

They sat on the couch, ignoring the piping tea Bucky made and instead opted to nurse a beer. It was times like these that Bucky really wished he could just get a little intoxicated, anything to ease his mood.

“Do you see it in your dreams too?” Wanda asked, taking another sip of her drink.

“What?”

“How she died.” A moment of silence paused. “I see Viz sometimes.” Her voice was quiet.

He simmered in the question for a minute. “Every night.”

Bucky heard a quiet sob come from her direction causing him to turn his attention away from his bottle and to her. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Your thoughts,” she sniffled, “they’re- they’re so loud. I can hear her, Bucky.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. That moment, those few minutes were on an eternal loop in his mind. He didn’t ever really stop thinking about it, but those few times the thought went dormant all he felt was numb. Wasn’t it better to feel sorrow than nothing at all, though? Doesn’t that just prove it was real?

Bucky went to gently place his hand on Wanda’s shoulder for reassurance. In a flash, he was back there, upon that rocky cliff reliving that awful moment. Except this time, Wanda saw it all too. Ripping his hand away abruptly he cursed under his breath. Wanda was now shaking, tears drowning her face.

“Bucky I saw it- I saw her.” She was crying too hard to form a coherent sentence but he knew what she meant. “Oh, Bucky, I’m so sorry.” She pulled him into an embrace, still sobbing. At first he wasn’t sure what to do, the last person he held being you, still trying to register how he felt. Soon enough, he settled into the hug.

Wanda pulled back after a few minutes, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, trying to regain her composure.

“She would’ve made a beautiful bride,” she smiled sadly, picturing her best friend adorned in a gorgeous dress.

“Yeah,” he ached, “she would have.”

“A soul for a soul.” She let the words marinate on her lips.

“A soul for a soul.” He let the words fester like a venom on his tongue.

They sat in the quiet of one another for a moment. Bucky felt awful Wanda had to watch her best friend die, but secretly it was oddly pleasant to share the burden. If he could’ve done the same for her, he would’ve. It was a strange comfort to know it hurt someone as much as it cut him.

“If you could, even if it was just for a while, wouldn’t you bring her back?”

“Wanda. . .” It was wishful thinking. You were gone.

“I miss her.”

“I miss her too.”

“Wouldn’t you do it?”

“You know I would.”

She then got up, excusing herself quickly. She left in a hurry, as if she were running late and thanked Bucky for the cup of tea she hadn’t even sipped. She had work to do.

He went to bed that night, dreaming of that day all over again. Except this time, it ended the way he wanted it; you safe at home and him at the bottom of a rocky tundra.

-

“Child, I am warning you, you’re playing with the natural law,” the Red Skull cautioned sharply.

“Are you going to stop me?” she asked, ready to face any obstacle that came in her way.

“I’m here to warn you. You cannot retrieve the soul. The exchange has been made.”

“You can keep the soul,” she hissed.

With those fateful words, Wanda had sealed your fate.

-

You didn’t know how long you’d been trapped inside the darkness, but once you were pulled from it, it was an abrupt awakening. Your ears continued to ring for a while longer, but you could make out snippets of a heated argument.

What did you do? I saved her. What if it’s no longer her? What did you trade? This is bad, this is bad. She’s back. This isn’t natural. None of what we do is natural.

Your mouth still had the slight taste of blood in it and your body ached, but besides that there weren’t many physical ailments you suffered. You began to open your eyes a little to assess the room. Bucky held tightly onto your hand, too busy ugly crying to see you had awakened. As you finally sat up, everyone in the room quickly turned their attention towards you. You used your free hand to shield yourself from the light.

“Is it really you?” Wanda asked, slowly approaching.

“I believe it is.” Something was different. Not physically perhaps, but you knew something had changed.

Bruce came over to look at your vitals, affirming that you would be fine. Wanda began to smile at you. Internally, though, she was panicking.

She knows.

“Y/N, I’ve missed you so much-”

“Wanda, I need to talk to you,” you cut off Bucky, not paying much mind to his tears. Everyone in the room was taken aback by your bluntness. Like a scorned child, Bucky slowly kissed your hand before leaving the room with the rest of the team. She just needs time.

“I’m different,” you commented, pulling and tugging out the many wires inside your veins to stand up.

“You’re back.” She embraced you, happy to see her friend alive.

“What did you do?” You didn’t bother to return the gesture.

“I got you back,” she sniffled, pulling away to look into your gaze.

You narrowed your eyes. “No, you did something else.”

“Y/N-”

“Fucking tell me, Wanda.” She wasn’t used to this version of you. You were distant, biting with your words. You normally would’ve never spoken to her that way.

“Don’t be mad.” Her tears were now ones of pain instead of joy.

“Fine. Tell me.”

“You don’t have a soul.” She was trying to hold back, not breakdown immediately. She was way in over her head with this one. But she couldn’t lose you and Viz, not if she could help it. You were all she had left.

You stared blankly at her. In your head, you knew that statement was supposed to warrant a reaction, some form of emotion. Nothing. No words came, no strong feelings manifested, so you just continued to look at her absent mindedly. What was there to say?

“But-” she continued.

“But?”

“I can fix this. We just need to ‘borrow’ a piece of someone else’s. It’s not perfect, but it can work.” Wanda wanted to sound convincing, but she wasn’t even sure she believed in herself at that moment. She wasn’t even really sure you would wake up once you were back.

You already had heard enough of her bargaining. You gave it a quick thought before responding. “No.”

“What?” Her face twisted into an expression of confusion and horror. Of all the reactions she pictured, she would’ve never assumed you wouldn’t want it back.

To her further surprise, you began to walk out of the room. There wasn’t anything left for you there, not that you could tell anyways. As you passed Bucky, he went to take your hand and get your attention.

“Doll, is everything alright?” His voice was gentle, eyes still puffy from the recent crying he had just endured.

“Yeah,” you answered, not stopping to look at him as you found your way to the exit.

Nat saw you were in pursuit of the door and casually stepped in front of it, creating a barrier. “Why so eager to head out?” she asked, careful in her tone.

You gave it a second of thought. “There’s nothing here for me.”

“Wanda, what did you do?” Clint wasn’t accusatory in his voice, but there was an underlying sharpness.

“She’s not dangerous, she’s just, she’s just-”

“You’re scared of me?” You asked everyone, inspecting the room. Footsteps were making their way to the nearest exit, others had their hands closed to their weapons, some just shifted nervously, unsure of what to do.

“Wanda, we need to figure out what’s happening or she can’t stay,” Bruce reasoned calmly.

“Like hell she can’t.” Bucky instinctively stepped in front of you. “Wanda is going to fix whatever this is. Right, Wanda?” He was desperate and was beyond horrible at hiding it. He wasn’t going to lose you again, not when he just got you back.

“I can, but-”

“See. She’s going to be okay.” He turned to look at you now, ignoring everyone else in the room. “You’re going to be okay. This must be really hard for you right now. Just like you said, we’re going to be okay, doll.”

“I am okay. Now if you don’t mind I’ll be on my way,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Love,” Bucky whispered dejectedly, “what are you talking about?”

They wouldn’t understand, but you knew you had to try to explain if you ever wanted to make it out without a fight. “My soul’s gone.” The room turned eerily silent. Some eyes turned to Wanda, others remained focused on you.

“Doll-”

“I don’t love you.” Every muscle in the room tensed with shock. This was not the same girl who died at Vormir. “Stop saying doll like it’s going to bring me back. She’s gone. I can’t care about you even if I tried-'' Suddenly, you were hit with a monstrous wave of fatigue.

As you were monologuing, Wanda snuck up behind you and was working her magic. She couldn’t continue to watch this, she didn’t need spells or sorcery to know this was killing Bucky all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before the world went dark once more.

-

“You said you can fix her.”

“I can. I think.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She wasn’t dead when I got there. She wasn’t alive. Her consciousness was in this sort of limbo state, neither fully in either state. I could pull her from that. But she didn’t have a soul, that was far gone once I got there.”

“That doesn’t sound like solving the problem.”

“I need someone else’s soul, even just a piece. Kind of like a transplant. It would morph into her and she could use it. I just need to find-”

“Use mine.”

“Bucky, I’ve never done this before and I don’t know what might happen. . .”

“Wanda. I said use mine.”

A silence fell between the two. It was only a matter of time before the team would find a way to return you. They loved you, but the person who came from Vormir was barely a shell of the girl they knew. They couldn’t have a mutant with no moral compass running around.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Bucky was really beginning to hate the concept of time. There was never enough of it, always slipping through the cracks of his palms. But there was nothing he wouldn’t do for more time with you.

-

The exchange happened in secret. It is quite a difficult thing to quantify a soul and even more challenging to find a way to split it into two. It was also unknown what the soul determined. You still had your memories without one and you still had desires, but no emotional regard for others. Would taking half of another person’s soul mean you were now that person? Did you feel emotions the way they felt them? Can you run off half of one?

The whole situation was messy, but Bucky and Wanda well knew they were past the point of no return. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t stay like this. This was the only viable option.

After what felt like centuries of darkness, your body was back once more. The lights, they were all too flashy, too proud. They mocked you, jeered in your face as they reflected off your pupils and announced I was here before you were born and I’ll exist long after you die. Light was a very prideful entity. But the way Bucky made you light up was warm, and soft. It was tender and its rays peppered I love yous along your flesh.

In many ways, having half of Bucky’s soul felt poetic. There’s no me without you. You were now tethered by a celestial bond, something deeper than what was written in the stars. You had a piece of him, you were a piece of him now.

Your eyes flickered open slowly, straining against the dim lamp. This time you were in your normal bed, no wires or needles poked or prodded into your skin. By your side were a nervous Bucky and Wanda, waiting with bated breath.

“Bucky?” your voice rasped.

“Y/N?” His voice was hesitant. He wasn’t sure what to expect anymore.

You immediately jolted up to embrace him. His arms were just as safe as you remembered, his hair just as soft as you ran your fingers through it.

“Buck, I’m so sorry,” you groveled. You had a crystal clear memory of all the hurtful things you had said, the image of a melancholic Bucky and Wanda etched in your mind. “Wanda, I’m sorry,” you hicked into Bucky’s chest.

“Shh,” he reassured you, “It’s okay. We’re okay now.”

“We missed you,” Wanda smiled, tears filling her wide eyes. You got up to hug her. A dizzy spell struck you as you got to your feet, Wanda having to bear some of your weight on her as you fell into a hug.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just a lot,” you smiled through joyous tears.

Life was beginning to look up. Sure, maybe you were a little tired, but that’s expected when you’re essentially resurrected from the dead.

“How long was I gone for?” you asked, sitting back down on the bed.

“Two months,” Bucky answered. Now that the excitement had waned, you saw how haunted he looked. His face was hollowed and his eyes were tinted an autumn red. He was by no means thriving, but he’d never looked so handsome to you.

As you looked at your best friend and your boyfriend by your side, surrounding you with warmth and hugs of reassurance, you knew things were going to be alright.

-

It was the fourth night you had returned. The team had greeted you, albeit hesitantly, and reveled in your comeback. The world knew of your return by your third. You were a hero, an emblem of greatness. It was a strange sight, walking around seeing portraits of your face along the city streets. What hurt most was learning of everyone who died along with you, their faces preserved in the same murals.

Peacefully, you slept next to Bucky, his arms wrapped firmly around you. He never let you out of his sight once you returned. Some would say it was overbearing, borderline clingy, but with the given circumstances you understood why.

You’d slept relatively with ease until that night. It all happened so quickly, rapid fire images. Their screaming. The blood. The horror in their eyes. The snaps and tears of their bodies. You woke up, breathing in deeply. In an attempt to regain your grip on reality you sat up and took a small sip of your water on the nightstand. Bucky felt your weight shift off of him and sat up alongside you.

“Everything okay?” he asked, rubbing circles on your back with his cool metal touch.

“Yeah, just a bad dream.”

“Was it about. . .”

“No. It wasn’t even mine,” you confessed.

Even in the dark, you could easily decipher that Bucky’s face was settled into a confused disposition.

You’d play this scene, many endless nights before. Except you’d usually be consoling Bucky, assuring him he was okay. They were all just dreams, not a reflection of his reality.

“I have your nightmares,” you whispered. It was strangely intimate, to not only hear about them, but live them. Borderline invasive.

“Oh, doll,” he lilted, holding you against his chest as you laid back down. He couldn’t help but feel horrified. He didn’t want you to see, to relive that part of his past.

“Do you have them often?”

“Not anymore.”

“Really?” you asked hopefully, eyes travelling to look up to him. “That’s good.”

“I have nightmares about Vormir instead.”

“I’m back, we’re alright,” you assured, nuzzling deeper into him.

“I know. I’m still scared I’ll wake up sometimes.” He rubbed light circles around your back. “And you’ll disappear again.”

“I’m here to stay.”

“Promise?” He knew you couldn’t.

“Promise.” You weren’t sure. But that was enough to hear for the night. It was all the convincing you two needed for the moment, even if it was capricious. You’d only been back for a few days, there were no signs you were staying or leaving. You fell asleep once more, being lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Bucky stayed awake, though. Every moment was precious, too irreplaceable to not enjoy. Sometimes he wished he could stay awake for every minute you shared. The cute face you made when you woke up, the way you tugged at his hand, how you sounded when you sang along with the radio.

You were right in his arms, but he couldn't help but dread this would slip from him again.

-

“I didn’t understand love until I met you. I love you when you’re happy and laughing and I love you when you’re angry with me. I love your messy hair in the mornings and I love your sleepy yawns at night. I love when you say my name loudly and I love when you take my hand mindlessly. There is not a piece of you I haven’t loved since the day I met you. You’re half my soul and my whole life. You’re my sun, my moon, my stars, and my everything. There’s not enough words to describe how much I love you with all my being. I love you, my love.” Tears streamed down his face as he spoke. He had prepared the vows the day you died and now here he was, saying the very same words to you.

Life was a dream, a ray of sunshine once again. He kissed your lips fervently, fearing he might perish if he had to stay another moment away from you.

You were his.

He was yours.

-

The sun peeked through the curtains and onto the kitchen floor. The snow was beginning to melt off the ground and the trees were collecting their green shades back. Birds chirped outside as you continued to make lunch. You heard the light sound of Bucky’s bare feet on the wooden boards as he sneaked up behind you, encaging you in his arms.

It had been three months since you returned. All was okay. You were finally going to be okay. It shouldn’t have happened and you sometimes didn’t believe it yourself, but you were here to stay. Your comeback didn’t come without its obstacles, of course. Running off of half a soul was not a particularly viable way to live. You’d began to grow weaker, slower in your movements. Unlike Bucky, you didn’t have super soldier serum to keep you running. You no longer had your previous geokinesis abilities which meant no more fighting. Bucky and you decided to retire from the Avenger’s because of that, but the extra time together took your mind off your fragile state.

You felt the tinge of Bucky’s stubble against your neck as he kissed it lovingly.

“What are you doing, Mr. Barnes?” you giggled, his beard hair tickling your skin.

“Admiring my wife, Mrs. Barnes.”

The wedding ceremony was modest. You two bought the first rings you saw and married the same night. You’d only been back a week, but you weren’t sure how much longer you had. Time, it was fickle as always. Wanda acted as your maid of honor. The rest of the team also attended. It was the happiest you’d seen any of them in a long time. Glasses clinked in celebration and well wishes were directed to the newly weds. It was the pick me up everyone needed.

Bucky continued to pepper kisses down your neck, shoulders, and collar bones. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

“How am I supposed to make lunch if my husband won’t give me some room?”

“Forget lunch, come cuddle with me,” he mumbled into your neck.

Before you could quip back at your husband, the breath was knocked out of your chest. If Bucky hadn’t been standing right behind you, you surely would’ve fallen to the cool ground.

“What’s wrong, doll?”

You went to answer him, but your words were stopped by a sharp inhale. You clutched at your chest, it felt like your heart was burning a hole inside your ribcage.

“Baby, c’mon stay with me now,” he pleaded gently. He lifted you up and tenderly set you on the couch to lay down.

“Bucky, I don’t feel so good,” you groaned, a light headed feeling settling into your skull.

“No, no, no, no,” he mumbled panickedly. “We’re going to get Wanda and you’re going to be alright. Okay?”

He went to dial her number, one hand still firmly gripped around your shaky one. Before the phone could let out its first ring, you were out cold.

-

“Bucky.”

“Yes, love?”

“We need to talk about it?”

“About what?” he asked, genuinely curious as to what you were referring to.

It was exactly two weeks since you passed out. Wanda came over to assess the damage. Maybe you just didn’t get enough sunlight or enough sleep. Bucky was hoping it was an issue of the Earthly medical realm. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t and instead called the only person who could possibly give answers.

You let out a sigh. Your fork mindlessly pushed around your food on your dinner plate. Recently, you’d lost your appetite. The days blended together, fading in and out of conscious understanding of your reality.

“You know what.”

Bucky swallowed and continued to stare at the plate in front of him. “She said she didn’t know.”

Your husband was never the optimist until you came back. He was strong headed, and resilient. At first his unwavering positivity was sweet. Quickly, you realized it was a state of denial. He was going to lose you twice and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. So he rather just not talk about it. He would rather make all the meals and do all the shopping and pretend that you sleeping eighteen hours straight was normal. Your new shivering habit was just a result of the cold wind and your lightheaded spells happened because you didn’t drink enough water. That’s what he tried to tell himself, anyways.

“What if I die tonight?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Bucky, you know as well as I do that it could happen.”

“I won’t let it.”

“You don’t get a say in that!” You yelled across the table. This forced Bucky’s eyes to peer up at you. “We have never gotten a say in any of this. Stop acting like we’re okay. Maybe Wanda can give you your other half back-”

“You are my other half. I don’t care about the soul, I want you.” He walked over to you and kneeled down to where you sat. He firmly looped your hands into his. “Can’t you see that?”

“Bucky, I’m dying.”

“We don’t know that.”

“We can’t stop it.”

“I know!” he cried. “I know.” He now put his face defeatedly into his hands. The usually large, intimating man looked pathetic crying on his knees on the kitchen floor. His body shook as his pulse raced.

Your fingers softly grazed through his hair to offer him some comfort. Maybe it was selfish, but you needed to hear him admit it. The fear that you’d leave and he wouldn’t be ready further and further crept into your mind at night.

“How about we go lay down?”

“Yeah,” he sniffled. “Yeah.”

“And you can tell me about your childhood.”

“And then you’ll tell me yours?”

“Of course, Buck.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he affirmed, and gently kissed your hand before helping you upstairs.

-

“Wanda, what the fuck do you mean?” Bucky barked.

Her tone was solemn. “I told you it might not work.”

“She was alright just three weeks ago.”

“That’s a funny way to put it.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Bucky. Look at her.” Bucky and Wanda both stood at your bedroom door. After the first time you passed out, they knew there was no use in taking you to a hospital. They couldn’t help you, why waste the trip?

“She looks fine.”

“If you won’t stop lying to yourself then I can’t help you.”

Bucky glanced over to you, cradled in the sheets. He had been absolutely blinded by the fear of losing you. You’d begun to look sickly since the day you’d returned. It was slow at first, maybe a weak moment here or there, but as the weeks progressed you were withering more rapidly. The past week was the worst. You looked empty, barely surviving.

“We both have half a soul. How am I fine and she’s not?”

“Bucky, that’s not even half her own soul.”

He looked over to the love of his life as he asked, “Did you know this would happen?”

“I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Give her mine.”

“You’ll die,” Wanda reasoned.

“I don’t care anymore!” His voice was forlorn.

Bucky’s booming voice disturbed your deep state of sleep. You slowly began to peel your eyes open. It hurt to know the two people you loved the most were always arguing. All because of you. Because the world had to be saved and there was no other way.

“I’m not losing both of you,” she answered plainly through gritted teeth.

Slowly, your body began to rise to a sitting position on the bed. The two stared at you with pitiful gazes, scanning your figure. You looked like a wilting flower, clinging onto the last few breaths life could afford you.

“Bucky? Wanda?”

“Hey, doll,” Bucky soothed. “You had me worried. You feeling better now?”

It was hard to meet his sincerely hopeful gaze. As you looked back into his bright blue eyes, you could see his judgment was clouded. He was delusional.

You shook your head slowly. “It’s happening.”

“What are you talking about?” He slowly stroked at your cheek.

Wanda left the doorway for the living room. She couldn’t watch this any longer.

It’s a strange feeling, to know your body is succumbing to itself. The funny thing about death is, no one really plans on it. You had known for weeks and had plenty of time to come to terms with such a fate, but now that it was here, you weren’t sure what to do.

You slowly took your hands into Bucky’s hand and sighed. For a moment, you both allowed yourselves to become engulfed in the silence. Absently, you traced your thumb around the back of Bucky’s hand. His voice may have remained calmed, but his body betrayed him easily. He was shaking, like a sick kitten forced to endure the rain.

It felt appropriate to say something, anything. But the silence was welcoming. For those few minutes in the quiet, you could pretend that everything was normal. You were his. He was yours. It would be alright.

“We’re on borrowed time, Buck.”

“Don’t say that. Please, we’re going to fix this.”

“James.”

“Y/N.”

“The only other option is living with no soul. I don’t want that. I don’t want to die not feeling love. Yes, there’s a lot of pain too, but that comes with it. And that’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

You began to lethargically inch off of the bed, tiredly tossing the sheets aside. Bucky couldn’t help himself, he immediately rushed over to try to help you lie back down.

“Doll, you’re sick. You need your strength. Please rest.”

“Bucky, I’m dying. There’s nothing we can do. I’m not spending my last few hours shut up in a bedroom.”

He nodded with a sense of understanding. “Okay.”

You hated putting him in this position, but he knew it was coming. There wasn’t anything left. It was your time and you wanted to spend it in a meaningful way. He aided you back into the living room. Wanda awaited on the couch, head resting in her hands. No exchange of words needed to happen, she already understood.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Wanda. Thanks for the extra time.”

You met each other in a warm embrace. She took in the scent of your hair one more time, the feel of your skin against hers. Wanda would miss the stories you’d never get to share, the laughs that would never happen, and most of all her best friend.

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t make it longer,” she smiled sadly. She wouldn’t cry until she got home. You’d been strong this whole time, the least she felt she could do was extend the same courtesy to you.

With a loving last squeeze, she released and excused herself out of the house. The door closed with a foreboding quiet and all that remained was Bucky and you.

“Do you want to see the team?” He was still staring at the door. This was truly the finale, it was all coming to a close.

“I don’t think they’ll make it in time. Let’s go somewhere.” Your eyes remained at the door as well.

“Where to?”

“How about the backyard. The sunset looks beautiful this time of year.” You took his hand in yours. With what strength you had left you squeezed it lightly.

“That sounds wonderful.”

Little by little, you made your way outside and took a seat on the small bench in the back. The air was that of mid spring, clean and welcoming in her wake. By now, many wildflowers had begun to pop up, decorating the green yard with soft pastels. You rested your head gently on Bucky’s shoulder, him still keeping a strong hold on your hand.

“What’s it like?”

“Death?”

“Yeah. Do you remember it?”

“Well,” you explained, “I wasn’t fully dead. I was in some in-between state. It was dark, but I wasn’t scared.”

“Are you scared now?”

You gave it a moment's thought. “No. Not when you’re here.”

The sun slowly made its descent and began to color the sky with beautiful hues in its path. There were swirls and combinations of magentas, lavenders, and oranges across the dusk canvas. The air settled into a cooler temperature, causing you to snuggle closer into Bucky.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” you pondered.

“I’m just sad it couldn’t be this one,” he answered. He was almost glad you couldn’t see him. Silent tears were violently making their way down his face.

Gently lifting your hand to his mouth, he kissed it lightly. For later.

The sky was almost the same shade as Vormir’s, illuminating your skin in a lovely violet. It was a halo around your image, beautiful enough to paint in a picture. Silence dominated most of your time left. There was too much left to say, so instead you expressed your last remarks to one another with your touches and sweet nothings. A quick kiss on the forehead, a longing gaze exchanged with the other, a tender I love you mumbled in the other's hair.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“All the time.”

“I don’t say it enough. You’re beautiful. Thank you for the privilege of being yours.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, doll?”

“We’re going to be okay.” You delicately placed a prolonged kiss on his cheek before returning to your previous position, your head on his shoulder.

“I know.”

The wind danced through the trees, the sun disappearing behind their jagged silhouettes. The sky faded to a deep lilac to finally a grand navy color. The sound of nature whizzed throughout the air and the steadiness of Bucky’s breathing was the only company it shared.

“Hey, Y/N?”

A distant animal pranced in the forest, crushing leaves as it travelled, filling the silence. The moon slowly began to take the sun's place, offering dim light to the tragic scene.

“Doll?”

The world went still. The blue in Bucky’s eyes travelled down to the girl leaning on him. Peaceful. She looked so peaceful. Weeks of fatigue and sleep deprivation had melted from her face and she looked content. Her soft hands still remained gripped around his, her eyelashes reflecting the beams of the moon off of them.

“I love you,” he whispered out into the lonely night.

-

The years went by. Your death wasn’t the only major one Bucky would suffer. He outlived many of his other friends, in fact. The super soldier serum kept him running longer than he intended. Still, everyday he would go to the small cemetery to talk to his lover. She was the greatest listener, the most fantastic person to cry to.

After two decades of her absence, he donated her items. To try to move on, to evolve from his past. But that didn’t help. She was everywhere. He still only slept on his side of his bed and made sure to come home at a decent time, subconsciously expecting someone to be waiting for him. There was a piece of her in everything he did. He hated it. He loved it. It was wonderful and the most horrendous feeling ever.

So there he sat now. Withered and grey on the coldest day of the year at your gravestone. He had lived a lifetime, desperately trying to remember the sound of your voice. The way it sang his name and how it lulled I love you. Your image was a fading photograph in his weary mind, a fuzzy picture of what could’ve been. As he took his final breaths, he thought of the girl he let fall, but just couldn’t let go.

~

A/N: I want to thank @cherry-season for the wonderful suggestion. I had a lot of fun (and a lot of crying sessions) writing this piece, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. All likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. Have a lovely day.

My masterlist.

Grant was the most excited, jumping around the house in green tights and cap with a red feather. Peter Pan was his costume this year while little Rebecca has insisted she wanted to be Wendy. She twirled around in the little blue dress happily while you helped her with her hair.

Letting the kids decide your costumes had been the best thing to happen to Bucky because Grant had wanted you to be his tinkerbell and you looked absolutely stunning in that little green, glittering dress while Bucky dressed as a much hotter Captain Hook than the original cartoon. He dressed in classic pirate attire and kept his metal arm as his ‘hook’.

“Alright, who’s ready for some candy?”Bucky answered, fixing his own pirate hat before wrapping an arm around you.

Grant put out a hand as if telling Bucky to stop, his little palm facing his dad,”No, Captain Hook, you can’t have Tink!”

“Then I’ll just have to steal Wendy!”He went along, seizing Becca and picking her up to place on his shoulders. The giggles that came from both of the kids made Bucky’s heart thump harder. Oh how he loved his family.

Becca squealed happily, wrapping her little arms around his head.”Daddy!” Her laughs were music to his ears, the pure sound of happiness that sounded just like yours.

“What, doll? You wanna fly?” He asked, spinning around as she spread her arms like she was flying. You grinned at your husband and daughter while Grant gathered up his trick or treat bag along with Becca’s.

“Give me back my Wendy!”Grant insisted, stomping his little feet when he was finally ready to go. Bucky chuckled at him, setting a slightly dizzy Becca back on her feet.

“Careful, baby,”You steady her, giving her bag.”We’re gonna meet Sammy and Riley at the stop sign down the street, we’re gonna walk their road, there are more houses that way, plus, Sam is an extra pair of eyes,”You started to tell Bucky anxiously.

“They’ll be fine, babydoll,”He assured you, caressing your cheek gently while the kids out their shoes on by the door.”You always get like this on Halloween.”

“I’m just afraid they’ll get lost, or pranked, or someone will steal their candy,”You went on, but Bucky hushed you with a soft kiss that made the kids groan in disgust.

“Quiet, you two, go wait in the living room,”Bucky told them while they both pouted before running into the living room.

“Buck, what if—“

“Nothing is gonna happen,”Bucky told you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your against his chest.”They’ve got us protecting them, and I highly doubt anyone is gonna bully the kids of the Winter Soldier. They’re scared of me, our kids will be fine, it’s the one good thing about being me.”

“James…”You scolded him with a frown much like you would the kids when they say something bad,”I think there is a lot of good things about being you.”

“Yeah, like what?”He asked, hoping to distract you from your other anxieties.

“Well, you got two beautiful children that look at you like you make the world go ‘round,”You told him, playing with the ruffles on his costume.”And don’t forget about your wife who just loves you so much.”

“Oh, yeah, my pretty little wife,”Bucky teased, squeezing your hips gently and not caring that glitter was undoubtedly getting all over him.”Have I told you how good you look in this dress?” He pressed his forehead against yours, a little smirk on his lips.

“I think you mentioned a couple times….”

“You’re definitely winning all the costume contests, you’re gonna be the talk of the neighborhood,”Bucky nudged his nose against yours. You can feel his breath against your lips, but you don’t lean forward. You just appreciate being close. It eased you to be held like this, but you knew if you kissed him, he’d have a hard time the rest of the night.

“Down, boy,”You chuckled, pushing his chest to get him to take a step back but he just tightened his grip around you.

“Can’t a man get a kiss from his beautiful wife before she goes and makes the entire town fall in love with her?”Bucky joked, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

“I don’t know about everyone falling in love with me, I think the moms will hate me,”You told him with a chuckle.

“Jealously at its finest,”Bucky whispered, inching his lips up your jaw and to your lips. He paused there for a second,”I’m gonna ruin you tonight, baby doll. This little dress is being torn to shreds the second the kids go to bed.”

“You’ll have to wait quite awhile once they get the sugar in their system,”You chuckled, grinning at him widely.

“Oh, I’m putting a candy limit for the night. No shenanigans, daddy wants a treat too.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“One kiss to hold me over?”

“One,”You agreed,”Better make it last.”

Bucky’s lips slotted against yours, his hands going down to just give your ass the slightest squeeze. The little gasp that escaped you gave him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips, sucking on yours slowly as your hands clench his shirt. Just as you were leaning into him, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, you were halted by the voices of your very eager children.

“Mommy, daddy! Let’s go!!”Grant complained with Becca in tow as they both stomped into the kitchen. Becca had her hands on her hips while Grant stood with his arms crossed.”We’re gonna be late!”

“Why do our kids have to be so punctual?”Bucky laughed, pressing one last kiss to your lips.”It’s like they don’t know us.”

“I know, we’re late everything, Sam tells to arrive half an hour early to all his dinners so we’ll show up on time, and we’re still late most the time,”You smiled, patting Bucky’s chest before pulling away completely.

Bucky admired you walking away from him, tilting his head to watch the way your hips sway while Grant rolled his eyes with a grumpy look on his face. Bucky noticed after a second, sighing as how much Grant’s facial expression mirrored his grumpy look.

“Okay, okay, let’s go, kiddos, let’s get some treat, but hey, you get five pieces of candy tonight so choose wisely,”Bucky told them, fixing Grant’s crooked hat before opening the door for everyone.

You kissed Bucky’s cheek on the way out, stopping just for a second,”Promise I’ll make tonight worth it, if you can capture me, Captain Hook.” You flicked his hat with a little smirk before taking both the kids’ hands in yours to keep them safe as you walked.