tinyyddancer

[tinyyddancer]

just took my first chemistry exam… where is reed when i need him

[tinyyddancer]

i have an plot!!

….i just can’t piece my scenes together

[tinyyddancer]

my angels 🪽🎀🌠🩷🌸🍵🐇💋

[tinyyddancer]

YUM 😋

Observed Behavior

pairing: Reed Richards x Fem!Mutant Reader

summary: 6.5k words. Dr. Reed Richards doesn’t pay you much attention. You’re just another intern in the lab—quiet, efficient, always taking notes. But you’re also a telepath. And Reed has no idea you can hear every filthy, unspoken thought he has about you.

rating: E. dirty talk. no infidelity, I promise! rough piv sex. oral (fem receiving). mind reading. mutual pining. semi-public sex. come on face.

a/n: omggggggggggggg I loved writing this. I only saw Fantastic Four: First Steps yesterday but I feel like I've been obsessed for months already. I actually wrote this before seeing the movie, but held off until today to post. hope you like it!!!! 💙

You don’t like Reed Richards.

You tell yourself this the moment you meet him. He barely acknowledges your existence. He doesn’t shake your hand. Doesn’t even make eye contact.

You say something polite—something like, "Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Richards."

He says, without glancing up from the display in front of him, "The data’s unstable. Did you notice the gravitic skew in quadrant six?"

Oh.

Okay. That kind of guy.

Later, you categorize him like you’re filing a report: Brilliant. Socially stunted. One of those too-smart-to-be-nice types who treats human interaction like a necessary evil.

It makes your job easier. You’re not here to be liked.

You’re here to assist with the joint-mutant initiative. Quietly. Professionally. Keep your head down, do your work, keep the mental channel muted unless someone explicitly asks for help. Your mutation makes people nervous. Not everyone wants to know what they’re broadcasting.

But Reed Richards?

Reed Richards is broadcasting filth.

The first time it happens, you think you’ve misread. You’re across the lab, checking output from a cracked containment dome, and his thoughts slip past your mental wall like a hot breath on the back of your neck:

God, what those lips would look like around my cock.

How tight she’d be, wet and warm and surprised.

Bet she tastes sweet. Fuck, I’d drag it out. Make her beg.

She wouldn’t beg. She’s too proud. I’d make her anyway.

You jolt. Your pen jerks off the page. A shaky line across your log sheet. You don’t dare look up. You’ve never heard him speak like that. You’ve barely heard him speak at all. Reed is curt. Precise. Dismissive, even. But now you hear it in his head, like it’s on a loop, layered with vivid images — your thighs spread across his desk, his fingers prying you open while he murmurs clinical observations that make your cheeks burn.

She’d be wet already. I’d test her reaction time. Graph her pulse. Hypothesize what makes her shake.

You swallow, shift in your seat, force your hands to stay still. You should block him out. You usually do. No one wants to hear what people are really thinking. It’s invasive, and it’s dangerous, and it’s too much to carry.

But this? This is—

“Is something wrong?” His voice cuts across the room. Crisp. Flat. Like he doesn’t have his hand buried in your imaginary cunt.

You look up. Just once.

He’s watching you. Eyes sharp behind his glasses. No heat in his expression — none of the filth you just heard. He looks the same way he always does. Unreadable. Detached.

“No,” you say. Too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Reed nods once and returns to typing, but his thoughts don’t stop.

I wonder if she’d moan when I touch her or bite her lip to stay quiet.

Bet I could break her composure. Bet I could ruin her neat little posture.

You grip the edge of the counter until your knuckles ache.

You’ve made a huge mistake.

Because now that you’ve tuned in, you don’t think you can stop.

-

The worst part isn’t how filthy it is.

It’s the contrast.

Reed Richards — Dr. Richards, to everyone — never even swears in conversation. He refers to the human body like it’s a schematic. He’ll say “pleasure response” instead of orgasm, and you’ve heard him refer to Sue’s divorce attorney as “a challenging presence,” which you think is his version of calling someone a dick.

So the first time you hear him think the word cunt, your brain short-circuits.

Bet it’s tight. Warm. Slick around my fingers. Her cunt would grip me like it knows me.

You grip the edge of the lab table.

Reed hasn’t moved. He’s still typing, back straight, posture annoyingly perfect. A model scientist. The embodiment of control.

But in his head—

I’d stretch her out with my tongue first. Just to taste. Just to make her shiver.

Then I’d fuck her open with two fingers. Maybe three. Just to see how much she could take.

You feel your face flush hot.

His voice in your head is the same one he uses when he’s narrating quantum anomalies. Methodical. Fascinated. Detached.

Like your body is a phenomenon he wants to understand. Just for the data.

She’s got sensitive tits, I think. Would need a gentle mouth. Then a rough one.

I’d chart how many licks until she breaks.

You turn away before he can see the expression on your face. Not that he’d be looking.

Reed doesn’t look at you.

Not unless you speak first. Even then, his gaze usually lands near your shoulder or just past your head — like you’re a part of the room’s architecture. Necessary. Functional. Forgettable.

Which is why you can’t fathom the sudden, overwhelming specificity of his thoughts.

Would she come if I sucked on her nipples and slid my thumb over her clit?

Or would she need to be fucked?

Deep. Slow. Me inside her while she tries not to cry out.

You have to leave.

You mumble something — “back in ten” or “need a break” — and Reed doesn’t respond. He doesn’t glance your way. Just lifts a hand absently in acknowledgment, still facing the board, still immersed in whatever algorithm or image his mind is chewing on.

Except now you know that algorithm is you.

Your wet heat. Your thighs. Your pulse as he imagines pressing his mouth to it and whispering, “Come for me. Let me see.”

You flee to the hallway, breath stuttering in your throat, shame and heat and disbelief running a relay race in your chest.

You’ve heard dirty thoughts before. You’ve had them.

But never from someone so composed. So quiet. So far removed from the possibility of ever touching you.

And that’s what makes it dangerous.

He has no idea you can hear him.

And worse — he’s not trying to stop.

-

The rest of the day, you try to block him out.

You build mental walls. Steel-plated. Brick-layered. Reinforced with every ounce of discipline you’ve learned since puberty, when people’s thoughts started bleeding into your skull like background noise you couldn’t shut off.

But Reed’s thoughts don’t bleed. They pierce.

They stab through.

You’re elbow-deep in diagnostics when it happens again — no warning, no break in his typing cadence, no shift in posture.

Just a whisper inside your head like a hand between your thighs.

She’d come so pretty if I rubbed her clit just right. Not hard. Just enough to make her beg.

Your knees go weak.

You drop the calibration tool.

It clangs against the lab floor and rolls under a counter.

Reed doesn’t turn around. He never does.

But in your head:

Imagine her on my desk, shaking. Panting. Just a little ruined.

Would her thighs tremble when I pull out, or when I sink in?

Fuck. I’d edge her until she sobs.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Grip the counter. Count backward.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

It’s not enough.

I wouldn’t even fuck her the first time. I’d make her ride my face. Learn how she moves. What makes her lose rhythm.

You suck in a breath and drop to your knees, fumbling under the bench for the runaway tool. Your fingers shake as you grab it.

You’re burning from the inside out.

He’s just standing there — chalk in one hand, the other curled around the lip of the console, muttering numbers under his breath.

As if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you, like he isn’t narrating how he’d make you come.

You crawl out from under the counter, wiping your palms on your lab coat. Try to focus. Try to breathe.

But the thoughts keep going.

She probably moans softly. Gasps, maybe. One hand on my wrist, the other gripping the sheets.

Would she let me come on her face? Or just in her mouth?

Your hand slips on the console. The system glitches — an alert flashes red on the screen.

“Everything okay?” Reed says, without turning.

His tone is bland. Neutral. The same one he uses when he’s asking about error margins or component failures.

You force your voice to steady. “Fine. Sorry. Just bumped the interface.”

“Run the sequence again,” he says.

You do.

But your fingers tremble the whole time. And every time you glance up, you see the line of his spine, the tension in his forearms, the methodical tap of chalk against board — like he’s not thinking about bending you over the lab bench and pressing his mouth between your thighs.

But he is.

And now you know.

-

It’s not supposed to be a social thing.

You’re huddled in the lab with Reed, Johnny, and a visiting biophysicist from MIT who talks with his hands and keeps spilling his coffee. It’s late afternoon. The conversation’s circling around particle harmonics and neural feedback delay — nothing you haven’t heard before.

Reed, as usual, is silent. Focused. His back to the room, one hand scrolling equations, the other holding a piece of chalk he hasn’t used in fifteen minutes.

You think maybe you’ll survive the day without hearing anything from him. You’ve built the walls again. Brick by brick. You’re not letting him in.

And then Johnny goes, “I still don’t get why you didn’t just read her.”

You blink. “What?”

Johnny laughs. “Come on, don’t play dumb. You could’ve. You always say that trick comes in handy when people lie.”

Your blood goes cold. You look up slowly. “Johnny…”

“Oh shit. Was that not public knowledge?” He raises both palms in mock defense. “Sorry. I mean, I thought everyone knew.”

They don’t. Not everyone. But Sue, Ben, Johnny — they do. Reed, you’d assumed… maybe. But not definitely.

Until now.

Because Reed goes still.

Not visibly. Not to the average eye. But you see it.

His hand halts mid-scroll. The chalk pauses just before touching the board.

He doesn’t turn around. Of course not. He never does.

But the entire current in the room changes.

The MIT guy, oblivious, whistles low. “Telepathy? That’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, grinning. “She’s like a human lie detector. Except it’s not like she goes digging, you know? She just picks stuff up.”

The scientist nods. “Is it active or passive?”

“Both,” you say, voice light, controlled. “Depends on the day. And the person.”

“Must be fun.”

You shrug. “Sometimes.”

Johnny leans on the console. “Sometimes not, huh?”

Your eyes flick briefly to Reed’s back. His hand is still frozen in midair, like he’s been caught in amber.

You look away.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sometimes… not so much.”

The conversation moves on.

Someone cracks a joke about lab gossip being unsafe around you. The MIT guy asks a question about psi-shielding. Johnny starts talking about that one time you ruined a poker night by knowing someone’s cards.

But Reed doesn’t speak, doesn’t move.

For the first time in days, his thoughts are silent.

You feel the absence like a blow.

No whispers. No fantasies. No wondering what your cunt tastes like or how you sound when you come. Just—

Nothing.

A void. You should be relieved.  Instead, you feel like you’ve been locked out of something you didn’t know you needed.

Behind Reed’s still frame, you can sense it — the slow, dangerous coiling of tension.

Not shame, not guilt. Only awareness.

He knows, and now he’s thinking about what you’ve heard.

-

You don’t sleep that night.

You lie in bed with your mind reeling, blankets too heavy, your chest too tight. The silence in Reed’s head echoes louder than any of the filth that came before. You didn’t realize how much you’d come to expect his thoughts. Not want them — not exactly — but… count on them. Like a metronome. Like proof he was human under all that restraint.

Now?

Nothing.

No late-night fantasies. No secret hypotheses about your body. Just a wall — colder and more deliberate than anything you’ve ever put up yourself.

He knows.

And now you’re waiting for the fallout.

You think about packing.

You think about going to Sue and getting ahead of it — telling her you’re sorry, you didn’t mean to listen, you never asked for the thoughts to come in like that, you tried so fucking hard to block them out.

You think about how Sue would tilt her head, lips pressed together in that gentle, unreadable way of hers, and say, “I’ll talk to Reed.”

That thought alone makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You don’t go to the lab the next morning.

You call in sick — stomach flu, maybe food poisoning.

You spend the day in your apartment, curled on your couch with a half-drunk mug of tea and the soft buzz of muted news. You try to distract yourself with papers, textbooks, even an old simulation of Mars terrain scans.

None of it sticks.

Because the only thought that plays on repeat is this:

You’ve ruined it.

You had one shot. One internship. One thread of hope that could’ve led to something real — something bigger than the lab, bigger than Earth.

You’ve wanted space since you were old enough to name constellations. You were supposed to be part of the next crew rotation. If you did well, if you impressed the right people, if Reed thought you were worth keeping—

But now all he sees is a liability. An intruder. A mind he can’t trust.

Maybe he’s already filed a report. Maybe by Monday you’ll be reassigned to inventory. Or security compliance. Some corner of the building where they can keep you out of people’s heads and off the launch manifest.

You curl tighter. You don’t cry but your throat aches like you might.

You’d rather he shouted. Rather he confronted you. Rather he called you invasive or perverse or unprofessional.

Instead, he just disappeared.

That silence — the absence of his voice in your head — feels like the worst kind of punishment.

-

You come in early the next day.

Earlier than usual. Earlier than anyone else should be there.

Except he’s already in the lab.

You hear the soft click of the console keys before you see him. The low whir of cooling fans. The faint scratch of chalk across board.

When you step inside, Reed doesn’t turn.

He’s where he always is — back straight, eyes forward, sleeves rolled, a shadow of stubble softening the sharp lines of his jaw. His body is still, but his mind—

His mind is deafening.

F=ma. ΔS = Qrev/T. Entropy is always increasing. Entropy is always increasing. Entropy is always increasing—

You press your hand to the doorframe.

It’s not that he’s shut you out.

It’s that he’s replaced the thoughts. Stuffed the filth back into its cage and barricaded the door with math. With precision. With the cold comfort of numbers.

But it’s loud. So loud.

Equations loop over and over, like static, like punishment, like he’s trying to drown himself in calculus and thermodynamics until there’s no room left for want.

You don’t say anything.

You just take your seat. Log into the console. Pretend the silence is normal. That the walls haven’t shifted. That this isn’t your fault.

But then, after twenty-eight minutes of stillness—

He turns.

Slowly.

His eyes meet yours for the first time in days.

And then, like the flip of a switch, the equations stop.

The noise cuts.

And what follows is even worse.

“I owe you an apology.”

The words land like glass.

You look up — stunned, unsure you heard him right.

Reed continues, voice stiff, almost formal. Like he’s reciting something practiced.

“I was unaware that my thoughts were… accessible. To you.”

He swallows. His gaze doesn’t waver. “If I caused any discomfort, or crossed any boundary—”

“You didn’t,” you say, too fast.

But he doesn’t stop.

“I understand if you wish to leave the internship. I will personally ensure a neutral letter of recommendation and full academic credit, if you—”

“No.” You shake your head, your throat tight. “I don’t want to leave.”

Silence.

Your breath trembles in your chest.

“I’m not upset,” you say, softer. “I never was.”

Reed stares at you.

You’ve never seen him look so unsure.

“I should not have allowed those thoughts to form,” he says, quieter now. “I certainly shouldn’t have repeated them.”

You offer a breath of laughter — too hollow to be real. “You didn’t say them.”

He blinks. “I thought them.”

You nod. “You did.”

A pause.

Then you add, “But I heard more than what you thought.”

His brows draw together. “Meaning?”

“I heard how hard you tried not to.”

“I’m truly so, so sorry,” he says.

The words sound foreign in his mouth — like he doesn’t quite know how to say them aloud. His voice drops as he says it, too, like he wants to bury the sentence somewhere low between you.

“It was unprofessional.”

You blink. It hits different when it’s said that plainly — not just the apology, but the weight of the word.

Unprofessional.

He means it. You can hear it in his thoughts now, the edge softening — shame curling in the quiet corners. He’s not just sorry you heard him. He’s sorry he thought it at all. Sorry he let himself want. Sorry his discipline failed.

“Reed,” you say, gently. “It’s alright.”

He doesn’t move, he doesn’t breathe, for a second.

It’s not the kind of apology that’s waiting for forgiveness. It’s the kind that assumes none is possible.

“I should have—” he begins, but the sentence crumbles.

You step closer before you can think better of it. Not too close. Just enough to catch the tiniest flicker in his eyes — a shift, like he’s bracing for something more than your words.

“I’ve heard worse,” you say, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “You just think very… graphically.”

His mouth parts — just slightly.  For the first time, you see something almost human flicker behind his usual impassivity.

Embarrassment.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but nothing comes.

You reach for the console behind you, just to give your hands something to do.

“If you’re wondering whether I was offended,” you say, “I wasn’t.”

His gaze lifts to yours slowly. “You weren’t.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t say it wasn’t… surprising.”

Something changes in the set of his shoulders. The faintest drop. Like a gear slipping in a machine.

You can hear it again, too — faint, fainter than before, but real: She’s not angry. She’s not leaving.

You lean back against the edge of the table, arms crossed loosely. “I’ve had these powers my whole life, you know. You hear people think things they’d never say. Half of them wouldn’t even admit it to themselves.”

Reed doesn’t respond. But you feel the shift. The stillness that isn't emptiness anymore — it’s presence. It’s him, fully here, not hiding behind data or circuits or chalk.

“It can be fun sometimes,” you admit. “Other times…” You trail off. “Not so much.”

His fingers flex slightly where they rest at his sides.

You almost expect him to end it there. To nod, turn away, retreat to the board, drown himself in equations again.

But instead, he says, quietly:

“I didn’t mean for you to feel like an object.”

Your chest tightens.

You meet his gaze.

“I didn’t.”

You watch him for a moment, unsure what to say next.

The lab is quiet. Still. The hum of the equipment blends into the background like white noise. Reed hasn’t moved since his last apology — hands loose at his sides, eyes lowered just enough that you can’t quite tell if he’s looking at you or through you.

You shift slightly on the edge of the table.

“Are you okay?” you ask, softly.

It’s the gentlest question in the world. You don’t expect much. A nod, maybe. Or the barest deflection.

Instead, he huffs a laugh.

Short. Quiet. Almost self-deprecating.

And so out of place coming from him that it draws your eyes back to his face immediately.

He still doesn’t smile. Of course he doesn’t. But there’s a flicker at the corner of his mouth, like he might have once, in another life, remembered how.

Your chest eases — just barely — and you smile at him. Tentative. Careful. The kind of smile you give a wounded animal when you’re holding out a hand.

Reed blinks, and this time his gaze meets yours without hesitation.

He doesn’t say yes, or no, or I will be.

But he doesn’t look away.

He doesn’t turn back to the board.

You take that as enough.

The air between you settles, not warm exactly, but less charged. Less sharp.

You glance down at your tablet, then back up. “Do you want to… work on the gamma dispersion scan?”

A pause. Then he nods.

It’s quiet again as you both fall into rhythm — screens blinking softly, files opening, measurements calibrating. For ten minutes, it almost feels normal. Like none of this happened. Like your body hasn’t been the subject of his private curiosity. Like you haven’t heard, in his own voice, the words tits and cunt wrapped in awe like he’s discovering a new element.

But every so often, you catch the stillness in him.

The way he doesn’t quite type as fluidly as before. The way his thoughts — no longer loud, no longer obscene — hover just out of reach. Reined in. Scrubbed clean.

Control, you hear him think, a little later. Keep control.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Because now that you’ve forgiven him — now that you’ve stayed — he’s afraid he’ll slip again.

He’s afraid of wanting.

Of letting you hear it.

And maybe, more than anything, he’s afraid you won’t look at him the same if you do.

You wait until the next lull. After the data finishes compiling. After you both fall into quiet, careful work, pretending the air isn’t thick with everything unsaid.

Then, without looking up, you ask:

“What are you really thinking?”

The words slip out like a whisper. Not a demand. A coaxing.

You hear him stop breathing.

His fingers freeze on the console.

You look up.

He’s staring down at his hands like they belong to someone else. His brows twitch — the smallest knot of conflict pulling across his forehead.

You don’t press. You wait.

He swallows hard.

“I—” His voice is rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “I don’t think I should say.”

You nod slowly. “I know.”

There’s a pause. The kind that feels like a coin balanced on its edge — waiting to tip.

Then, finally, Reed lifts his gaze to meet yours.

It’s not a sharp glance. Not a command or a calculation. It’s vulnerable. Raw.

“Are you sure?”

You nod before your brain can stop you. “I’m sure.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s charged.

And then—soft, almost reverent, like he’s saying it for himself more than for you—his thought brushes your mind.

She’s the most astonishing thing I’ve ever seen.

You don’t move.

She’s smart. Composed. And when she smiles at me like that, I want to get on my knees and put my mouth on her cunt until she forgets every name but mine.

Your breath catches.

Reed’s eyes are still on yours. Steady. Honest.

I want to see her fall apart. Hear her. Feel her thighs around my face. I want her to let go with me. Just once. Just to know what it’s like to make someone like her come.

You’re frozen.

Flushed.

His thoughts echo again, softer now, barely there:

I would be gentle. At first. I’d learn her rhythms. I’d listen.

You part your lips, but no sound comes out.

Reed doesn’t look away.

You see the tension in his jaw. The restraint. The ache he’s too careful to name aloud.

But this time, he’s not hiding.

He’s giving you the truth.

And your whole body sings with it.

The silence stretches, but it doesn’t break.

Reed watches you like he’s waiting for you to flinch. For you to run. For you to laugh it off or look away or say no.

You don’t.

Your breath is shallow. Your pulse pounds behind your ribs like a warning, like a promise. But you don’t move.

You stay.

Reed’s fingers flex slightly at his sides. A twitch. A tremor. And then—carefully, like he’s unsure the ground will hold—he takes one slow step forward.

Your heart leaps.

He pauses.

Then another step.

Still watching you.

You straighten, knees brushing the edge of the console. Your hands—useless at your sides—curl instinctively into the hem of your coat. You feel like a held breath. Like one word might shatter you.

And then he’s close enough that you can see it in his face—the nerves he’s trying to hide. The deep ache folded into his silence. The apology still lingering beneath his restraint.

But also the want.

So much want.

You reach out.

Just a little.

And that’s all it takes.

His hand lifts—slow, hesitant—and finds yours midair. The contact is gentle. Barely there. Your fingers brush his palm and his thumb curves awkwardly over your knuckles, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

But you link your fingers with his.

You squeeze.

His breath shudders.

You’re close now. Not quite touching chest to chest. Not yet. But his body radiates heat like a solar flare, and your joined hands hang between you like a thread you’re both afraid to tug.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

His thoughts are quiet, but open. Not graphic. Not filthy this time.

She’s here. She’s still here.

You lift your other hand—slowly, carefully—and touch the crook of his elbow. His arm tenses for half a second, then relaxes under your touch.

His hand in yours tightens. Just a little.

You smile at him. Tentative. Like before.

And this time, Reed exhales like it breaks something loose inside him.

You lean in slowly.

No rush. No sharp breath or whispered question. Just instinct. Trust. The press of his fingers wrapped in yours.

Your lips find his.

A soft, fleeting brush.

So light you could pretend it didn’t happen.

But it does.

He stills.

For a heartbeat, maybe two.

Then something inside him snaps.

Reed surges forward—still silent, but no longer hesitant. His free hand lifts to cup your jaw, fingers spanning your cheek with a trembling kind of reverence. His mouth crashes into yours again, firmer this time, open, hungry.

You gasp, and he takes it.

Takes you.

His lips drag over yours like he’s starved. His body leans into yours, chasing heat, chasing breath, chasing something he’s kept buried under equations and silence for too damn long.

You kiss him back, matching his pace, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt just to stay grounded.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy.

Teeth clash once. Your nose bumps his. He exhales sharply against your mouth, and you laugh, surprised and dizzy.

Reed groans low in his throat like it drives him wild.

His grip shifts—hand sliding to the back of your neck, the other pressing firm at your waist, tugging you closer. There’s no more distance now. You’re chest to chest, breath to breath, his mouth working yours like it’s a formula he’s been dying to solve.

You reach blindly for something—anything—to anchor yourself.

Your fingers find the edge of his belt.

Not teasing. Not intentional.

Just need.

A way to keep your feet on the ground while the rest of you unravels.

You clutch the leather and kiss him deeper.

And Reed—God, Reed—moans softly into your mouth like he’s the one overwhelmed.

His thoughts flood through you again, all barriers down now.

So soft. So warm. She kissed me first.

I want to lift her onto the desk. Get my hands under that coat.

I want to taste her. Right now. Right fucking now.

Your knees buckle slightly, and he catches you with both arms, tugging you flush against him, the hard press of his belt against your stomach making your skin spark.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

But you kiss like you’re telling secrets. Like you’re breaking rules. Like every second is borrowed time. 

Reed drops to his knees.

It happens fast. One second his mouth is pressed to yours, the next he’s sinking down like gravity’s claimed him — like he’s meant to be there. At your feet. Between your legs. Worshipful and wild.

His hands slide up your thighs, warm and unhurried. He lifts your skirt like he’s unfolding a secret he’s only ever dreamed of touching. You brace one hand against the console behind you, the other tangled in his hair, fingers trembling.

He doesn’t speak.

He stares.

Like your thighs are a formula. Like the space between them holds the answer to every question he’s never let himself ask.

Then his hands slide higher, thumbs brushing the crease of your hips, and he leans in.

He kisses the inside of your knee. Then higher.

Your breath catches as his mouth moves up your thigh—soft, open-mouthed kisses dragging heat across your skin. He hums low in his throat, like he’s cataloging every inch, and you feel it all the way to your core.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your head tipping back.

Reed doesn’t stop.

He kisses just beside the place you want him most. Once. Twice. Then his hands shift—firm on your hips—and he nuzzles against your panties, dragging his nose along the damp fabric like he needs to breathe you.

And then—his thoughts, finally, finally back:

She’s soaked. God, she’s so wet. All for me.

Your legs shake.

He pulls your panties aside and exhales softly at the sight.

Perfect.

And then his mouth is on you.

You cry out—sharp and helpless—the sound echoing off the walls of the lab. He licks a slow stripe through your folds, groaning like he’s tasted something he’ll never recover from.

You grip his hair harder.

Reed doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate. He licks you like he needs it, tongue dragging up to circle your clit, then back down to press flat against your entrance. His thoughts are a blur—lust, wonder, obsession—louder now, less composed.

You whimper.

She’s so sweet. Want to keep her like this. Want her coming on my tongue.

He moans against you, the vibration shooting through your whole body. His mouth moves faster, more deliberate, like he’s testing responses, building a pattern. Every flick of his tongue is data. Every gasp from you is a new variable to study.

Your knees threaten to give, and he only grips your thighs tighter, pulling you closer, mouth never leaving you.

“Reed—fuck, I—”

You shatter.

Come for me, he thinks, right as his lips wrap around your clit and suck.

Your cry rips through the air, your body spasming against his mouth. He doesn’t let up. He holds you through it—tongue coaxing, soothing, tasting every twitch and shake as you come undone.

And when it’s over, when your chest is heaving and your thighs are trembling, he looks up at you.

Mouth wet. Eyes dark.

Ravenous.

He stands, slow and steady, hands dragging up your thighs as he rises. When he’s eye level again, you see it—his mouth slick with you, his chest rising hard like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just pulls you in and wraps both arms around your waist, pressing his face into your neck. He inhales deeply.

And fucking hell, he smells like you.

“Are you alright?” he murmurs, voice low and gritty in your ear.

You let out a breathless laugh, your chest still fluttering. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

He lets out a sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a groan — and you feel it more than hear it, vibrating against your throat. His hips are right against you now, belt biting into your lower stomach. He’s hard. So fucking hard.

You push against him, mouth near his jaw. “Reed.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you. And when he does, your hands come up to frame his face.

Not tender. Hungry.

You drag your thumb across his bottom lip. His eyes flick down to your mouth like he’s about to lose it.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

A pause.

Then his gaze darkens, and the answer bleeds out of him—wordless but clear.

I want to fuck her right here. I want to bend her over this table and hear what she sounds like when she’s cock-drunk.

Your knees go weak.

And he sees it.

You don’t say a word.

You just drop your hand from his face, trail it down between your bodies, and reach for his belt.

Reed doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t even blink.

He watches, jaw tight, as you tug the leather loose, then work open the button and drag the zipper down. The metal teeth part with a low rasp, and he exhales sharply when your hand slips inside.

You wrap your fingers around him.

Hot. Heavy. Hard as hell.

“Jesus,” you murmur under your breath, stroking him once, slow and deliberate.

Reed’s head tips back.

His hips jerk forward slightly, chasing the friction, but he still doesn’t touch you. Just lets you have him, your hand moving over his cock like you’ve been thinking about it for weeks.

(You have.)

His thoughts are a mess—fractals of want, raw and unfiltered.

You squeeze a little tighter.

She’s touching me. She’s—fuck—she’s got her hand on my cock. I’m not going to last.

His breath catches.

“You’ve been thinking about this?” you ask, voice low, thumb swiping the head.

“Every goddamn day,” he grits out.

You jerk him faster.

He growls.

And then—too fast to brace for—he grabs your hips and spins you around.

Your palms slam against the console. You gasp, but you don’t stop him—not when you feel him crowding up behind you, not when his hands drag your skirt back up to your waist, not when he rips your panties down your thighs in one fluid motion.

One hand slides up your spine, pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest is flush to the table.

The other guides his cock to your entrance.

“Say you want this,” he breathes out, the head of him nudging against your slick folds.

You push back into him.

“Reed,” you pant, “just fuck me already.”

He groans like it’s ripped out of his throat and then he slams into you hard.

Your gasp turns into a choked moan as your body jolts forward from the force of it. One of his hands clamps tight around your hip, the other braced beside your head on the console. His cock drives into you again, again, again��deep, punishing thrusts that make your breath stutter with each slap of skin on skin.

The sounds echo off the lab walls—your gasps, his ragged breath, the obscene wet suck of your cunt taking him over and over.

“Fuck,” Reed growls, hips snapping, “you feel even better than I thought.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

His mouth is right at your ear now, breath hot and filthy.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the day you walked in,” he pants. “That face. Those sweet thighs. Wanted to bend you over this table and fuck you stupid.”

You cry out—high, breathless—when he grinds into you just right, cock dragging over every swollen nerve inside you.

“I knew you’d be wet for me,” he growls. “But this?”

His fingers slip down, find your clit, and rub fast, hard, cruel.

“You’re soaked. So fucking messy.”

You brace yourself on trembling arms, the pressure building fast—too fast. He’s everywhere, filling you, touching you, whispering things he should never say out loud.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he grits out, voice tight and close.

You whimper, legs shaking. “I—fuck, I think I—”

“You’re close,” he hisses. “I can feel it.”

His pace goes brutal. He fucks into you like he wants to break you, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing over every surface, every panel and beaker forgotten. Your cunt clamps down, fluttering, and your voice breaks into a cry as your climax rips through you.

You don’t just come. You gush.

A warm burst sprays out of you, splashing down your thighs, hitting the tile with a wet splatter. You cry out, humiliated and wrecked and still twitching, your walls milking his cock in desperate aftershocks.

Reed groans like he’s dying.

“God damn,” he breathes.

You can’t speak. Your cheek is pressed to the console, mouth open, panting, whole body slick and trembling.

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, harder now, more ragged. You feel the way your slick coats his cock, dripping down onto the lab floor with every brutal thrust.

You feel ruined. Your legs give out.

There’s no warning. No graceful slide. Just the quivering collapse of overstimulated muscles, your knees hitting the tile with a soft thud, skirt bunched around your waist, panties still tangled around your thighs.

You don’t care, you don't think you could.

Not with your cunt still twitching from the last orgasm, your thighs sticky, the lab floor glistening with the evidence of just how hard he made you come.

Reed groans above you and you glance up.

He’s flushed and wrecked, shirt untucked, cock still slick with your arousal as he strokes himself, fast and frantic, hand gliding over the mess you left behind.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You look—Jesus.”

You open your mouth, just slightly.

Not coy nor innocent, but ready.

You brace yourself on one arm and tilt your chin up, eyes locked on him. The unspoken invitation hits him like a punch.

His grip falters. He bites down a moan. You see his whole body jerk with restraint.

“Please,” you whisper, voice hoarse and aching. “I want it.”

That does it.

He grunts, cock twitching in his hand. “Fuck—fuck—”

He steps forward, the tip of him flushed and slick and angry-looking, and you hold steady even as your thighs tremble. His breath goes wild, chest heaving as he pumps himself harder, faster, your name breaking on his tongue like a prayer.

“Gonna come,” he pants. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Thick, hot ropes paint your cheek, your lips, your chin. One lands across your chest, the rest splashing across your flushed skin. You close your eyes as the first drops hit, lips parted as you gasp at the heat of it.

He moans—deep, guttural, undone.

You feel it drip down your neck, cooling already.

When you blink up at him again, his hand is still wrapped around his cock, his chest still rising like he’s run a mile. His eyes meet yours—dark, dazed, hungry—and the raw possessiveness isn’t there.

There's only you. 

His gaze drops to the mess he’s made of your face, and then to your mouth.

You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip, tasting him.

His breath stutters again.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

You smile, slow and blissful. 

[tinyyddancer]

waited all night for you, i'll wait forever. ( johnny storm )

after an long coming arguement with your boyfriend at dinner, you leave, desperate for space. forty thousand missed calls and texts later, you come back in the morning when you've cooled off only to find johnny storm slumped against your front door where he's waited all night for and will wait forever too.

human torch! johnny storm x fem! reader

themes: fluff, mainly angst, reconciliation, johnny being an absent partner.

masterlist.

if you ask johnny, he thinks it starts during dinner.

he turned up fifteen minutes late, saw your back turned to him at a table positioned in the corner- away from all the main attention and pressed a soft kiss to your hair before he slumped in the seat opposite you.

he murmured a sorry, delved into some story about reed holding him back after the attack and before he knew it his apology had turned into a whole recount of his really exciting, really scary day.

you nodded, let out a few "wows" that landed offhandedly and he tried not to let the fact that you were slowly pulling away from him ruin the ambience. you two didn't get to go out too much, with johnny being recognised almost everywhere he went- he wanted some normalcy, some privacy and to shelter you from the nasty opinions of losers in the world.

he wanted things to be just his- you, to be just his. and you smiled, laughed when he left a gap for a reaction but something was still playing on his mind, taunting him as you stared. it wasn't your usual look of adoration, a glance so soft it liquidifies his whole body till he's left in a puddle of love. this look feels detached, like you're there but you're not here until he catches it- and freezes.

"fuck me," he whispers and you murmur in agreement.

"took you long enough to notice," you sigh, the bite doesn't land the way you hoped it to- leaving the taste of fatigue and pasta die on your tongue. his gaze is still stuck on his supersuit he wasn't bothered to change out of- the white and blues roaring under his red jacket he threw on in a hurry to come and meet you.

"baby, i'm so fucking sorry, shit i didn't mean-" he starts but you just raise your hand gently, a subtle peace offering and bow your head.

"johnny, let's not do this now," you meet his gaze and he dies at the fading light. he's really fucked this up, he opens his mouth to plead, to prove you wrong to apologise- because if there's one thing about johnny storm it is that he doesn't back down- not without a fight. however, the earth comes to a standstill, stepping on the cracks of his heart till he's left holding his last breath at the sound of a faint, "please," you add to the silence.

so he lets it go.

he eats painfully slow, hoping to drag out this moment of half-hearted peace, savour the calm before the storm but the tide is creeping in and coming for him. you eat in silence, combatting his attempt to lighten the mood with updates about sue's pregnancy and his excitement to be an uncle but the smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. it doesn't burn like sunshine and bleed into his rising sky. its hollow and johnny hates himself for it.

you don't bother with dessert, you didn't reach for a drink you settled with water and when the bill comes, johnny slams his card down onto the table and rushes to bring the car out front. its a cowardly escape he knows, but some part of him just wants to get home and settle this before he loses you to something bigger.

you don't even have the care to shrug your jacket on, letting the cold evening air bite at your bare shoulders. it was your first date out in weeks and you wore the little black dress you knew johnny loved on you almost as much as he loves taking it off of you. he hadn't even given you so much as a glance before delving into his day.

so where johnny thinks this has happened mid-dinner, you know the truth. this has started in the weeks before- the busier days, the less truthful nights where he doesn't completely open up, the missed dinner dates albeit he is late to a few and more than anything, it feels like he's so content on hiding you that it upsets you more than anything. you've loved him your whole life- before he became the human torch, before he started joining his brother in law in saving the world, before he became someone elses, he was yours.

and its hard to feel like you're on the same page when he's starting an entirely new different chapter.

he pulls up outside the restaurant and though you stand there now you can't help but feel like you've lost a piece of yourself in there.

the you that found this place hidden a few blocks out years back, the you that would reenact the lady and the tramp scene with johnny over spaghetti, even though it embarrassed you you knew he loved it, the you who would sit by his side in closeness and never opposite. the you who didn't have to hide in the corner and pretend like your love was diluted into the walls.

he gets out of the car, opens your passenger door and you gingerly get in. he curses as a recognition of camera flashes and a few women scream "johnny!" and shoots you a look of pure desperation and regret.

the only thing you grace him with is a small thank you and a sigh as you nestle into the seat, the feeling of familiar wrapping around you like an old friend. you think his car is obnoxious, but slowly it grew on you and its seen too many of your best memories to hate it.

johnny reaches across and he's suddenly so in your space. he's inches from your lips, his skin dangerously close to yours and your heart, despite the earlier tense confrontation (if you can even call it that), skips a few beats, stuttering in a childhood blush. it kind of reminds you when you first started seeing each other, how he would always have his hands on you, never let you go, how he could spend forever in your orbit but still look at you like you took his breath away for the very first time.

you think he actually might kiss you- it's been weeks and you hate yourself for actually getting excited, for leaning in a little bit closer on the edge of pure want and need when you feel a strap pull. he stretched the seat belt across your body and it clicks with a faint tick into the holder before he pulls back a few milimetres.

"fuck," it's your turn to repeat the earlier sentiment this time as you wipe away the tears that gather at your waterline. the sniffle tears his heart in two and he looks over in concern.

"baby- look, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to upset you tonight- i know this was important and i just forgot- i didn't-" he gets out and when you don't rush to forgive him he just stares.

"i don't think you know what you mean, johnny," you look over, your brows raising and falling as the sentence leaves your lips. "it's not about you being late, or not bothering to even just change- i mean who gives a shit about clothes? i dressed all pretty for you and did that get me anywhere?" you scoff lightly, pausing to press your fingertips into your eyes and blot the tears brewing.

"honey, i-" and you hold up your hand again, asking for a moment to just get out what you have to say whilst the courage still flows through your veins.

"i know you're busy now johnny, you're busy saving the world and i get that. i love that you have this purpose and you're doing so much good but," you breathe, "we haven't been ourselves in a long time. i'm second in whatever game this is and i just can't do it." you look at him, reach over to place your hand on top of his on the gear stick and press your eyes closed for a second.

"you didn't even ask me about my day; you didn't notice the dress i wore for you or that i cut my hair a few days ago- i waited for you, the same way i wait every single night for you to come to bed and hold me like you still love me," you cry, it's no use holding them back.

"i do love you!" he counteracts back immediately, desperately.

"not in the way i need now," you sniffle, "and what hurts is i have to tell you that- you didn't just see that yourself."

"honey, i,"

"please stop the car," you whimper and he looks over in concern.

"baby, i can't let you just leave- not when you're like this, it's late!" he pleads, a wild look settling into his eyes and reaching the pits of his stomach. he interlocks your hands from where you previously placed it on his and kisses your knuckles. you relish lightly in the touch but pull back.

"stop the car," you drop the formalities and establish firmly, your hands interlocking your own in your lap, almost holding you together steadily. and he does with great reluctance and worry, he pulls up on the side, watches you get out of the car- what's worse is you don't even slam the door behind.

you just shake your head with a heart-wrenching exhaustion at johnny and disappear. his eyes widen when he sees you've left your jacket behind and he gets out the car at lightning speed, taking off in your direction.

"don't follow me, johnny, i really can't do this right now," you plead, the tears just falling and falling.

"honey, it's cold and you're gonna get sick, please just at least take your jacket," you pause, pressing your lips together to stifle a sob and nod, letting him help you back into the soft knit of your cardigan that doesn't actually do too much to keep you warm- it just looked pretty with your outfit. what a waste, you want to just laugh at yourself.

"baby, i know you don't want to see me right now but please, come back to the car, please let me talk this out i can fix this," he tries to place a hand on your shoulder but you shrug it off, not wanting to make any eye contact with him either.

"i don't think you can- not tonight at least," you press.

"then i'll take you home and i will leave- but please i need to know you're safe," he begs, "please."

"no," you whisper lethally soft. "i need to not be anywhere that reminds me of you right now so please just- i have my phone on me, i will find a place to stay but i'm not going anywhere with you tonight."

and the fierce determination in eyes lets johnny know you mean it, you've meant everything you've said tonight. so he lets you go, he gets back in the car and waits for you to start walking again. he follows you gingerly and you pretend like you can't recognise the faint purring of the engine that follows you around each street. it stops in the corner of your vision when you disappear through the doors of a hotel but johnny doesn't leave until he gets a notification from his phone; a transaction from your shared account by the hotel to confirm you have a place to stay tonight.

he doesn't want to go home- he has half a mind to drink his problems away or turn to sue- his sister would know what to do but it feels like a betrayal. he hasn't showed up for you in a long time and he can start by making things right tonight. he pulls up to your shared apartment and lets the way his heart burns and pounds in his chest at the feeling of you missing- because he deserves to feel a fraction of the hurt he's caused you, it's the bare minimum.

he has to be home, in case you decide you want to come back- in case you need him to come get you, in case you need him- he is here. where he is always meant to be. the door unlocks with its usual ratty metal squeak and johnny doesn't fancy himself a crier- he's fun johnny, light-hearted, doesn't take himself too seriously johnny, but tonight he lets the persona fall as he slides down the wall.

your home feels like a house without you and he doesn't deserve to sleep in your bed where the smell of you surrounds him a gentle lull goodnight, he doesn't even deserve the couch, he decides. he braces his back against your shoe rack that's missing your favourite pair of heels and his blood roars in agony. the first tears of many falls and he tries to catch them in his hands but they overflow and he takes over in a straight bawl. he hasn't cried in years but the loneliness that suffocates him now, to know that you've felt this way for weeks and he had been too wrapped up in himself to realise, he cries and cries till the tears dry and he slips in and out of sleep. he doesn't know at which point his eyes finally close as his head hangs between his knees but sleep comes for him.

and even in his dreams, he still tries to reach for you.

. . .

"babydoll, fuck i'm so sorry, i shouldn't have been so careless with you. you must've felt so damn lonely and i have been the worst- the worst, and i wish you could come back and we could talk this out- you don't have to talk, you can listen but i've got things i need to get off my chest-"

"fuck, it cut off. but what i'm trying to say is i've been so wrapped up in myself i forgot that there's two of us in this team. it's not an excuse how things have started picking up so quickly, this is all my fucking fault and i'm sorry-"

"what you said back in the car- i know what i mean now, i know that i mean that i'm sorry, for all the times i took advantage and didn't put you first. you deserve so much better than me- than how i've treated you. and i love you, fuck, i'll love you so much better if you could just honour me another chance-"

"fuck- stop cutting me off! (growl) gorgeous i can't breathe- this feels wrong not having you here, i don't deserve you- i don't. if you don't want to forgive me- that's fine. if you dont want to give me a chance- fuck, i understand- fuck, ah, oh my god, that'll be fine, i will make it fine-"

"but please, don't give up on us. don't give up on me- you don't owe me a single thing but i love you and i'll work through this, i'll earn back your trust, i'll be here every single second of the day and i'll remind you why we work so well together- i'll be so good to you baby-"

"baby please-"

"please come home and be angry at me, please just come home, please-"

"(ten seconds of crying)"

"hey gorgeous, haven't heard from johnny this morning he was supposed to swing by, he's not answering his messages, could you get him to call back? thanks honey, love you, come by soon, reed and i miss you!"

"hey honey, it's ben. johnny rang, cried for a second didn't say anything then hung up. i mean, i'll give him shit on it later but it sounded serious. is everything okay?"

. . .

you open the door with a faint nudge, and when it traps halfway you furrow your brows in annoyance, pushing it with all your might. it sends you flying a few steps and straight into a warm body that's scrambling from the ground.

"johnny?" you pull back in confusion, he has his hands planted at your waist, holding you upright from your ambush and lets go suddenly. you miss the warm sensation immediately as he takes a step back, giving you some space.

the distance makes your heart ache but it's what you've asked for and what he tries to honour. he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and waits for you to address him.

"did you sleep on the floor?" the little gasp that escapes you does not go unnoticed by him and he blinks slowly, sleep still creeping on his features as he flushes a faint shade of pink.

"it didn't feel right to be in our bed without you and i uh, i wanted to be ready in case you called and needed me to come to you," his admission softens something in your heart.

"you've been there all night?"

"all night and i'll wait forever for you if i have to," he nods with quiet determination and at the intensity you pause, last night's memories fresh at the surface.

"i listened to your voicemails, all 82 of them," you confess and you cross the distance, placing a hand on his heart. he leans into your air, the air that wavers and circulates around you- his entire world orbits around you.

"and?" he asks hopeful, his voice the smallest you've ever heard him and it does hurt something raw in you. johnny storm- the embodiment of confidence? shrinking as you speak? impossible- "i really want to fix things, i can't take back what i've done, but- i want to be with you, if you'll still have me."

"oh johnny," you sigh and extend your arms, he steps in them a little unsure, waiting extra confirmation for you which you reassure with a nod, "we start slow," you whisper into his neck as he holds you close. he murmurs into agreement, "anything you need."

and when you break apart and meet his gaze of pure hope and adoration, you press your forehead to his, "i mean it baby," you press, "you can't make me feel like a background character in my own life," and he hangs his head low in a nod.

"i'll prove it to you- i'll never- i'll burn myself whole to keep you warm doll, i'm sorry," his voice cracks and you squeeze him tightly.

"hey now, we do this one step at a time," you pat his back, soothing him gently. "i'm not forgiving you completely but i'm not saying no, either," and he presses his lips together, biting the lower in anxious thought.

"thank you," he breathes.

"by the way, sue's asking for you," and the scoff that leaves his lips surprise you for a moment.

"they can all wait, there's a lot i gotta make up for first and you're my priority," he sways you in his hold, hesitating before pressing a soft kiss to your temple as you lean into him.

it's a start for sure, but the end is not coming because johnny storm is never going to let you go again.

riya saying hi: hellooooo!! another johnny fic woop woop!!! hope you like, hope you love- let me know what you think, thank you so much for even reading <33 i have one more in the drafts, might get it out in the next few days and its a scientist x flirty johnny fic, strangers to lovers and alllll the vibes ugh anyways have a great one!

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! 💘

[tinyyddancer]

I need extreme angst fics so bad im not even kidding. i feel like i already read every single fic with the angst tag on it (pls send recs)

[tinyyddancer]

the two stray black and orange cats by my house sent this to me

#kittyposting

[tinyyddancer]

this 😭 is 😭 so 😭 cute 😭

burned out — johnny storm x fem!reader Johnny is experiencing what every adult has probably gone through in their lives… he’s burning out. In his mission to fix this, he finds you.

warnings: burn-outs, mostly fluff, not 1960s themed in my head, reader owns a cafe trope, no use of y/n masterlist

Johnny’s never experienced this before.

As smoke expands and the temperature gets warmer from the burning building, Reed shouts instructions over the comms. Sue’s forcefields preventing debris from falling. Ben pulling trapped civillians from the building, and Johnny— Johnny can’t flame on.

He stands just behind Reed, fists clenching and unclenching, jaw tight as he desperately tries to fly in there and absorb the fire, but he can’t. There’s a flicker of heat across his skin, but then nothing.

Something’s not right.

“Johnny, focus!” Reed calls, too busy to notice the panic twisting Johnny’s face. “We need to contain the fire, now!”

“I’m trying!” His voice cracks sharper than he intends. He throws his arm out, willing the fire to catch, to spark, to roar to life. But it only flickers again, like a match dying in the wind.

Ben glances up from the rubble. “C’mon, Matchstick, any day now.” It’s meant as a joke, but even Ben’s brow furrows when he sees Johnny’s pale face.

Sue cuts in quickly, her voice steady but soft. “Reed, I’ll expand the field—Johnny, just… stay back.”

It’s those last two words that gut him. Stay back.

In the end, Sue traps the fire until it dies down and the smoke clears. Reed gives Johnny a reassuring pat on the shoulder, muttering something about stress and overexertion. Ben doesn’t tease. And Sue’s smile is tight, worried for her little brother.

For the first time, he feels like a ghost among them.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Back in the Baxter building, Reed wastes no time running tests on Johnny. Everyone is surrounding him, worried that something might be wrong, but all of Reed’s tests indicate that his physique is perfectly normal.

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks even though he has a sense of what Reed is saying.

Reed sighs. “It means, if something is wrong, it’s not physical. It might be your mental state.”

Johnny’s eyes widen, “Are you saying I’m going crazy?”

“You just need some rest,” Reed insists.

“It happens, Johnny,” Sue says. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

Ben folds his arms. “Yeah, maybe you should take a breather before you go up in smoke for good.”

Johnny sits quietly, slumped in the lab. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t do anything but stare at his useless hands, palms open because they should be on fire.

Because if he can’t flame on, then he’s not the Human Torch. And if he’s not the Human Torch… then who the hell is he?

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Johnny stares at himself in the mirror.

He’s wearing his blue jacket, a fitted white tee, jeans, a cap, and sunglasses to hide his identity. He looks like some washed-up pop star trying not to get recognized after a scandal. But Reed insisted he take a break, and Sue ushered him to get out of the house normally like Ben does, so he’s trying. Because he can’t stay cooped up in his room forever, and because seeing his family with their powers working normally, treating him like he’s made of glass, is worse.

H.E.R.B.I.E approaches him as he struggles to leave the building, and with one last glance at the robot and a deep breath, he braves himself to go out there and… blend in.

The goal, Sue said, is to find something he likes. Something new. He argued that he liked flying, space, fire—but that clearly isn’t working. So now he has to find something else. Something that’s not related to work. Something like—

Coffee. Johnny stops in his tracks, spotting a quaint coffee shop in the corner, empty enough for him to not be recognized. He doesn’t even like coffee. He thinks the taste is bitter, and God knows he doesn’t need caffeine, but something about this cafe pulls him in. The thought of slipping inside and away from the city too tempting.

Before he can second-guess himself, he takes his sunglasses off and goes in.

The place is almost empty, there are only a few older gentlemen in the corner, a mom and her kid sitting in the couch area, and then there’s you, the barista, whose eyes light up when the bell over the door jingles. You brighten at the sight of a new customer.

“Good morning,” You greet Johnny with a smile, “What can I get you today?”

Johnny glances between you and the menu, “Um… I don’t… normally drink coffee, this is kind of new to me…”

“That’s okay, I’m happy to help out,” You beam, “Do you want to go classic with an Americano, or something sweet with caramel and milk?”

“Definitely something sweet,” Johnny answers immediately.

“Great, one caramel latte it is,” You write his order on a cup, “That’ll be $4.25, and I’ll have your drink ready soon.”

“Thanks.” Johnny hands over the cash and smiles politely before sitting by the bar area, a clear view of you making his drink.

He wonders if the cafe is yours, or if maybe you’ve worked here forever. The way you move behind the counter, knowing exactly what to do, fascinates him. You make it look effortless. Effortless in a way he hasn’t felt in weeks.

It doesn’t help that you’re gorgeous. And for once, Johnny doesn’t feel like flirting. He just… watches, unable to take his eyes off you.

“Hey kiddo!” One of the elderly men, Jack, tries to get your attention, “Two more espressos for me and Robby. And a slice of that lemon cheesecake in his bill. I’m about to checkmate his ass.”

Robby only grumbles without looking up from the chessboard.

You laugh under your breath and nod. “Coming right up.”

Johnny watches the exchange, oddly charmed by the warmth of it, before the flicker of a TV mounted in the corner pulls his attention; JOHNNY STORM: FLAME OFF?

“Folks it’s no secret that the Human Torch has been struggling with his powers lately. We saw him last week unable to extinguish fires from a burning home, when usually it would be a piece of cake. What has happened to the Storm brother? Is he losing his powers—”

Johnny groans under his breath and drags his cap lower over his face. He can practically feel his stomach sink, until a glass is set gently in front of him.

“Hope you like it,” You smile, “And let me know if you’d like some more caramel.”

Johnny straightens at once, caught off guard by the brightness in your voice. He looks at the drink; a tall glass of latte, crowned with whipped cream and caramel drizzle. For the first time all week, his chest eases just a little.

He takes a sip of the latte, and blinks in surprise. It’s smooth, rich, and sweet, completely different from how Ben makes his coffee. He’s only tried it once, but he was so horrified by it he doesn’t dare touch it again.

When he glances back up, you’re watching him with that hopeful look in your eyes.

“So, is it to your liking?” You ask.

“Best coffee I’ve ever had.” Johnny says honestly. And when your smile widens, bright enough to make the room feel warmer, he swears his heart skips a beat.

“Well I’m glad you like it.” You smile bashfully and move to prepare the older men’s order, and Johnny stares after you longer than he should.

Johnny also doesn’t fail to notice that the TV is now miraculously off.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Johnny never thought he’d be the kind of guy who frequents a coffee shop. But somehow, here he is again. And again. And again.

At first, it was just curiosity. Then it became a distraction. Now, a week later, it’s a habit. Every morning, without fail, Johnny finds himself pushing open the glass door, the bell chiming as if announcing his arrival just for you, and you always beam at him from behind the counter. And every damn time, it makes something in his chest feel lighter.

“Morning,” Johnny greets first.

“Good morning,” You nod at him, “Caramel latte again today?”

He hums, “I’m thinking about changing it up. What do you think I’d like?”

You raise a brow, “Adventurous, are we?”

Johnny chuckles. “Sue says I need to try different stuff, so…”

You nod in understanding, “Well, how about I make you one as a surprise?”

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to raise a brow. “Alright, I look forward to it.”

Johnny sits by the bar as he usually does, his cap now sitting on the side, and nods his head at Lance and Marv, who nods back before resuming their chess. Johnny goes back to staring at you as you make his coffee.

He’s learned quite a lot about you in the week he’s been coming over. He now knows you own the cafe, and in the early mornings, it’s usually just the two elderly men, Jack and Robby, and sometimes the mom and her kid. It gets busier throughout the day, so Johnny always makes sure to leave before office break time starts, so that no one would see him.

He also knows how you like your coffee, though he has no idea how to make it. He knows you like cheesecake and loves making them. That you love pets but have yet to own one. And that you’ve been making coffee for over five years.

Johnny feels a smile tug on his lips as you bring him his coffee. It’s a shorter glass, with milk on the bottom and what looks to be frothy coffee on top.

“So what is your masterpiece this time?” Johnny asks, “Wait, do I stir the drink—I stir it, right?”

You chuckle, “Yes, Johnny, you stir it. It’s Dalgona coffee. It’s milk with whipped coffee. Kind of like a reversed latte.”

Johnny only nods, having no understanding of what you just said, but after stirring, he drinks it, and nods in acknowlegment.

“Yeah?” You question.

He hums, “Yeah. This is delicious.”

“Better than a caramel latte?”

Johnny hesitates, “…I’ll get back to you on that.”

You laugh again, and the sound makes his grin tug wider.

“You’re really good at this,” Johnny says after a while. “Was this always the dream? Running your own café?”

You shrug, nose scrunched, stuck between pride and nostalgia, “Not exactly. I wanted to be a singer once.”

“A singer?” Johnny’s eyebrow raises. “You sing?”

“…I used to.” You smile, “I’d sing in weddings, bars, any gig I could find. But it just didn’t happen for me. And so I went for the next best thing. It’s not what I thought my life would look like, but… I don’t hate it.”

His jaw twitches. “You ever think it’ll come back? That feeling?”

You keep your gaze on him, a longing smile across your lips as the memories come flashing back in pieces. “It never really goes away.”

Johnny has a feeling you’re not just talking about yourself there.

“And you?” You ask, “You always wanted to be a superhero?”

“I just really wanted to be an astronaut. The hero stuff is pure chance… and well, now, a full-time job I’m struggling with.” He continues, voice low, almost ashamed, “Without the fire… I don’t know who I am. I mean, yeah, I’m still me, but… I guess I just realized I’m nothing without it. And if I can’t do it anymore, I don’t know if people even want me around.”

“What about the Johnny before the fire?” You ask, “What’s he like?”

“Pretty much the same,” Johnny sighs, staring at his hands, hoping that they’ll light up—but they don’t. “Loved space, loved adrenaline… I still do, it’s just that they’re reminding me of what I’ve—what I’m struggling with.”

You hum in acknowledgment, “I see where the whole ‘I need to find something new I like’ is coming from now.”

“Yeah,” Johnny chuckles.

“Well…” You ponder, “What have you tried?”

The corners of his lips frowns a bit while he shrugs, “Not much, just… running, swimming… tried reading but I hate it… and your coffee. Which is by far, my favorite thing.”

That earns him a genuine smile from you. You fidget with your fingers. “Wanna try making it?”

Johnny’s eyes widen, “Me? Make coffee?”

“It’s not that hard.” You shrug and you beckon him over to behind the counter, “come on.”

He hesitates, but also can’t hide the excitement in his eyes.

Johnny circles around the counter like he’s stepping into some sacred space. He watches you carefully as you pull out the portafilter, his brow furrowed like you’ve just handed him alien technology.

“Okay,” you say, gesturing to the machine, “step one: coffee grounds. Try not to spill them everywhere.”

“Step one: don’t screw up,” Johnny mutters under his breath, but his grin betrays him.

You guide his hand as he tamps the coffee down, and he glances sideways at you, unable to hide the blush creeping up to his cheeks when he feels your hand on his.

He then clears his throat to lighten the mood. “You know, I’ve flown a jet into orbit, but this feels way more high pressure.”

“Mm-hm, sure,” you tease. “Astronaut, superhero, and now—barista in training. Quite the résumé.”

He laughs, and the sound is freer than you’ve heard it in weeks. When the espresso finally drips into the cup, it’s uneven, watery, and Johnny beams like he’s just conquered Everest.

“Not bad, right?” he asks, holding it up proudly.

You wrinkle your nose. “Why don’t you taste it first?”

Johnny takes a sip of the espresso and immediately winces, both because he hates the taste and it is probably bad coffee. “Delicious! Best coffee I’ve ever had.” He says as the coffee burns his throat.

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet shop, and for a moment Johnny just watches you, unable to hide his grin.

When the sound fades, you catch him staring and suddenly feel your cheeks warm.

“What?” you ask softly.

He shrugs, setting the cup down. “Nothing. Just… feels good. Being here. With you.”

And you don’t know how to answer, not without giving yourself away, so instead you nudge the cup back toward him with a small smile.

“Congratulations, Johnny. You’ve officially made the worst coffee in the shop.”

His grin spreads wider, unbothered. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep practicing.”

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Johnny keeps coming back every day for lessons ever since then. It’s nothing serious, he’s only doing it for fun, and because he gets to spend time with you. And he doesn’t just learn how to make coffee, sometimes you teach him how to bake, particularly cheesecakes.

And now, heading off into the night, after 3 cheesecake attempts later, Johnny finally nails it.

“Johnny, this is it,” You say as you taste the cheesecake he made.

He chuckles with a roll of his eyes, “Yeah, sure,”

“No, really,” You cut a piece with your fork and feed him.

Johnny takes a bite of the cheesecake and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “That’s pretty damn good.”

“Right??” You grin, put the fork down, and give him a hug, “You did amazing! Good job, Johnny.”

You don’t realize you’re hugging him until he physically tenses, and you push yourself off him.

“Sorry, I didn’t—I got so excited I—” You lose your words, warmth creeps up your cheeks as you stammer and try to look anywhere else but at him.

Before you can retreat any further, Johnny reaches out and tugs you back into a proper hug. Warmth floods through you at the unexpected closeness, your cheek brushing against his collarbone. For a moment, neither of you move, just breathing in sync.

You tip your head back nervously, and that’s when you notice how close his face is to yours. His usual spark of mischief flickers there, but beneath it is something more vulnerable. The world seems to hold its breath as his gaze drops to your lips.

You don’t know who leans in first, but the kiss is soft, sweet, unhurried, and impossibly gentle. You can practically feel your heartbeat in your ears.

When you part, Johnny keeps his forehead pressed to yours, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Best damn cheesecake reward I’ve ever had.”

You laugh softly, flustered but unable to hide your own smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he murmurs, pulling you close again.

Your arms raise to loop around his neck, when a sudden cry makes you both break apart, wondering where the noise is coming from.

More cries echo from outside, and your heart sinks, but Johnny’s instincts take over.

“Stay here,” he tells you quickly, already moving toward the door.

“Johnny—” You start, but he’s gone, pushing outside into the cool night air. You follow him to the sidewalk, just close enough to see the commotion: a man shouting for help beside a smoking car that’s clearly just been in a wreck, and the driver stuck in his seat. The hood hisses, sparks catching, a high chance of things going south quick.

For a beat, Johnny freezes. You see the hesitation, the memory of his failure. But then his jaw sets, and something shifts inside him.

“C’mon, c’mon…” he mutters, staring at his hands. And then fire bursts to life through his skin, rolling up his arms, dancing like it never left him.

Your chest swells with relief as Johnny rushes forward, searing through the metal that was trapping the man, and shields him with his body as he brings him to safety.

The man stares at him in shock, breathless. “T-thank you. Thank you so much.”

Johnny’s grin is small, a little shaky. “No problem.”

From where you stand, you can’t look away. Not from the fire blazing in his hands, not from the way his eyes shine brighter than his flames. He looks whole.

You stay on to the sidewalk, your hands gripping your apron as tight as a lifeline. Neighbors rush in, clapping Johnny on the back, thanking him. The man he saved can’t stop praising him, eyes wide with gratitude. Johnny just laughs it off, rubbing the back of his neck, but you can see him glowing. Not just because he got his powers back, but from the validation, the reminder that he still is a hero.

Before you can move closer, before you can even think of calling his name, the rest of the Fantastic Four swoops in. His family. They give him pats on the back, hugs that relieve him, and Johnny grins, glad that he’s back.

The paparazzis arrive next. It gets crowded too fast, and Johnny barely gets a chance to look around, to maybe find you in the crowd, before Sue’s hand lands on his arm. “We need to go, Johnny.”

Johnny hesitates, his eyes scanning the street—but the flashes are too blinding, and he has no choice but to leave.

You stand there long after they’re gone, his flames still burning in your memory, the warmth of his lips still fresh on yours. And you smile, maybe bitterly, because that might’ve been the last time you ever see him.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

It’s been four days.

You tell yourself you’re not counting. You’re happy for him—of course you are. The city needs the Human Torch, and now that his powers are back, Johnny has stepped into the spotlight again like he never left. He’s on every channel, every newspaper headline. You don’t even have to look for his name; it finds you on the mounted TV, or in the whispers of your customers.

And every time you see him grinning into the cameras, cracking jokes, flying through the sky… there’s this little pang in your chest you can’t quite brush off.

You’re wiping down a table when Robby finally breaks the silence.

“You’re awful quiet today,” he says, peering at you over the rim of his mug.

“Oh it’s just one of those days,” You sigh.

“No, no,” Jack chimes, “I know that look.”

He taps the morning paper with one finger. Johnny’s face blazing on the front page, hands lifted mid-flight. “You miss him.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, dropping your gaze. “Yeah… I think I like him more than I should. It’s stupid.”

“Kid, in all my years of knowing you,” Robby starts, “You are not one to talk down about yourself. You’re not stupid for liking him. Or missing him.”

You sigh, continue cleaning in hopes that it would distract you. “Everyone likes him.”

“Yeah, but you don’t see him going to all the other cafes in town every day,” Jack argues, “He comes back to your cafe every day. Now what does that tell you?”

Your mind replays to the night you kissed. To where he had his hands on your waist, his soft lips— You shake your head to snap out of it. You know they’re right. You’re just a little disappointed because you haven’t heard from him in days.

He’s busy, probably has a ton of work to do for all the time he’s missed. So you understand. You just—

Your head snaps up when you hear the jingle from the entrance of your cafe. You’ve done this a hundred times in the past four days, looked up too fast you might’ve given yourself whiplash, only to be disappointed when it’s not Johnny.

But this time… this time it’s a familiar head of blonde hair, a pair of blue eyes, and a nervous smile that shakes you to your core.

It’s Johnny.

“Hey,” he says softly, like it’s just the two of you in the whole café.

Your lips part, and you can only manage a; “Hey.”

Johnny takes a step towards you, hands behind his back. “I’m sorry I disappeared. Things got busy and I—”

You shake your head quickly. “Don’t apologize. I get it. You’re—” your eyes flick toward the TV mounted in the corner, his name splashed across the news ticker even now, “—you’re busy saving the world again.”

He smiles, reaching for your hand. “Yeah, but I missed this. I… I missed you.”

You laugh under your breath, the sound shaky. “Well, I’m always here, Johnny. Whenever you need me.”

Johnny’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, “You made me feel normal. Made me feel like I’m me again… even without the fire. With you, I don’t have to be that guy—” he motions to the TV, “—always on fire, always running around… I can just be Johnny. You accept me. All of me.”

You grasp his hand, eyes wide and hopeful, and Johnny is smiling because he misses that look so much. The way you look at him like he’s your world, and the way he mirrors that look perfectly.

“I kept hoping,” You admit, voice small, “Every time that bell rang, I wanted it to be you. I missed you too, Johnny.”

He leans just a little closer, his breath catching.

“Can I—” he starts, but doesn’t finish the question.

You answer it anyway by tilting forward, closing the space between you. His lips are warm, and then more sure when he feels you melt into it. His hand cups your jaw gently, while the other circles around your waist.

“Fucking finally…” You hear Jack mutter and you break the kiss, realizing that it’s not just the two of you in the cafe.

“Way to ruin the mood, guys.” Johnny says jokingly.

“Kids these days,” Robby laughs. “Get a room before this old man gets a heart attack.”

Johnny shakes his head and turns back to you, kissing your hand. “Will you go out with me?”

You laugh. “We’ve made out twice now, Johnny. You better take me out.”

He smiles, forehead touching yours, when suddenly the door behind him opens, pushing him forward.

“Whoops, sorry there, Sparkles.” Ben enters your cafe.

You cover your mouth at the nickname, trying not to laugh.

Johnny glances at you with a ‘how dare you’ look. “What are you doing here, Ben?”

“Oh, we just wanted to know where you’ve been running off too for the past weeks.” Sue’s familiar voice booms behind Ben.

“This is a nice place. Cozy.” Reed follows not long after.

You blink in surprise, your cafe suddenly livelier than it’s ever been. Your grip on Johnny’s arm tightens.

“Guys, you’re freaking her out, okay? One at a time, please.” Johnny says, almost hiding you behind him.

Sue pushes past him and goes to hug you. “I cannot thank you enough for being there for Johnny.”

“I—It’s nothing, really.” Your shaky hands try to hug her back. “He keeps me company.”

Sue lets you go momentarily. “I also heard that you make amazing cheesecake. I’d love to try some.”

Sue smiles knowingly as you stammer out options for the cheesecake flavors. Reed is already halfway lost in asking you about your espresso machine, Ben is making himself comfortable like he owns the place, and Robby and Jack are chuckling in the corner, entertained by the whole spectacle.

It’s loud, and overwhelming, and yet, Johnny always finds you. His hand lingers against yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles like a silent reassurance.

You glance up at him, the noise fading to the background as you smile at each other, knowing your lives would be very different from here on out.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

end

p.s. i might make a bonus of their date!

[tinyyddancer]

sitting in my anatomy class wishing Johnny could explain it to me but realizing he can’t and would be just as confused as me

[tinyyddancer]

this is SOOOOO CUTE

movie so pleasantly surprising it made me open a drawing program again

[tinyyddancer]

#Love him

[tinyyddancer]

i got boots that would go so well with that scarf

bf moments | johnny storm

୨ৎ : pairing: boyfriend!johnny x reader ୨ৎ : summary: just a fluffy little compilation of moments with johnny as your boyfriend

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

Johnny Storm who always holds your hand when he drives, and grins every time you sing along with him, looking at you like he just won the lottery.

Johnny Storm who falls asleep on the couch halfway through movies, sprawled across your lap, always sighing contentedly the moment you start running your fingers through his hair.

Johnny Storm who gives you space after arguments, but always comes back with a quiet "please, let's talk" and his hand out.

Johnny Storm who always presses a lingering kiss to your temple before he leaves on a mission and kisses your lips reverently, whispering “I love you” like a prayer, when he comes back.

Johnny Storm who notices when you’re anxious and subtly reaches over to squeeze your knee in comfort, bringing a warm feeling of relief.

Johnny Storm who flew straight to your apartment the night the city's power went out because he remembered your fear of the dark. So he stood in your room with flames curled gently around his fingertips, lighting the walls as he promised “You’ll never be afraid again".

Johnny Storm who swears he's not a detail-oriented person, but surprises you with your favorite sweets and snacks when you're on your period.

Johnny Storm who talks to Sue, Reed and Ben about you like you’re already part of the family, like he sees a future with you as his wife. So Sue sends you a hand-knitted scarf in the same blue as their uniforms with a note that says “thank you for making him happier than ever”, while Reed and Ben tease him just to make him blush. And it works.

Johnny Storm who stares at you so deeply while he memorizes every part of you — your laugh, your voice, the way you move, the way you’re his. So he can remember it when the world gets too loud while he’s away from you.

Johnny Storm who swears he doesn’t believe in forever, but still holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him from burning out. Like maybe —just maybe— you’re the one flame that lights up his entire world.

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

2025 © starlxghtt | All rights reserved.

Thank you for reading! ❤️‍🔥

[tinyyddancer]

hyper fixating on the human torch rn. no one talk to me i cannot be saved

Johnny is the type of boyfriend that holds your hair so gently when you go down on him. He moved his watch to his left hand so that it wouldn't get tangled in your hair. Constantly readjusting and spreading his thick thighs wider so that you're comfortable on your knees with your plush lips wrapped around his pulsing length.

His veins pulse, corded blue and red up his forearm in such a way that you're wet just listening to him sigh and moan above you.

Your hand squeezes his knee, the blue fabric of his pants rib beneath your hand.

Johnny wordlessly slips his hand into yours on his thigh, letting you weave your fingers together. A shiver rocks through his thighs. Another breathless sigh leaves his pink lips and you moan around the veiny girth of him.

Some of your hair slips out of his grasp and he chuckles through a choked breath, attempting to scoop your hair back into his palm and failing miserably as more falls around your face.

You pull off him with a 'pop' and giggle, trying to help him to gather your hair again.

The two of you are a giggly lovey dovey mess. Stealing kisses in the warmth of it. He muses and hums against your lips when you stroke your hand up his cock.

"Sorry–" he kisses you again and then works on gathering your hair again, "y'just got so much hair."

You swear you're gonna marry him.

[tinyyddancer]

the most golden retriever man on Earth 828

johnny storm aka no.1 advocate for evil and off-putting women

[tinyyddancer]

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

[tinyyddancer]

oh.my.god.

Childproof

my main masterlist

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k words

description: sue announces her pregnancy. johnny is elated for his big sister. but it makes you feel some type of way when you know he wants kids of his own. something you're not very sure you want.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no spoilers for f4 really, no use of y/n, reader is 18+, established relationship, basically pwp, talks of use of birth control, reader is afraid of being pregnant, johnny is a menace, johnny the Dom, sub!reader, uses of "daddy" and "momma", heavy on the breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering, exhibitionism, creampie, no real aftercare lol

authors note: hey..... this came to me before i even watched the movie. i watched that one clip and was like yeah.... i'm horny. anyway. saw the movie, loved it and needed to write more for this doofus. also coming up with the title made me giggle. if you get it, lemme know. hope y'all enjoy!

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @saradika-graphics

Johnny knew how to get under your skin. He loved it. 

You and Ben had just completed dinner, working for over an hour on perfecting his famous red sauce. Johnny had been bothering you two the entire time, pestering you specifically on how much longer it would be.

“We have dinner at the same time every night, Johnny,” You bite as you butter the bread. He did not let up, asking you to elaborate. He loved seeing your face get red and your lips opening up to let out a long sigh. 

Once everything was plated and the table was set, you sat down at the table. You turn everyone’s forks and knives the right way as Ben sprinkles some more Italian seasoning over the pasta.

Johnny slams down in the chair next to you, a big box of Lucky Charms in his grip. Ben immediately takes note of it before you can even say anything.

“What are you doing?” He asks Johnny, his voice sort of small with a slight offense to it. 

Johnny takes a handful of the cereal and dumps it in his mouth. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

You peer at him, annoyed, already on edge with him today. He had been extra irritating today after you rejected his morning advances. You swore the man needed you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

“You are going to ruin your appetite,” You say, grabbing the box from him. His bright blue eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he dumped the rest of the handful he had into his mouth.

“‘M hungry, baby.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring the question Ben had posed about Sue and Reed being late to dinner. Everyone always arrived before the set time, and by the looks of it, they were about 5 minutes late. You check your small watch front, humming a response. You hear some footsteps from across the living room, and see the two of them looking like they just got caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

“You’re late,” Johnny shouts to them, dusting his hands off over his clean plate. You grit your teeth. Why was he like this?

Reed and Sue stop dead in their tracks. 

“What, uh, what do you mean?” Sue poses, slowly walking forward to her usual spot at the table. Johnny rolls his eyes again, and you silently plot how you could get away to stab him with your fork.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re late for dinner,” Johnny explains, pulling his napkin into his lap, just like you taught him. Took him years to figure out how to prevent so many stains on his clothing until you came around and completely changed his entire world.

Sue and Reed go into an elaborate explanation as to why they took so long, but you sensed a shift. Reed never had a good poker face, his big brown eyes giving him away immediately. 

Ben noticed, too, because he shot you a look.

“Why are you being weird?” Johnny asks, noticing their behavior to be rather off. 

They go into more word vomit, and you cannot help but let a smirk spread across your face. 

Ben quips up, “Are you pregnant?”

Sue’s face instantly shifts into a smile as she lets out some air from her nose, “Yeah, I’m pregnant.”

She and Ben stand up together, hugging one another in celebration. Reed gets up as well to join in on the embraces after he rattles off some weird and awkward gestures towards a flabbergasted Johnny. You shift out of your chair, grabbing him for a hug, whispering excited congratulations. 

Johnny is sitting there completely astonished. “What? Really?”

You all look to him, still seated at the table. Sue nods, giving him a confident ‘yeah’. And then the celebration gets even bigger, with Johnny slamming his hands on the table. You are still half hugging Reed, slowly pulling away, watching Johnny lift his sister in the air, and telling her how great of a mother she would be. When he grabs Reed, he tells him how he’s going to be out of his depth. He’s always one to pull something mean out of the depths of his mind to lay into Reed. You pat Reed’s shoulder, whispering to him to ignore his jab. 

You hug Sue and tell her congratulations. She gives you a squeeze, thanking you. Johnny grabs onto Ben as you pull away, “We are going to be the best uncles ever!”

You giggle, enjoying the excited look on Johnny’s face. He may be more thrilled than anyone else here. 

-

After Johnny got his powers, you two decided it was probably best not to have children. With every scientist you know telling you it would be fine to have a mutant’s baby, you were still unsure. Even Reed had brought up the possibility, and that’s why he and Sue had given up on it for a while.

You did not know that they never really wanted to give up trying. 

But you had done some semi-permanent things to ensure you would not get pregnant by your needy, insatiable boyfriend. Birth control. A small little pill you would take every morning with some orange juice and toast. 

It had worked for the year that you two had been together, and you were confident that you would not have to carry his child until you knew 100% what you wanted to do. 

But now a baby would be directly in your lives, and you had heard what baby fever can do to people. You were still sure you did not want a child, but the way Johnny is just blissful on the idea of having a nephew, you knew he would bring it up again. 

And you were right. Seeing his sister and brother-in-law beaming over the prospect of their future child made him envious. He always wanted a little Johnny, a little you, but he understood your hesitancy. He respected it, of course, but there was now a nagging voice in his head that said if he didn’t do it now, it would never happen. 

Dinner is finished in less than an hour, and you and Johnny take up the responsibility of cleaning up with H.E.R.B.I.E. Mainly, it was you cleaning off the table and stacking dishes while the robot did the rest. You still liked to busy yourself with tasks, making yourself seem useful to the team due to your lack of superhero abilities. You were essentially just their publicist and managed their daily lives at home while they went off to save the world. 

You begin to wipe up the dinner table. Johnny creeps behind you, his hands shifting over your waist. He loved seeing you doing domestic activities. You were so pretty in your blue half-sleeved top, tucked into some high-waisted black trousers.

“You do not need to be cleaning, beautiful,” He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. 

“Let me finish what I’m doing,” You demand, scrubbing off some sauce he had spilled off his plate. By the way his warm hands rested where your shirt rode up slightly, you knew what he was trying to do. 

He could sense some tension off of you, but refused to move away from you, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” You lie, your mind still settling with the exciting news, “I am just tired, is all.”

“I think you’re lying, sweet cheeks.” He pulls your hips closer to him, his back against your shoulder blades, “Tell me what’s on your mind, hm?”

You could not lie much longer, “I’m more worried about what’s on your mind.”

He halts any more movements, using his grip on your hips to turn you around. He was not expecting such a response. You knew he would never pressure you to do something you did not want to do. So you must be referring to something else. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your eyes shifting towards the floor over his shoulder before reluctantly returning to his piercing gaze, “You seem excited about the baby.”

He furrows his brows. You always thought he was always so painfully clueless when it mattered most. But the truth was, he did not understand why your response would be so bitter about his excitement.

His head shifts down towards you, “Of course, I am. I know how much Sue wanted it.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah, I know.”

You were starting to feel a bit dumb and dramatic about the whole thing. At the end of the day, you are excited for them. You like children for the most part, and it will keep the public off you and Johnny’s ass for 9 months. They won’t bother you about the timeline of your future child. Truthfully, you just hated the questions. There is almost a demand to produce the next generation of the Fantastic Four.

“Then what’s the big deal, beautiful? Why are you being weird about it?” His hands press into your hips in a possessive and needy way. You brush those thoughts off, knowing Johnny is doing it without even thinking twice.

But then the look he gave you during dinner started to enter your mind.

The longing.

“'Cause it’s only a matter of time before you start asking again.”

His hands still, “Asking for what? A baby?”

You slap his shoulders in frustration, “Yes!”

H.E.R.B.I.E takes his leave, knowing this could get heated quickly. He beeps his goodbye, heading down the hallway to the charging port that is set up for him. You grit your teeth, looking at Johnny’s silly expression, watching the robot roll away. 

Johnny cannot help but play oblivious, now. After you clarified for him, his mind was now plotting the ways he could sidetrack the conversation. He knew exactly what you were saying, but it’s so much sweeter when you lay it all out for him, your bubbling frustration only gets him off. And you knew that, which only annoyed you more. You usually fought spelling it out for him, but with a conversation like this, you wanted to be explicitly clear.

He sighs, shaking his head dramatically. “Of course I want a family with you, baby.”

“Well, we can’t. Not right now.”

Johnny smiles knowingly, slowly slipping into that cheeky smirk he gives you when he lets you win an argument. “Well, yeah, I know that.”

“Okay, good.”

Hands slip down your hips, reaching back to your rear and palming the flesh, “I would never put that responsibility on you. You know that?”

He drags out his fondling, his fingers rubbing closer and closer to your crack. His hands are wandering to places he only touched you in private. You want to smack him away, but he feels so good, you refuse to bother to reprimand him.

“Yes, I know,” You squeak, your hands now wrapping around the nape of his neck to almost pull him closer. After rejecting him this morning, you spent most of the day regretting not lazing in bed with him until noon. That option was always on the table, but today you were adamant about getting work done. What an idiot you were.

“Good…”

His head dips down to trail kisses on your jaw, down to your pulse point on your neck. Your fingers rake through his blond locks, holding his face close to you. His hands do not stop moving, tracing the line where your ass meets the top of your thighs. 

“You know what, though?” He ponders, his lips cresting the edge of your ear. He returns you to your previous position with a quick pull of your hips. Your ass is now pressed against him as your front half is practically folded over the white countertop. “It’s not stoppin’ me from acting like I can put one in you.”

“Johnny,” you warn, eyes fluttering close at the thought.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss right below your ear on your already sensitive neck, “Come on, baby. We can do it in a hypothetical sense.”

You breathe out a long sigh, knowing this was a terrible idea. You give Johnny an inch and he runs a mile. Even pretending he could get you pregnant felt like manifesting it. “Why, though?”

“Cause it’s hot to imagine,” He states, his hands traveling slowly between your thighs. You can feel him growing in his pants with the way his hips are practically melted into your backside, “Just thinking about fucking you full until you are dripping and full of my seed.”

“Johnny, please.”

“Oh, now you’re begging for it?” His hands warm up, like a reflex to get the truth out of you. Fingers spreading over your lower tummy as he lifts your top. You cannot stop the moans that leave your lips. 

“No,” you try to say with an ounce of confidence. He just giggles, his teeth starting to toy with your earlobe.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His hand dips under your pants, not even bothering with the button. “I’ll give you that baby I want so badly.”

His words are so filthy. They always were. But these ones held an odd amount of weight. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, feeling his fingers go past your panties and seeking out your soaked slit. Once his fingers slide between your lips, a choked-out gasp leaves his lips. His words were enough to get you this wet. It fuels his ego every time.

Your body jolts, hands finding a spot on the counter to grip onto. There’s nothing to grab onto, so you let Johnny take control. 

“You would be so fucking beautiful pregnant, you know?” His fingers dip further into you, and you surrender, laying your upper body on the freezing marble. He fucks you slowly, dragging his fingers in and out of your wet center with precision, “God, I’m so fuckin’ hard imagining it. All round with my baby.”

His other hand pulls you upward, resting right where your womb is. You know how effective your birth control is, so you know his words are just words. But god, are those words making you a mess. 

“Shit,” You gasp, practically out of breath as he toys with your hole, “I can actually see the appeal of these hypotheticals.”

“Yeah?” His nose bumps the shell of your ear, “You like imagining making me a daddy?”

“Jesus, Johnny,” You sigh, as his fingers pull out of you, the wetness of your core dragging up to your tummy. He finally pops the button on your pants and shoves them down around your ankles. Your pants were quite tight, so you decided a seamless thong would suit the outfit. Johnny thanks his lucky stars for your usually-dragging-morning-brain for being so brilliant. 

“We are going to get caught-”

“Everyone is in bed,” He replies quickly, not letting you finish your thought. He’s already shoving his pants down with one hand still resting on your body. “Just let me do what you deprived me of this morning.”

“Deprived you?” you quip, turning to face him. He does not take kindly to your movement, grabbing your hips and pressing them into the edge of the counter again. 

You hated to admit that you loved it when he dominated you in this way. He was such a playful presence in day-to-day life, but when the switch flipped inside him, you were like sand between his fingers.

His palm comes down, slapping your ass. “Behave.”

You bite your lip and nod, smiling at his actions. 

“You would be such a good momma, you know?” He ponders, his right hand reaching down between you two. You feel his tip swipe against the skin of your asscheek, his precum trickling slowly down your flesh. His words send your brain into a tizzy. You wiggle in his grip, wanting him to sink into you already. “I’d get to see your tits even more than usual.”

You stop your movements, peering over your shoulder at him. The statement is almost so comically funny that you cannot take it seriously. “How does that even correlate?”

His face is deadly serious before that familiar grin creeps across his lips. He moves your thong out of his way, rubbing his cock between your sopping pussy lips, “Gotta feed the kid somehow.”

You close your eyes, letting out a depraved sigh. You can feel the smile on his face as he sinks into you, his length taking up every inch of your pussy. You squeeze him briefly, trying to adjust to his size.

“So tight. Relax a bit, honey.”

Johnny is always warm, so in turn, so are you. Especially when you fuck. The moment his hips shift inside you and he drags his cock in and out of you, you break a sweat. Even the coldness of the counter could not cool you down as his body hangs over you and completely overtakes your space. 

Johnny may be hot, but your cunt was even warmer. It was like his own personal drug. He would spend the rest of his days buried inside you, listening to your desperate whimpers as his hips snapped into you.

“Faster,” You urge, wanting to feel that familiar build-up in your tummy grow. He presses one hand into your waist, the other holding that spot that he’s now hyper-focused on. 

He speeds up his motions, his waist slapping against the fat of your ass, “Greedy momma, huh? You just want my babies so bad, huh?”

The pressure builds up only intensifies when the hand from your waist pushes your thong out of the way. His pointer and ring finger spread you wider as his middle finger swipes across your swollen clit. The mixture of meticulous work on your clit on top of the swiftness of his thrusts makes your ears ring. 

You are being loud, and you both know it. Usually, soundproof bedroom walls protect your pretty sounds from being exposed to the rest of the family, but you are in the middle of the condo, bent over the kitchen counter. 

Johnny takes the initiative to quiet you by slapping his hand over your mouth, leaving a warm spot on your tummy. His other hand does not let up on your clit, chasing that familiar feeling of you spasming around his sensitive cock. 

He jerks your head back, curling your back up into an arch, “I want you to cum for me, momma. I’m close, wanna feel you first. Then I’ll give you what we both want.”

Fingers speed up as his hips falter in speed a bit, but it’s still enough for you. Your eyes roll back the moment the burning spreads across your nerve endings. You moan into his hand, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hips go flush with your ass the moment his cock twitches, emptying every last drop deep inside you. His face is pressed into the side of yours, his words a jumble of “fuck” and “yes, take it all, baby”.

You stand there on wobbly legs as Johnny recovers and moves his hand away from your mouth. He kisses your cheek a couple of times before his hands go back to your lower tummy again.

“I’m in no rush,” He mumbles, drawing circles into your skin. You know exactly what he’s talking about, and hearing him reassure you again makes your heart grow a million sizes, “I'd rather have you all to myself anyway.”

The giggle that escapes your throat is clouded by some phlegm. You clear your throat, “I like that it’s just us. Especially right now.”

“I’m not ready to share you.”

He slips out of you as he says it, making it sound so casual. His cum literally drips down your thigh as he removes himself. “Sorry, honey.”

You run your fingers between your hips and thong to straighten it back out over your ass. When you slap it against your own skin, you hear Johnny chuckle at the obscenity. He bends down, grabbing the waistband of your pants, shimmying it up your leg, effectively wiping away the white liquid he left on your skin. To him, it’s a job well done. All clean!

To you, it means you have to ensure you run the pants through the laundry twice.

“Johnny-”

“Sorry,” He beams as you spin to scold him, “Again.”

There he is. Embedding himself so deep into your skin like a lovesick leech. You want to smack him for annoying you so quickly after getting you blissed out on his dick, but instead, you just grit your teeth and pinch his cheek.

“Daddy is going to sleep on the hard couch if he keeps it up.”

His eyes light up at your words, completely disregarding the latter half of the sentence. 

“So you did like that little fake scenario I mocked up, huh?”

You shake your head, buttoning your pants. He is a menace and he knows it. “Oh, you read me so well, honey. You’re on fire tonight!”

You don’t mean it to have a double meaning, but of course it does with Johnny. The expression he makes is so painful to your pride that you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“I’m always on fire, Momma.”

-

[tinyyddancer]

oh i just know this man was spitballing the entire day

Blabbermouth

johnny storm x fem!reader content warnings: none! all fluff! summary: on a mission, Johnny gets sprayed with something that makes him way too honest. you try to keep him quiet, but he blurts out all the things he’s been holding back, especially how long he’s been in love with you. wc: 2k

masterlist.

It was supposed to be a standard sweep.

Alien bunker. Low threat. Weird tech, strange symbols, and enough glowing crystals to make Reed’s voice crack with excitement. Johnny had been bored from the start—hovering in the back of the group, tossing a ball of flame between his fingers while Ben kicked open doors and Sue cleared the path.

“I could be on a beach right now,” Johnny muttered, singeing the edge of a scorched blueprint with his pinky. “I deserve to be on a beach.”

“You got terrible sunburn last time,” Sue reminded him without looking back.

“It was a controlled burn.”

The air in the corridor felt stale, like something hadn’t breathed in there for centuries. They moved cautiously through the underground chamber, scanning for trip wires or pressure plates. Nothing. Just strange writing etched into the walls, humming with quiet energy.

That was the first sign something was off.

The second?

The pod.

It sat in the corner of the room. Dull silver, cracked slightly open, leaking a strange violet mist that curled and floated like it had a mind of its own.

Johnny, naturally, poked it.

“Johnny.” Ben snapped, too late.

The mist shot upward in a perfect puff—like a firework in reverse—right into Johnny’s face.

He blinked. Coughed once. Waved the smoke away.

“What the hell was that?” Sue asked, backing up with her arm half-raised for a shield.

“I’m fine,” Johnny said, squinting. “That was barely a breath. Not even spicy. Smelled kind of like lavender.”

Reed was already scanning him with some handheld monitor, muttering calculations under his breath.

Johnny grinned. “Relax, I’m fine. I feel great, actually.”

Then he looked at Sue and said, completely deadpan:

“By the way, your meatloaf sucks.”

A beat of silence.

“Excuse me?” she said, affronted.

“I’ve been pretending for years. I’m sorry. It’s bad. It’s like sadness in a pan.”

And that was when Reed declared the mission over.

The Baxter Building lobby smelled like smoke.

Not the scary kind. No alarms, no shouting, no flaming holes in the ceiling. Just a lingering warmth in the air, like someone had lit a match and forgot to put it out. You looked up from your notebook as the elevator doors slid open and the Fantastic Four filed in, one by one.

Reed had a sample tube in his hand. Sue was wiping green goo off her shoulder with a sigh. Ben was muttering something about “next time, I swear I’m bringing a flamethrower.”

And Johnny…

Johnny was beaming.

“Hey, guys!” he said way too brightly, his eyes going wide when he spotted you. “Look who it is! It’s the prettiest person in the tri-state area. No, the planet. Actually, the universe. Easy.”

You blinked. “Johnny?”

He marched right up to you with zero hesitation and zero regard for personal space.

“Hi,” he said, grin full blast, cheeks flushed. “You look amazing. I love that shirt on you. And your hair? Perfect. Is that a new lipstick? It’s making me go crazy. In a good way.”

“…Are you okay?”

“Me? Never better,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Got sprayed with a weird puff of alien gas in a tunnel, but I feel fantastic. And also, I’ve been thinking about how your laugh sounds like windchimes, and how it makes my chest all floaty and-”

“Johnny,” Reed interrupted from across the room, brows furrowed behind his glasses. “I need you to sit down.”

“I am sitting down,” Johnny replied.

“You’re standing.”

“Well, emotionally I’m sitting. Emotionally I am in a beanbag chair. Staring at-” he turned back to you, “a literal work of art.”

Sue groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Reed, tell me he didn’t breathe that stuff in.”

“He did,” Reed said grimly. “And based on his current behavior, I’m hypothesizing a psychochemical compound similar to a truth serum. But stronger. Less filtered. More impulsive.”

“Sweet,” Ben said. “So he’s just gonna be running his mouth until it wears off?”

“Correct.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

You turned back to Johnny, whose attention hadn’t wavered once. He looked like a golden retriever that had just discovered affection. His smile was stupid. His eyes were shining. His hair was a little windblown and he had a small scratch on his cheek, but he looked annoyingly good.

“I am so sorry,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You probably don’t feel like yourself right now.”

“I feel great,” he replied. “Your hand is soft. Did you know that? Have I told you that before?”

“Johnny-”

“And I love that perfume. It’s not too much. It’s, like, subtle but deadly. I would let it kill me.”

“Okay-”

“I’m in love with you, by the way.”

Silence.

Your mouth dropped open.

Sue choked on her coffee.

Ben muttered, “Aw, hell.”

Johnny blinked. “Oh. Should I not have said that?”

The words just…hung there.

Like a balloon popped in the middle of a silent room. Time slowed. You felt your ears go hot, your heart skip. Johnny stood there, blinking at you like he didn’t just say that, like he hadn’t just detonated the emotional equivalent of a nuclear bomb in the middle of the Baxter Building.

“Okay,” you said, voice tight. “Okay. So you’re, uh. You’re drugged. That’s cool. That’s fine. Everything’s cool-”

“I’m not drugged,” Johnny said proudly. “I’m just finally free.”

Sue set down her coffee with a loud clunk. “Johnny, shut up.”

“I won’t!” he declared, like he was giving a toast. “I have been in love with her for, like, six months- maybe more, who’s counting, not me, except that I definitely wrote it in my notebook at one poin=t”

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“And I didn’t say anything because I thought, hey, you’re normal, right? And I’m me. Human torch. Fire boy. Disaster man. I figured if I told you, you’d run for the hills or laugh or worse. But I think about you all the time.”

“Johnny-”

“Like, all the time. Like, embarrassing amounts. Like I have quotes you’ve said stuck in my head like song lyrics.”

"Johnny can you-"

“I memorized the way you say my name,” Johnny added, eyes wide, honest to God sincere. “You say it different than everyone else. It’s like…softer. Like you’re letting me be someone else when you say it.”

You wanted to disappear.

No. You wanted to melt into the floor.

Or maybe fly into the sun.

But instead you stood there, frozen, while Johnny kept going, still not done.

“One time I flew over your apartment window to make sure you got home okay after that dinner with that guy you didn’t like. And I pretended it was a patrol run, but really I just wanted to make sure your lights turned on. And I saw them. And I smiled for, like, an hour.”

“Oh my God,” Sue muttered into her hands.

“Also!” he added brightly. “I have a collection of vinyls in a box labelled ‘If She Ever Lets Me Kiss Her’ and I will be playing it in full if that moment ever comes."

Ben was red in the face now, shaking with laughter. Reed just looked concerned.

You finally grabbed Johnny’s arm and pulled him into the hallway with a rushed, “I just need to talk to him, excuse us.."

Once the door clicked shut behind you, Johnny looked up at you with a dreamy smile.

“You’re holding my arm,” he said, like it was the best part of his whole day.

You stared at him. “Johnny.”

“Yes?”

“You are not in your right mind.”

“I’m in love.”

“No, you’re chemically compromised.”

He grinned wider. “Wow. That’s my favorite way someone’s ever said that.”

You ran a hand down your face, trying not to laugh. Trying not to feel the way your heart was pounding.

“You can’t just…say all that to me,” you whispered. “You can’t say things like that and not mean them.”

Johnny paused.

The smile softened. For the first time all afternoon, he looked a little serious. A little still.

“I do mean them,” he said quietly. “Every single word.”

You stared.

He wasn’t grinning now. He wasn’t performing. He was just looking at you like you were the only real thing in the room. No sparks. No flash.

Honest.

Open.

Yours, if you wanted.

“But,” he added, blinking slow. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I can…walk that back. Just, like, tell me, and I’ll make myself forget. Or I’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll do whatever you want. Just…don’t stop being in my life. I need you. Even if I don’t get to have you.”

You didn’t realize you’d moved until your hand was on his face, fingers cradling his jaw, thumb brushing the side of his cheek.

He leaned into it instantly, heat curling off his skin like instinct.

“You didn’t even ask if I feel the same,” you said softly.

“Do you?”

You nodded. Barely.

He didn’t say anything.

He just kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fiery.

It was warm. Solid. Real.

He tasted like cinnamon gum and something a little electric. He sighed into it like it was the one thing he’d been holding his breath for all this time.

When you pulled back, he looked dazed.

“You taste like strawberry chapstick,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

You laughed, breathless, forehead pressed to his.

“What happens when the serum wears off?”

“I panic. Sue makes fun of me. Reed writes a report. I pretend I don’t remember any of this.”

“And then?”

He looked at you again.

“Then I kiss you again,” he said. “But on purpose this time.”

By the time Johnny woke up the next morning, the serum had long worn off, and the crippling realization of everything he’d said had kicked in.

He lay on his back in his bed, arm over his face, replaying it all in horror:

“I think about kissing you, like, constantly.” “I flew past your window to make sure you were safe.”

He groaned. Out loud. Into the void. Into his pillow.

“Oh my god.”

There was a knock at the door.

He flinched. “Go away.”

The door opened anyway.

“Morning, lover boy,” Ben said, way too cheerfully.

“I said go away.”

“Too bad. I brought company.”

Sue followed behind, sipping her coffee. “How’s our little truth bomb?”

Johnny rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. “Dead. Gone. I’m quitting the team.”

“Aw, come on,” Ben said. “You were adorable. Real rom-com material.”

“Kill me.”

“I didn’t know your middle name was ‘romance’” Sue added.

“I swear to God-”

“And Reed says he’s almost done charting your ‘emotional spike timeline,’” Ben said. “Apparently you got more honest every time she smiled at you.”

“I will burn this entire building down.”

A soft knock interrupted his growing spiral of despair.

You stepped into the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee. One of them had little flame doodles on the side. Johnny peeked over his pillow, eyes wide like a scared cat.

You gave him a slow smile. “You, uh…remember yesterday?”

He groaned. Again. “Please say it was all a dream.”

“Nope.”

You walked over and handed him the flame mug.

“But it was a very good dream for me.”

His ears turned red. Bright red. Like the serum had activated all over again.

You sat gently beside him on the edge of the bed.

“I liked hearing the things you said,” you added. “Even if they were…sudden. And chaotic. And a little concerning.”

“So…you’re not never speaking to me again?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“Definitely not.”

You leaned in, brushed your hand across his cheek, and kissed the corner of his mouth, warm and quick and real.

“I kind of want to hear more of the truth,” you murmured. “This time without the alien chemicals.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“Only if you promise to show me that collection of records.”

Johnny grinned, wide and stunned, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I’ll even throw in choreography,” he said. “But I’m warning you—it’s a lot of finger guns and dramatic pointing.”

“Perfect.”

And for the first time in twenty-four hours, Johnny Storm thought:

"Yeah. That wasn’t so bad after all."