mysticmilktea

[mysticmilktea]

Give me a summer Johnny skin Marvel Rivals I’m begging

I want to burn people up looking like this let’s GO

[mysticmilktea]

[mysticmilktea]

Reblog if it's okay to invade your ask box.

Always

[mysticmilktea]

Johnny Storm watching Galactus pick up a handful of dirt and sniff it, thinking this big ass god is going to eat his world by the fistful like a bag of Doritos, is the funniest part of the movie idc

[mysticmilktea]

*The team finally makes it to Earth 19999 and are trying to explain how they bested Galactus to Stephen Strange*

Stephen: “It’s an unsophisticated backyard abomination. Unstable, Unreliable, Unsafe, I can’t believe you squeezed a cosmic entity through what is effectively a jackhammered hole in space time. Do you know what would have happened if the energy contained there backfired? Let me enlighten you—“

Johnny: *quietly passes a note to Reed*

Reed: *opens it to find: “They call him Doctor because he has a PHD in not shutting the fuck up” scribbled on the paper. Reed looks at Johnny, they’re both unable to contain their laughter.*

Stephen: “And THAT is why—“ *Stops ranting to look at them. Lets out a groan of annoyance, his eyes closing as he presses his forehead into the palm of his hand* “The intricacies of teleportation are a joke to you guys. Great that’s—great. It’s Tony all over again.”

[mysticmilktea]

Joseph Quinn as Johnny Storm The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025) | Dir. Matt Shakman

[mysticmilktea]

yup that’s my sneaky lil guy

[mysticmilktea]

The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025) Dir. Matt Shakman

[mysticmilktea]

pulling a johnny storm on johnny storm

[mysticmilktea]

Shards

Pairings: Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Johnny Storm, was in a major accident. You’re staying at the Baxter Building to help him while he recovers.

Length: App. 1.5k

CW: Mentions of death and major injuries

Notes: This is a one shot hurt/comfort piece. I have a long fic in the works for my guy Johnny 🔥 so if you like this story, my writing, or just want to chat feel free to follow. Thanks for reading!

“Mmm…” you mumbled, your eyes opening from a deep sleep. You blinked heavily, taking in the space around you. It was the bedroom of worldwide hero Jonathan Storm, your boyfriend of nearly a year. Being with him for months now you’ve become accustomed to staying over at the Baxter Building. This room and all of its intricacies were familiar to you—his media collection, the rounded bed, sleek light fixtures, and cozy drapery were as comforting to you as your own apartment. You didn’t expect to see it all cloaked in darkness, though, with nothing but New York starlight filtering in between the curtains.

What time is it…? You wondered lazily, your consciousness still laced with the haze of sleep. As you closed your eyes again your arm went to the opposite side of the bed, feeling for Johnny’s warmth but finding only air.

“Johnny…? Oh shit, Johnny!” You sat up quickly, your mind replaying the events of the past 24 hours in vivid detail. The Four were trying to stop a runaway bus in the New York City subway and he was the only one fast enough to keep up with the insane speed. He was able to melt the front axle to stall the vehicle but it went sideways, hitting him.

Reed had explained that the power of his flames was the only reason he survived, the superhuman heat melting the bulk of the structure before it could actually touch his body beneath. The momentum of the bus, though, was enough that some of it did make contact, specifically on his right side. His arm and several ribs were broken, chunks of glass embedded themselves in the skin of his upper body as the windows shattered.

He had already been treated by the family’s personal surgeon by the time you had arrived; a top-notch specialist hired by Reed as a contingency for these kinds of situations. All that was left was for him to rest, to heal; and he had been up to this point. The entirety of the day today he was asleep in his bed with you watching over him astutely, waiting for his eyes to open.

It figures that when they finally did it was in the dead of night while you were asleep yourself.

You grabbed a blue robe from the bedside and put it on, taking the length of its silk belt and looping a tight knot around your waist. Fully awake now you rose to stand, your feet carrying you from his room, past the kitchen and down the hall. You had an idea of where he probably was.

And you were right.

A light was shining through the darkness from the conversation pit, the Baxter Building’s upscale version of a living room. Johnny was sitting cross-legged on the couch, the blue velvet enveloping his back. His front was covered with a large plaid blanket from the waist down, his bare chest and bandages visible in the glow of the TV.

“Hey…babe…” he said weakly, his blue eyes pivoting to meet yours. His left hand appeared from beneath the bulk of sherpa to pat the cushion next to him, beckoning you to his side.

“Hey…” you parroted, lowering yourself to sit where he asked. You wanted to prod him about why he was out here, lecture him that he should be resting back in his room, but then he looked at you. His skin was bruised beneath his right eye blending into deep dark circles, a large gash had been sutured along the side of his neck. Then there were the major injuries. The dressing of his arm wrapped from the wrist and all the way up to his shoulder where it split in two and continued in a circle around his chest, anchoring the limb in a sling pattern for stability. Streaks of purple and black outlined where his broken ribs were located, their angry discoloration spreading around his side and taking root on both his front and back.

You couldn’t bring yourself to nag him for anything, not when he’s like this.

“Thank you for being here.” He said. “For staying with me.” His voice was low, you could tell that it pained him to talk. He leaned over, kissing you deeply. His lone hand found the nape of your hair and brushed his fingers through its length. You kissed him back, your eyes closing to savor the moment. His warm lips felt like home against your skin. You reached over , your hand cradling his jawline.

He pulled away just enough to lock eyes with you, his forehead pressed against your own, catching his breath in short labored inhales. “I…I’m sorry, for putting you through this.” As if on cue he let out a small whimper, his eyes closing tightly as his hand rubbed his side.

He had been hit by a bus and he was apologizing to you?

You helped him sit upright, taking a few accent pillows to prop him up into a more comfortable position. “Johnny, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just…I’m glad you’re...” You trailed off, your own voice low now, the words laced with the threat of tears behind them.

“I dunno…I don’t feel okay.” He said, filling in the blanks. “If anything I feel kind of empty, like there’s this spot right here…” he lifted his left arm, pointing down beside him to the vacant space between you. “Where a beautiful woman should be…can we do something about that?”

You couldn’t help but give a small smile, a single tear running down your cheek. When Susan had called you yesterday the fear in her voice was palpable.

You need to get here, NOW. It’s Johnny…he’s hurt, hurt badly. Fucking hell. I can’t lose my brother too. I c-cant…

Her voice was shaking, you could hear Reed in the background trying to calm her down with one breath and instructing Ben to grab Johnny with the next.

But gentle, GENTLE Ben! The probability of internal bleeding—

And then the audio cut off. It was absolutely, without a doubt, the most terrifying moment of your life.

So to see him here, joking with you even if you knew it was just for your own comfort, was enough of a relief to make the tears come earnestly. Johnny’s smile faded into a look of concern as you tucked yourself into his blanket, curling your body against him. You turned your face into his shoulder, wetting his skin as you cried silently. You tried to tell him that you loved him, but the words were caught in your throat between sobs.

He wrapped his arm around you, his thumb rubbing small circles into your back. The heat of his body was a balm on your soul letting you know it was going to be okay. He was going to be okay.

“Hey, hey…baby girl… I shouldn’t have joked around…” he kissed the top of your head apologetically. “Look at me?” He asked.

You obliged, tilting your head up to wade in the ocean of his eyes.

“I really am s-sorry…” he winced, taking a breath. “I know what it’s like…to lose someone…that fear, I…I never want to put anyone through that. Sue, Reed, but especially you. Never you.”

He was referring to his mother, of course, who had died when he was about eight years old in an automobile accident of her own. He had told you about it around the anniversary of her death this past November. It was a formative event in Johnny’s life, and you felt terribly that the weight of his pain has manifested into guilt over his own misfortune.

You reached a hand up, your finger tracing along the purple bruise outlining his cheekbone. “Johnathan Storm if you ever scare me like this again I swear I’ll…I’ll…” you paused, brow furrowing as you tried to think of something that would lighten the mood. “…have Ben sit on you?”

He blinked, staring for a moment before going into a fit of laughter. His hand went to his side as he lost it, his feet even kicking a bit beneath the blanket. “Ow-ow-ow ribs, eeeshhh…” he said finally, calming down. “Threatening me with such violence. I’m fragile goods right now, if you didn’t notice.” He punctuated the thought with a yawn, the energy it had taken to speak with you, even for this short time, had worn him down.

“Get some rest.” You instructed with a smile, pulling the blanket further up over you both.

His eyes closed, his head nuzzling the top of yours as his arm hugged you close. “Just.. don’t leave, okay?” He asked in a whisper, his breathing steadying as sleep found him once again.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You answered, making yourself comfortable against him, allowing the rise and fall of his chest to carry you into the night.

[mysticmilktea]

If four of you are out to dinner, who's picking up the bill?

[mysticmilktea]

Give ‘em a show boys 🔥

[mysticmilktea]

How I feel about them 💙

[mysticmilktea]

Opening up requests for Johnny Storm fics 🖤 Angst, fluff, whump, spicy 🌶️ . Let me know what you guys would like to see!

Side note: if anyone wants to talk fics with me I’m actually new to the MCU fandom and would love some mutuals in the space to trade with!

[mysticmilktea]

When I tell you how I SCREAMED when I found the rest of the Fantastic Four family in the duos lobby. What are the odds that there was one of every character and both versions of Johnny 😭💙 look at them GO

[mysticmilktea]

On the record

Pairings: Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader

Word Count: App. 1.5k

Summary: You are an up-and-coming reporter tasked with interviewing the Human Torch. He is more interested in getting to know you.

Notes: This is a one shot fluff piece, 100% Complete. I have a long fic in the works for my guy Johnny 🔥 so if you like this story, my writing, or just want to chat feel free to follow. Thanks for reading!

You can also view or support this piece on AO3 here!

You, a reporter for a prominent New York newspaper following the reconstruction efforts after The Fantastic Four’s battle with Galactus, had been tasked with interviewing the Human Torch about his role in not just the fight but the clean up. What was he doing for the people of your city?

“I’m melting down and reforming metal debris so it can be easily used for rebuilding structures within the combat zone.” Was what he said on the record; it was the quote you handed to your boss to publish alongside the list of current construction projects taking place near Time Square.

“Honestly, I’m just throwing fire at what they give me. I’m way better with fixing cars than outright construction so I’m unfortunately demoted to fondue duty. I asked Reed not to rope me into this, but he insisted we all have to play a public part in reversing the damage so here I am.”

Was what he said off the record. He was floating a foot or so above you, his body cloaked in impossible flames. The heat that radiated from him was enough to make you sweat, like the middle of summer had found you amongst the winter’s snow. His eyes burnt with hellish intensity, a stark yellow fire set within the blaze of his face. You could tell his brow was furrowing, like he was trying to parse the best way to ask a question of his own.

He lowered to the ground a safe distance away, his flames dissolving into the crisp morning air. The body that was a hellscape just seconds ago had morphed into the image of worldwide hero Jonathan Storm, his crisp uniform and tussled blonde hair now an arms length from you.

“So…are you free on Saturday? I could grab us some dinner, anything you want. You can even bring that notebook of yours if it gets me a better chance at a ‘yes’. ” He threw in a smirk for good measure, his large blue eyes drinking in the sight of you from afar.

And it was those eyes that drew you in. The softness in them, the depth. You were interviewing The Human Torch , but Johnny was in there too. Below the public facade, below the flirting he was known to default to. You knew there was more to his story, and this might be just the opportunity you needed to pull it out of him.

So you accepted his invitation, and a few days later he is sat across from you for the better part of two hours. Time spent telling you about not just his adventures but his passions. You never realized how deep his interest in space really went, how he had worked restlessly to piece together an entire alien language. He was enamored with the mysteries that lay beyond our world, cloaked in stars, and what cracking them might mean for humankind.

Moreover, though, he was enamored with you. For every question you asked about his life he had two about yours. What music you listen to, what your family is like, what you do for fun. Johnny spoke to and about you like you were one of the greatest intricacies the universe ever dropped in his lap. He wanted to know everything.

It took a few meetings like this before he made his move. Just four weeks after your initial interview he asked you over to his home, the Baxter Building in Manhattan. With butterflies in your stomach you promised him you would be there, and you are. An attendant was to let you in but Johnny had surprised you on the front lawn, smiling widely at the sight of you.

“You look beautiful.” He said, holding his hand out for you to take. You felt yourself blushing. The job of a reporter has always been thankless, both in perception and in pay. The dress you wore was a simple black number, the same one you used to attend a work event just a few months ago that was widely publicized. If he knew that he either didn’t mention it or didn’t care.

“T-Thanks. You look good yourself.” You admitted. It was true, of course. He was wearing a classic blue button-up and white slacks, a simple outfit that showcased the width of his chest and the toned muscles of his arms. You reached out and took his hand, his fingers lacing between yours. The heat of his touch was a comfort against the northern chill.

“I’m not sure about that, I feel a bit underdressed beside you.” He smirked, his grip on your hand tightening a bit. His crystal eyes traced your features as he stared down at you, his free hand reaching up to brush a lick of stray hair behind your ear. “But with a face like that no one’s going to be looking at me anyway.”

Your heart leapt in your chest. On all of your outings together he had never been so forward with his affections, it was always subtext, a whisper of a promise that one day things will escalate, should you want them to.

That day had finally come.

“I…don’t think you give yourself enough credit-”

He cut you off by resting his pointer finger gently against your lips.

“Shhh. Tonight isn’t about me.” He said, smiling. It was the kind of smile that felt more like a declaration than a gesture; a gift-wrapped letter of intimate intentions penned just for you. “I wanna show you something, but you’ll have to trust me?”

You did, so you nodded wordlessly. In this moment you would trust Johnny Storm with everything you had. He took your answer as his cue and bent down, lifting you up and cradling you against his chest with both arms. You felt a rush of hot air coming from below and suddenly you were both propelled into the night.

Your arms wrapped around him so tightly that you could feel his ribs. Daring to look down you saw the grassy lawn of the Baxter Building get smaller and smaller until it was just a square of green amongst the endless lights of New York. The top of the skyscraper itself was level with you when Johnny stopped , controlling the flames around his feet to sustain a stable hover. He held you close enough that you could hear his heartbeat; a strong and steady rhythm to calm your nerves.

“This is your city. A view of it that you’ve probably never seen.” He said. You felt his lips on your scalp as he kissed the crown of your head gently. You braved a look around, your mouth agape at the pristine view of New York’s skyline. The buildings of man reached up against the heavens, their windows glistening like a million suns swimming in the ink of the night.

“It’s beautiful!” You exclaimed, unable to hide your excitement. Your entire career has been spent inspecting the city on a microscopic level—crime, homelessness, drugs, anything and everything that generates enough fear to sell a Sunday rag. But this? To see the boroughs from this vantage point, to see people living stories of love and loss on their own terms en mass…it was a gift. From him to you.

“You get to see this everyday…” you thought aloud, looking up at him, your right hand reaching forward to cup the side of his face.

“So, you like it?” He asked, nuzzling your palm.

“I love it.” You answered, your hand snaking from his cheek back into the nape of his hair; your fingers anchoring themselves amongst the short blonde strands.

“And I love you.” He whispered. You pushed his head down and kissed him deeply, your bodies a tangle of heat and flesh against the stars. You knew that this was a spectacle, that somewhere on the ground people were watching in awe. You could see the headlines from rival publications now: “Conflict of interest? Hot shot reporter caught locking lips in a fiery scandal!”

But you didn’t care. In this moment, nearly 1,000 feet above every worry in the world, the only story you wanted to write was a future with the man you loved.

[mysticmilktea]

he’s so baby girl