goodnightngoread

[goodnightngoread]

“your hands on my body, your hot. hands.”

[goodnightngoread]

i promise i’ll post this weekend you guys 🙏🏻 first day of class today so im getting in my groove

[goodnightngoread]

1,000 notes WHAT ??? THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON THIS FIC ! i can’t believe a fic i wrote while i was at work would be so loved ?? 💕

yuck !

summary: love makes you sick. so why do you keep going back to him?

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive, minors dni, fwb to lovers, pessimistic! reader, no use of y/n, johnny is a lover boy, strong language, loosely based of yuck by charli xcx.

word count: 2.5k

author's note: Trying a new format for my writing! lmk if y'all prefer lowercase or capitalized teehee.take a shot for every fic i write that's based on a song. jk don't or you'll die. honestly send more song fics bc it gets me in a writing mood ! dividers by @uzmacchiato

"Oh Jesus Christ."

Sitting on your desk is a fresh bouquet of peonies. Again. You reach down to trash the, admittedly beautiful, arrangement away before your coworker, Olivia, stops you.

"Hey, hey not so fast," her hands snatch the flowers from your grip before they can tumble in your mini trash can. "My mom is coming to visit and these are perfect." Her fingers ruffle through the petals as she peers up at you.

You roll your eyes, "I'm glad someone's enjoying this."

"Don't act like you aren't giddy at the fact that Johnny Sto—," you slap a hand over her loud mouth. You really don't need the entire office knowing who the flower offender is.

"Shh. and No. He's just being a little shit. He knows we aren't serious." The frown on your face is a direct contrast to the grin on hers. She moves to her chair across from you. You can picture her kicking her feet under the table as she takes a direct whiff of the flowers.

"Sure, Jan," she nods, reapplying the lipstick you rubbed off with your hand.

"Okay, now you've gone too far. You know I love the Brady Bunch movie and you're using it against me," you groan. The pencil in your grip is shooting to her side of the desk. She watches it hit the computer screen lamely. Curse your poor aim.

"Woah, did someone fucking die? Why does it look like a funeral home in here," your other coworker, Ruth, exclaims. She's ten minutes late, as usual. She claims it's because of traffic, but she's setting down her purse in a way that makes sure her suspiciously fresh manicure isn't disturbed.

When you say you have a flower offender, you really mean it.

There's at least five— no scratch that, ten vases of flowers sat around your cubicle. At first you were confused. The note attached to the first one was nothing but a small "pretty flowers for a pretty girl - Johnny". You snorted, threw the note, and decided he was just being dumb.

But then it didn't stop.

The poor receptionist was sneezing for the rest of the day after placing fresh deliveries on your desk for the past two weeks. The box of tissues by her front desk as an apology from you.

"I wish it was my funeral," you mutter, before trashing the newest note into the bin without reading it.

"My stomach hurts. Maybe I should call him and cancel," you consider.

Johnny baited you into a dinner date tonight. And well, you wanna get lucky. So you agreed.

Olivia is cat sitting for you while you're busy getting wined and dined. The array of nail polishes she looted from the bathroom spread out over your living room as she meticulously applies polish to her pinky toe. "It's not hurting. They're called butterflies," she remarks.

You groan and flop on the sofa beside her, "Not butterflies. Moths. And I want them dead." She seems to be enjoying the shit show that is your love life, or lack thereof.

"Just admit you like him," she continued.

"I don't like him. I like his dick," you reason, watching as Olivia waves air to her freshly painted toenails.

She stops and grimaces, "Ew, keep that to yourself." Girlhood has a boundary now it seems.

"You say that like you wouldn't jump at the chance to be me right now, Liv," you protest.

"I would, which means I would also be, what's the word…," she raises a mocking finger to tap at her chin, "happy? Not everyone gets dicked down by a superhero every night."

"Not every night," you counter before slowly sinking back into the sofa, "…like twice a week." You know if you look up at her, she would give you a flippant eye roll.

She's right. You are lucky. And honestly you would have a better attitude towards the whole situation if he wasn't so committed to wanting more. After the first night you spent with him, you directly told him that you weren't looking for anything more than hook ups.

He had smiled like you hung the moon and stars. sheet splayed over his abdomen before replying, "That won't be a problem."

Lying jackass.

You swore off feelings, all it does is cause problems and a month long depression after it all crumbles down. It's been a few weeks now that you've been seeing Johnny, if you can even call it that. Usually it starts with him blowing up your phone, you not responding until halfway through the day, him flirting his way into seeing you that night, and you acting like you don't want to until eventually giving in.

She twists the bottle closed before resting her feet on your coffee table. "I think deep down you're happy to see him." Your cat, Charlie, meows somehwere from his perch in agreement. "Why else would you use your nice perfume and wear that new skirt."

You feel exposed.

"I can't want to look good?"

"No. I've seen you leave in a moomoo before."

Fuck. She's right. You feel like she just dumped a bucket of ice water down your back. When was the last time you went out with someone other than Johnny? And tried to look good, at that. You stand up quickly, the floor feeling like it's swaying under your feet.

"I gotta go," you mumble, sick to your stomach. The turkey sandwich from earlier almost rising up your throat. Olivia quickly tucks her feet towards her as you barrel past. You pause to scratch Charlie's head, hoping his certificate as an emotional support animal means anything. It doesn't help. He's also judging you. Damnit.

"Oh god," you breathe, before tiredly falling next to Johnny. To no one's surprise, you're in his bed. Again.

"Not my name but I'll take it," he groans, spent from the rigorous night you just shared.

He's covered in a thin sheet of sweat, droplets forming at the base of his hairline. The room is quiet, nothing but heavy breathing as you both try and slow your pulses down. It's weirdly intimate. There's a jazz record playing in the background that Johnny started before you arrived. A single candle lit on the corner of his desk. Both you're clothes tangled together on the floor trailing to the bed.

He's cleaned you both up and flopping beside you once more, still bare but he holds no shame. He's opening his arms and sliding you close to him before dipping his head low to steal a kiss.

"Uh-uh, you know the rule," you turn away to dodge it before it lands.

You have one rule that you live by with hook-ups. No kissing outside of the bedroom. It's not crazy, but it helps you sleep at night.

Johnny lets his head fall back onto his pillow. His hand is combing through your hair, softly brushing the sweaty strands away from your face. You try to ignore the hot flush burning its way up your neck.

Grhghrhh

Johnny blinks, "Was that your stomach?"

"No, it was my knee. Yes, it was my stomach."

You feel him shift as he reaches over to rummage through his nighstand. His hand returns with a package of Sour Patch Kids.

He drops it gently near your side. "Here, have some of these."

You sit up, "Thanks," you whisper. Did he know these were your favorite? As you rip open the box with as much grace as a toddler, you ask, "Why did you have these stowed away like contraband?"

"Because I saw you eat them once and wanted to have them here just in case you were craving them," he finishes sincerely. He fishes for a red candy, "I call dibs on these though." He pops it into his mouth before eliciting a theatrical moan. The candy leaves a trace of sour coating on his lips, and you resist the urge to kiss it off.

"If you look at the phone one more time, I'm gonna call him myself," Ruth huffed. Her eyes never left the computer screen, although she didn't need to look up to know you were fixated on abnormally silent phone in front of you.

You took edge of your finger from your mouth. You only bite your nails when you're anxious enough that the stress ball in your drawer isn't enough. And this situation calls for it.

Johnny Storm hasn't called you at all today.

Not once.

Which you would think would be a sigh of relief, right? Wrong. Because never in the two months you've been seeing him has he gone a day without absolutely blowing up your phone.

"Do you think he's in trouble? I haven't seen anything on the news but—," you ramble.

Ruth wheels her way into view, "He's the Human Torch. Unless he's fighting Elsa I'm sure whatever he's up against is the equivalent of swatting a fly."

"Unless he is fighting Elsa, ooh— or Frozone, and he's losing and possibly near-death at this very moment," Olivia contributed. She quickly backed her chair a safe distance away once she saw the murderish look in your eyes.

"Wow. You guys are such great friends. Truly."

Ruth exhales loudly before making her way towards you. "Babe, he's fine. He's probably just… ," she whirls her hands in the air dramatically, "..kissing babies and getting a key to the city or whatever people like him do."

"You're probably right, I don't know why I'm getting worked up." You take a deep breath in before grabbing the nearest pen, clicking the end anxiously.

"I mean, I think we all know why—," Olivia begins before she's cut off by the unmistakeable ringtone of the Fantastic Four cartoon theme song that Johnny himself programmed into your phone.

You're on your feet faster than you thought was humanly possible. Snatching the phone, you bolt outside the office doors to answer.

"Finally picking up on the first ring pretty girl?—"

"Where have you been? You had me worried sick, Johnny." You feel your voice shake before you can even it out.

"Woah, woah— what? I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you, I was on baby-duty while Sue was busy." He sounds genuine, worry lacing his voice from what you can hear from the static service.

Ugh, fuck him for making you feel bad. "Sorry I-I was just— I dont know, Ruth and Liv were giving me a hard time," you try to lighten the mood, "I almost thought I was gonna have to replace you."

"Nah, you can't get rid of me that easily, sweetheart."

You've shaved every part of your body three times. There are four different outfit combinations waiting on your bed. You've already brushed your teeth but considering going for a second go around. Your hand is catching a cramp from pulling your hair up, to taking it down, then back up again. Nothing feels right.

There's a sweat stain building on your shirt when you finally manage to step into the kitchen. Ruth is raiding your pantry for snacks, while Charlie is coughing up a hairball by the sink. Great.

"Please don't eat me out of house and home. Charlie's food is more expensive than mine," you beg. Ruth is cat-sitting tonight due to the fact that last time Olivia watched him, she ended up with cat litter in her hair. Don't ask.

"No promises." She pauses her rifling to look you up and down before continuing, "Something else is getting ate up tonight, too."

"Shut up. I didn't have anything else," you lie.

She seems to read you like a book, nodding along to whatever excuse you had for a thin tank top and strong vanilla perfume. "You smell like the Pillsbury Doughboy's asshole," she chortled.

"Fuck you, and I'm leaving." You playfully smack her arms before stepping out.

It's a brisk walk to the Baxter Building. Tall skyscrapers and flashy billboards to pass the time while you debate your choice of shoes. H.E.R.B.I.E better have a foot massage setting, you think to yourself.

As you get closer, you feel your pulse in your throat. Like frog and toad became friends in your esophagus. You can feel the sweat start to form again in your pits and the trembling of your feet as they carry you closer and closer to him. You've never had the urge to turn around and go home like this before.

You raise a hand to knock on the door. Why are you so nervous?

The answer comes in the form of a effortlessly domestic looking Johnny Storm. He's wearing a plain white tee, navy blue sweats hanging low on his hips. His hair is swept upwards from the unmistakeable mark of his helmet that he toyed with on occasion. He's leaning against the frame as his eyes light up at the sight of you. How can a man be this beautiful?

"You don't know how long I've been sitting at the door like an idiot," he smiles.

You settle into step beside him as you wander to the elevator. Has he always looked like this? Like an angel that was sent down for the sole purpose of damning you to Hell. Making you commit all seven deadly sins if it meant one more night with him.

He's mindlessly blabbering on about a rogue incident in Reed's lab before you come to the horrifying realization.

You like hearing him talk. You like when he blows up your phone at work for the stupidest reasons. You like when he kisses your hands after you've made him a random late night snack. You like pretending to hate him when that's not the truth.

You like him.

Actually, it's worse. Much worse.

You love Johnny Storm.

He seems to notice the dazed look in your eyes as the shocking truth has dawned on you. He pauses mid rant to wave a hand over your face. "Did you just see the future or what was that—"

"IthinkI'minlovewithyou"

He freezes.

"Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with me." You drag both hands over your face before you start backtracking. "Let me out of here, I'm going ba—,"

The words don't fall from your lips before Johnny is crashing into you. The kiss is sloppy, a mixture of teeth and exhilerating want. His hands roam up your sides feeling everything, before making their way to cradle your neck. He's pushing your back against the elevator wall, easily locking you in place. You're sure you could stay here forever. This moment replaying on a loop for centuries.

Then the elevator dings open to the residential floor. You break apart when you realize you both are breathless. You wish you never had to breath again if that was the only barrier from kissing him forever.

"I'm in love with you, too." He says it so easily, like if someone asked if the sun was going to rise the next morning.

"Do you think I'm ever going to hear the end of it from Liv and Ruth?"

"Not a chance," he grins, before dragging you to his room.

[goodnightngoread]

guilty as sin ?

summary: you work for him, it would never work. but are you guilty for imagining it?

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

warnings: unrequited love (not really), suggestive !, minors dni, strong language, no use of y/n, loosely based of Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift.

word count: 2.5 k

author's note: i had a mold outbreak after moving back into my apt and school starts again soon so yeah life is great rn :)))) thank you anon for the request !! i love this song with my whole heart so i'm so glad someone asked for it with johnny!! dividers by @uzmacchiato

The room buzzes with action as reporters and camera crews try to gain enough attention to get a response from the group in front of them. The constant flashing lights and loud yelling amongst the crowd is no doubt the cause of your migraine. You're standing on the edge of the raised platform that seats the Fantastic Four, eyes tracking along the sea of reporters who all want their questions answered.

It's a monthly press conference, nothing out of the ordinary to really worry about. The city—the world loves them without question. But sometimes, rumours spread about what the team actually is working on, so it's your job to save face and keep them as the most loved super family on the planet.

A blonde woman in the front row eagerly waves her hand in the air, catching none other than Johnny Storm's eyes. He gives her a flirty wink, before reaching out his finger to call her out, "Bombshell in the front, what do you have for us?"

The giggle that leaves her lips is so high pitched that it makes you fight against the urge to roll your eyes. The media training in your veins takes over, and you turn your head and side-eye Sue, who gives you a knowing one in return. She sends you a small smile, before turning her head back to the front before anyone else can catch onto the silent conversation happening. You wish she couldn't read you so easily, but it must be her maternal instinct imbedded in her DNA.

You subtly pinch your arm to get yourself back on track, erasing any jealousy from your mind. He's New York City's hottest (literally) bachelor at the moment, he's free to fuck every girl in the city and not care what anyone else thinks. Who's really gonna cancel 1/4 of Earth's favorite heroes?

But god do you wish that was you.

You wanted to be the one who makes his cheeks turn that rosy shade of pink. The one who makes him fumble his words in a conversation. The one who pulls out breathy sighs from his lips as you—

Stop it, you think. You're supposed to be the face of the group's PR team, and if a nosy reporter happens to catch you staring dazily at Johnny, you'll have to move out of the country before facing that kind of embarrasment. Even if you were to successfully capture his heart, you would be plastered on every newspaper as a groupie. A smart fan who played the long game, which wasn't your plan when you first signed up for this.

Once the reporters seem to cross the lines in terms of bizarre questions (you swear you heard someone ask where else does Ben grow rock hair), it's your turn to snap out of it and step in. You stride onto the platform and in front of the table, "No more questions at this time. The Fantastic Four thank you all for coming."

The choir of journalists seem to get louder. You force a media trained smile and try wave them away, but it does little to quiet them down. Just before you're about to turn into a more irritable version of yourself, a hand travels along your back, easing the tension in your spine.

"You heard her, folks. Can't save the city if we're stuck here all day," Johnny laughs. That finally seems to shut down any more questions anyone has, the room of people slowly making their way out of their seats. Of course everyone would listen to him, you would too if you were them.

His hand is guiding you in front of him, before helping you step down the small steps off the edge of the make shift stage. His palm is warm, almost sweaty, but endearingly so. You have to remember how to use the stairs for a second. His touch is dizzying, sending your brain and heart on a rollercoaster. A familiar heat is sweeping over your entire body, the entire room feeling like he just engulfed it in flames and you were made of 100% gasoline. You clear your throat and nod politely before thanking him.

"Wasn't a hassle, kid," he smirks. And that godforsaken nickname he has for you kills the heat in your cheeks. He only started you calling you that after finding out you were a mere two years younger than him, which you tried and failed to convince him to use a different one. One that didn't make you feel like a girl with a crush on her school teacher.

You falter in your steps, watching him walk ahead to where Ben and Reed are chatting. You fall behind to step into place with Sue, her face turning to examine you in quiet study. Although she's techincally your boss, you imagine her as an older sister. Someone who can sense the shift in your mood before you even realize something's changed.

Her hand reaches to softly grasp at your arm, "I know that look. Either someone made you upset or you're thinking about Marley & Me, again."

That manages to crack a smile on your face. The bitter jealousy from earlier finding it's way to the back of your mind. You grab her arm to interlock elbows, "Oh, you know, same old same old. Just stressing about my job and also dealing with an all-consuming crush that also happens to be a part of my job."

You never planned on Sue finding out about your crush on her younger brother. But one day after a family dinner which they forced you to stay for, she couldn't help but notice the obvious pining eminating from you. She cornered you by the sink after dinner was over, you being a gracious house guest and offering to help her clean up.

You broke a plate when she casually mentioned how cute the two of you would be together, H.E.R.B.I.E scrambling to pick up the shards before Franklin could get a hold of them. You wish you could forget that day, but when Johnny came to wrap up your cut hand in gauze, it was instead burned into your memory.

Since then, she's tip toed around the subject, not wanting any more fine china to crack. Her lips purse in thought, "Maybe you could talk to him? I don't like this emotional constipation you're putting yourself through." Her voice is low, falling below the bickering Ben and Johnny have going on ahead of you both.

"I would prefer to sit in my angst rather than face rejection, but thanks." The second hand embarrasment from even thinking of him shutting you down is enough to make you feel queasy. "It's unprofessional to imagine, anyways. I shouldn't even be entertaining the idea, and neither should you, boss."

She rolls her eyes before hugging your forearm closer to her. "There's no such thing as bad thoughts. You can be selfish for once." Her voice is like a siren, it makes you want to believe anything she says.

If only she knew.

How can you not feel guilty for what you imagine late at night? When the aching in your being has overtaken your senses and shameless thoughts consume you. You would hate to be a fly on the wall when you're alone on your bed sheets, writhing in pure ecstasy. Johnny's name sounding out like a prayer that no one is around to answer.

You feel ashamed for how much you imagine it. That one day he'll come to his senses and finally fulfill every dream you've fantasized about. That you'll no longer have to finish yourself off to the thought of him. It feels real. And when you feel sleep finally come to take you away, it feels like a promise. A vow.

You're sipping on a fresh brewed coffee, one that Reed claims is scientifically proven to bring out the true flavors of whatever exotic bean they have on hand. You think Starbucks does the trick, but you keep that to yourself.

Sue is cleaning up the used coffee pot while Ben is sat in front of you, effectively ignoring every piece of media training you try to teach him. He claims he doesn't need it, but his frequent outburst of laughter after outrageous interview questions begs to differ. It's like pulling teeth trying to get him to focus on your PR ramblings, so when any excuse to stray from the topic appears, he takes it.

Johnny waltzes into the kitchen, his path set on the candy bowl Sue hides on top of the fridge. He's oddly dressed up for this time, usually opting for loungewear, but instead he's fitted in a black tee and white jeans. And he smells… good.

Sue crinkles her nose, turning around swiftly to where Johnny is fishing his hands into the bowl above him. "Johnny did you have to use a whole bottle of cologne?"

His hand stops its rummaging, like he's five and got caught in the cookie jar. "It helps mute the barbecue smell after I flame on. It's Tom Ford, I read somewhere that I'll smell like a cigar after." He proceeds to dig around in the bowl before he pulls out to reveal a single mint. It's out of the wrapper and in his mouth at the speed of light.

"You smell like a teenage boy that just discovered body spray," Ben quips. Johnny flips him off, Ben sends him a hand heart.

You bite your lip to keep the laughter from spilling out. He notices, he always does. Johnny turns to face you now, his fingers hastily unwrapping the mint he scoured the bowl for. He calls your name, "What do you think?"

You blink, suddenly English is foreign language. "Um-well I think—," you take a beat to gather your thoughts into a coherent sentence, "you always smell nice. It's kinda unsettling, actually." You try to choke out a laugh, anything to make it sound more nonchalant than you feel.

He's watching you with a half-smile, you can see him tossing the mint around in his mouth. He nods, turning back to Ben, "See that? Tom Ford never lies." His path is clear to the balcony, only a couple more feet until he's free from everyone's teasing.

Sue raises a hand, sending Johnny stumbling onto the ground after being blocked from the balcony doors.

"Oh c'mon! What is it?" He's sweeping faux dust off his thighs.

"You never told us why you essentially baptised yourself in vanilla extract," she states plainly.

Ben snorts, feet resting on an unused dining chair. Somewhere in the distance you swear you hear H.E.R.B.I.E beep in agitation. "Don't act naive, he's obviously gonna go walk in a random upper east side bar and act like he doesn't notice the gaggle of girls drooling behind him."

The sourness rising in your throat matches your expression. The chair screeches from how fast you rise up. The sound ceases the previous conversation, nothing but the sound of the dishwasher running. You feel your eyes burn, fat tears threatening to tip over. "Sorry, I— I just remembered I left my flat iron on. I have to go, but thanks for the dinner."

It's a terrible lie. Juliard is not calling your phone anytime soon. But it manages to get you out the room and into the elevator before you could see the expressions on anyone's face. You don't wanna picture Sue with a pitiful frown, or Ben with a dumbfounded face, or Johnny. You don't wanna think of him at all, really.

Your legs are trembling as you start walking out of the Baxter Building. Stupid feelings, stupid Johnny, stupid fangirls who get what you want without even trying. He's not even yours to be possesive of, so are you even allowed to cry? You're lost in thought, walking with the sole purpose of venting out these hopeless fantasies. You turn a corner, and all of a sudden you're hitting a firm chest.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry I wasn't looking—," you stop when you meet the owner of said chest. Of course it's the one person you want to get on the nearest flight to Europe to avoid.

Johnny's hands are firm on your forearms, eyes earnestly searching your for an answer, "Why'd you dip out so fast back there?"

"Don't worry about it, just go. You probably have better plans like Ben said." You're turning to walk away, opting for a longer route home just to get away from this conversation.

He's running up to stop your detour, his eyes brightening as the corner of his lips turn up. "What… are you jealous?"

Any jealousy left in your body quickly turns into anger. He thinks it's funny? You have some sense not to shove his hands from your sides. "Why are you laughing?"

"I'm not, I'm just surprised."

"Then stop smiling!" You run your hands over your face, "God, I can't believe I still like you even when you act like such an arrogant son of a bi—" You freeze, bile rising in your throat after realizing what you just said out loud.

"You like me?" It comes out in a breathy whisper, so soft you think your mind is playing tricks. "Since when?"

It takes the strength of every deity out there to look up at his face. His eyes are like saucers, pupils so dilated you have to remember that they're blue. You feel his thumb gently try to soothe away the worried crease in your brows.

"It doesn't matter. That's a line we can't cross, Johhny." It hurts to even spit the words out. "I work for you, what would everyone say?"

"Fuck the line, fuck 'em all." His hands are pulling you closer, fingers lifting your chin to meet his eyes again.

It would be so easy to fall into him, like finally succumbing to sleep after a restless night. The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to stop. To think. Regardless of what he promises, you're gonna be a lamb to the slaughter. But then the part of your brain that is wholly enchanted by him is telling you to let go.

And so you do.

You meet him halfway, lips meeting in fervor. It's comical how many times you've pictured this exact moment. Usually it's heated, messy. Lust clouding your vision as you trip over shed clothing. It doesn't compare to the real thing. No, this real version feels religious. Like his lips and his touch is the only thing you want to worship for the rest of your days.

There's a whimper escaping your lips when you part, you wish you didn't have a need for air. You're sure your lips are swollen, cheeks red from gusto. Running a hand up the nape of his neck, you pout again, "I wish we didn't have to stop."

"Oh, I'm not finished," he pants.

If this is how you end your days, with Johnny Storm consuming your life whole, then what a way to die.

[goodnightngoread]

new fic tonight i swear ! (i'm writing it now idk how long i have left)

hint

[goodnightngoread]

sorry for the wait, just found out i have mold in my apartment😀😍 i am writing still but i'm so sidetracked

[goodnightngoread]

due to personal reasons i will be coping in maladaptive ways

[goodnightngoread]

busy moving back to college but trust i will be writing 😛

[goodnightngoread]

moonlight

summary: johnny is your moonlight. you guess you're his, too.

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship!, fluff, based off the outro to moonlight by ariana grande.

word count: 1.4 k

author's note: small drabble bc i needed to get this thought out ! thank yall again for so much love on my fics, my heart can barely take it !! muah muah. don't be shy to send a request or just say hi ! dividers by @uzmacchiato

₊˚⊹♡ he's so bossy ₊˚⊹♡

"C'mon, try it," Johnny presses. His spoon is lifted towards your lips, waiting for even the tiniest opening to slip the frozen yogurt into your mouth. He's silently begging for you to allow him this victory, big blue eyes pleading.

And how could you say no?

You reluctantly let your mouth part, accepting the spoonful of whatever sugary concoction he put together at the toppings bar. You silently chew, eyebrows raising at the taste. You watch as he eagerly awaits your response.

"You have the palette of a nine year-old, Johnny," you laugh. There's a stray drop of fro-yo at the edge of your lips. Before you can lick it away, he swipes his thumb across your lips before lifting it to his mouth. He grins as his tongue darts to taste it.

"You love it," he smiles. He manages to gather a large portion onto his spoon before eagerly taking a bite.

It's a Sunday night, but you two seem to be the only ones in New York with a late night sweet tooth. The shop is quiet, nothing but the dull hum of the machines whirring softly. The teenager behind the register is flipping through a magazine, oblivious to the fact that the man on the cover is currently shovelling mouthfuls of fro-yo into his face.

"No, I love you. There's a difference," you chuckle.

₊˚⊹♡ he makes me dance ₊˚⊹♡

You're cleaning up after Wednesday night dinner, humming to a soft record Johnny put on while you guys did. He's loading the dishes into the washer as you scrub off whatever remnants remain of Ben's lasagna. You take a second to admire Johnny in this light, eyes focused and sleeves rolled up his forearms. Your hand fumbles with the sponge. You have to look away to remember the task at hand.

Just as you're finishing up the last plate, he reaches over and shuts off the sink. "Johnny! Wait I was almost done—,"

"Just dance with me, baby," he smiles. He's dragging you by your hands into the middle of the kitchen, where you're both illuminated by the soft glow of the light over the dining table.

Your hands still have suds on them, but he doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he gently leads you into a steady side step, head pressed into yours. A low Etta James record is singing in the back, providing a soundtrack to your slowdance.

H.E.R.B.I.E is deconstructing Franklin's high chair while you dance. It's oddly domestic. You close your eyes and lean further into Johnny's hold while envisioning a future where it's just you both, and maybe it's your baby's high chair H.E.R.B.I.E is taking apart.

₊˚⊹♡ tryna sit in the back of his whip and just cancel my plans ₊˚⊹♡

The sky is high overhead as you fasten the scarf around your neck tighter. The breeze from the convertible is soothing you into a trance as you sit in the passenger seat. You begged Johnny to actually drive for once instead of taking off into the sky. He denied the idea at first, but then you pouted your lips and he couldn't resist.

He's focused on the busy road in front of him, but his fingers are tracing patterns on your thigh that have you knowing he's thinking of you. Your hand is on top of his, playing with the gold chain around his wrist. The one you got for him two years ago as an anniversary gift.

"Sweets, I don't know if we're gonna make it in time for your yoga class." This is part of the reason why he hates actually being on the road. Traffic.

You lay back into the headrest and sigh. Not mad. No, you could never truly be angry at him. Just in vague acceptance that you won't be going to class today. "Then let's just drive around until we find somehwere to stop."

He flashes a million dollar grin, patting your thigh before agreeing, "Whatever you say, doll."

₊˚⊹♡ sweet like candy, but he's such a man ₊˚⊹♡

It's family game night in the Baxter Building. One of the rare Friday nights where there isn't some galactic being trying to destory the city. No, tonight is for laughing and arguing over who's cheating at Monopoly.

Sue's whispering into Franklin's ear, trying but failing to hide the stack of fake cash she's sneaking into his pile. You turn a blind eye, instead facing where Ben and Reed are arguing over how long it's taking to finish his turn. Reed was trying to find a way to ensure his dice rolled doubles each time, Ben said he was eroding away with how long it was taking.

You attempt to hide your giggle, but your lover beside you notices everything. His arm is draped around your shoulders, toying with some stray strands of hair. He smells like bergamont and sandalwood, a scent you're all too familiar with from the countless bottles of body wash he goes through after rough battles. You lean further into his hold.

All the laughter from the night has caused your throat to become dry, a rough cough breaking from you. Johnny is checking over your face in an instant, making sure you aren't suddenly under the weather. "Baby, can you get me a glass of water please?"

Your question isn't even over before he's up and making his way into the kitchen. You hear some clinking from where he is before you see him returning with a large glass. You're about to thank him, when a low rumbling shakes through the building.

Johnny's by your side before you can even comprehend that there's even a threat. His body shielding you from the glass windows instinctively. Like that's what he was made for.

The team is suiting up at the speed of light. Sue and Reed leading Franklin to his room, Ben racing to get the Fantisticar running, and Johnny still hasn't left from his spot in front of you. He sets the water down mindlessly before scanning you to make sure you're okay before he jets off.

"Johnny, you need to go— the team's waiting on you," you try and push him to follow the others.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me you're gonna be safe."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" You're trying to get a small smile out of him, and it works. Not like he could help himself, anyway. Not around you.

He leans forward to plant a searing kiss onto your lips, pulling away before he can even more distracted by you than he already is. "Just make sure you and Franklin are safe, okay?"

You nod before whispering, "I promise."

He's making his way towards the balcony before yelling out, "I love you!"

You barely get to finish saying it back before he's off into the sky.

₊˚⊹♡ he knows just what it does when he's holding me tight and he calls me moonlight too₊˚⊹♡

The roof is oddly comforting at night. No city noise, no random edm music, and no one around to take up space. Well, except for Johnny.

He's laid out beside you, breath coming out in a rythmic pattern that's lulling you to sleep. Your head rises and falls with each inhale he takes, the only thing that seems to work at ensuring the world could end and you'd be safe.

You try to fight off the sleep as long as possible, wanting to stay and soak in this moment as much as you can. You crane your head to admire him. The light shining from the night sky framing his face so perfectly. His skin is glowing, almost ethereal.

"I feel you staring." You watch the smirk appear on his face before he's cracking open an eye to peer down at you.

"I can't help it, loverboy. You're too pretty for your own good," you say softly.

"Now you're just feeding my ego."

"God, like it needs feeding. You know I'm wrapped around your finger." You push yourself up to really face him. Strands of hair falling over your shoulder that he wordlessly brushes back behind your ear.

"And I'm wrapped around yours, Moonlight," he tenderly places a hand on your cheek.

You lean in, taking your time to kiss him with every ounce of your being. You don't want to take this moment for granted. Sure, tomorrrow he might belong to New York City as the Human Torch, but tonight he's Johnny. Your Johnny. And as you press yourself further into him, fingers tangling in his messy locks, he's also your Moonlight. And you're his, too.

Taglist:

@walleloveseve

[goodnightngoread]

cooking up a little soft! johnny drabble

[goodnightngoread]

since you're taking song requests for johnny..... guilty as sin ?? pleasepleaseplease 🙏

you have no idea how much i love that song. I WAS DEBATING ON DOING IT BUT YES FOR YOU I WILL !! i’m excited 🤭

[goodnightngoread]

debating on angst or FLUFF for my next fic

[goodnightngoread]

[goodnightngoread]

all he had was some records, his headphones and a crush

[goodnightngoread]

yuck !

summary: love makes you sick. so why do you keep going back to him?

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive, minors dni, fwb to lovers, pessimistic! reader, no use of y/n, johnny is a lover boy, strong language, loosely based of yuck by charli xcx.

word count: 2.5k

author's note: Trying a new format for my writing! lmk if y'all prefer lowercase or capitalized teehee.take a shot for every fic i write that's based on a song. jk don't or you'll die. honestly send more song fics bc it gets me in a writing mood ! dividers by @uzmacchiato

"Oh Jesus Christ."

Sitting on your desk is a fresh bouquet of peonies. Again. You reach down to trash the, admittedly beautiful, arrangement away before your coworker, Olivia, stops you.

"Hey, hey not so fast," her hands snatch the flowers from your grip before they can tumble in your mini trash can. "My mom is coming to visit and these are perfect." Her fingers ruffle through the petals as she peers up at you.

You roll your eyes, "I'm glad someone's enjoying this."

"Don't act like you aren't giddy at the fact that Johnny Sto—," you slap a hand over her loud mouth. You really don't need the entire office knowing who the flower offender is.

"Shh. and No. He's just being a little shit. He knows we aren't serious." The frown on your face is a direct contrast to the grin on hers. She moves to her chair across from you. You can picture her kicking her feet under the table as she takes a direct whiff of the flowers.

"Sure, Jan," she nods, reapplying the lipstick you rubbed off with your hand.

"Okay, now you've gone too far. You know I love the Brady Bunch movie and you're using it against me," you groan. The pencil in your grip is shooting to her side of the desk. She watches it hit the computer screen lamely. Curse your poor aim.

"Woah, did someone fucking die? Why does it look like a funeral home in here," your other coworker, Ruth, exclaims. She's ten minutes late, as usual. She claims it's because of traffic, but she's setting down her purse in a way that makes sure her suspiciously fresh manicure isn't disturbed.

When you say you have a flower offender, you really mean it.

There's at least five— no scratch that, ten vases of flowers sat around your cubicle. At first you were confused. The note attached to the first one was nothing but a small "pretty flowers for a pretty girl - Johnny". You snorted, threw the note, and decided he was just being dumb.

But then it didn't stop.

The poor receptionist was sneezing for the rest of the day after placing fresh deliveries on your desk for the past two weeks. The box of tissues by her front desk as an apology from you.

"I wish it was my funeral," you mutter, before trashing the newest note into the bin without reading it.

"My stomach hurts. Maybe I should call him and cancel," you consider.

Johnny baited you into a dinner date tonight. And well, you wanna get lucky. So you agreed.

Olivia is cat sitting for you while you're busy getting wined and dined. The array of nail polishes she looted from the bathroom spread out over your living room as she meticulously applies polish to her pinky toe. "It's not hurting. They're called butterflies," she remarks.

You groan and flop on the sofa beside her, "Not butterflies. Moths. And I want them dead." She seems to be enjoying the shit show that is your love life, or lack thereof.

"Just admit you like him," she continued.

"I don't like him. I like his dick," you reason, watching as Olivia waves air to her freshly painted toenails.

She stops and grimaces, "Ew, keep that to yourself." Girlhood has a boundary now it seems.

"You say that like you wouldn't jump at the chance to be me right now, Liv," you protest.

"I would, which means I would also be, what's the word…," she raises a mocking finger to tap at her chin, "happy? Not everyone gets dicked down by a superhero every night."

"Not every night," you counter before slowly sinking back into the sofa, "…like twice a week." You know if you look up at her, she would give you a flippant eye roll.

She's right. You are lucky. And honestly you would have a better attitude towards the whole situation if he wasn't so committed to wanting more. After the first night you spent with him, you directly told him that you weren't looking for anything more than hook ups.

He had smiled like you hung the moon and stars. sheet splayed over his abdomen before replying, "That won't be a problem."

Lying jackass.

You swore off feelings, all it does is cause problems and a month long depression after it all crumbles down. It's been a few weeks now that you've been seeing Johnny, if you can even call it that. Usually it starts with him blowing up your phone, you not responding until halfway through the day, him flirting his way into seeing you that night, and you acting like you don't want to until eventually giving in.

She twists the bottle closed before resting her feet on your coffee table. "I think deep down you're happy to see him." Your cat, Charlie, meows somehwere from his perch in agreement. "Why else would you use your nice perfume and wear that new skirt."

You feel exposed.

"I can't want to look good?"

"No. I've seen you leave in a moomoo before."

Fuck. She's right. You feel like she just dumped a bucket of ice water down your back. When was the last time you went out with someone other than Johnny? And tried to look good, at that. You stand up quickly, the floor feeling like it's swaying under your feet.

"I gotta go," you mumble, sick to your stomach. The turkey sandwich from earlier almost rising up your throat. Olivia quickly tucks her feet towards her as you barrel past. You pause to scratch Charlie's head, hoping his certificate as an emotional support animal means anything. It doesn't help. He's also judging you. Damnit.

"Oh god," you breathe, before tiredly falling next to Johnny. To no one's surprise, you're in his bed. Again.

"Not my name but I'll take it," he groans, spent from the rigorous night you just shared.

He's covered in a thin sheet of sweat, droplets forming at the base of his hairline. The room is quiet, nothing but heavy breathing as you both try and slow your pulses down. It's weirdly intimate. There's a jazz record playing in the background that Johnny started before you arrived. A single candle lit on the corner of his desk. Both you're clothes tangled together on the floor trailing to the bed.

He's cleaned you both up and flopping beside you once more, still bare but he holds no shame. He's opening his arms and sliding you close to him before dipping his head low to steal a kiss.

"Uh-uh, you know the rule," you turn away to dodge it before it lands.

You have one rule that you live by with hook-ups. No kissing outside of the bedroom. It's not crazy, but it helps you sleep at night.

Johnny lets his head fall back onto his pillow. His hand is combing through your hair, softly brushing the sweaty strands away from your face. You try to ignore the hot flush burning its way up your neck.

Grhghrhh

Johnny blinks, "Was that your stomach?"

"No, it was my knee. Yes, it was my stomach."

You feel him shift as he reaches over to rummage through his nighstand. His hand returns with a package of Sour Patch Kids.

He drops it gently near your side. "Here, have some of these."

You sit up, "Thanks," you whisper. Did he know these were your favorite? As you rip open the box with as much grace as a toddler, you ask, "Why did you have these stowed away like contraband?"

"Because I saw you eat them once and wanted to have them here just in case you were craving them," he finishes sincerely. He fishes for a red candy, "I call dibs on these though." He pops it into his mouth before eliciting a theatrical moan. The candy leaves a trace of sour coating on his lips, and you resist the urge to kiss it off.

"If you look at the phone one more time, I'm gonna call him myself," Ruth huffed. Her eyes never left the computer screen, although she didn't need to look up to know you were fixated on abnormally silent phone in front of you.

You took edge of your finger from your mouth. You only bite your nails when you're anxious enough that the stress ball in your drawer isn't enough. And this situation calls for it.

Johnny Storm hasn't called you at all today.

Not once.

Which you would think would be a sigh of relief, right? Wrong. Because never in the two months you've been seeing him has he gone a day without absolutely blowing up your phone.

"Do you think he's in trouble? I haven't seen anything on the news but—," you ramble.

Ruth wheels her way into view, "He's the Human Torch. Unless he's fighting Elsa I'm sure whatever he's up against is the equivalent of swatting a fly."

"Unless he is fighting Elsa, ooh— or Frozone, and he's losing and possibly near-death at this very moment," Olivia contributed. She quickly backed her chair a safe distance away once she saw the murderish look in your eyes.

"Wow. You guys are such great friends. Truly."

Ruth exhales loudly before making her way towards you. "Babe, he's fine. He's probably just… ," she whirls her hands in the air dramatically, "..kissing babies and getting a key to the city or whatever people like him do."

"You're probably right, I don't know why I'm getting worked up." You take a deep breath in before grabbing the nearest pen, clicking the end anxiously.

"I mean, I think we all know why—," Olivia begins before she's cut off by the unmistakeable ringtone of the Fantastic Four cartoon theme song that Johnny himself programmed into your phone.

You're on your feet faster than you thought was humanly possible. Snatching the phone, you bolt outside the office doors to answer.

"Finally picking up on the first ring pretty girl?—"

"Where have you been? You had me worried sick, Johnny." You feel your voice shake before you can even it out.

"Woah, woah— what? I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you, I was on baby-duty while Sue was busy." He sounds genuine, worry lacing his voice from what you can hear from the static service.

Ugh, fuck him for making you feel bad. "Sorry I-I was just— I dont know, Ruth and Liv were giving me a hard time," you try to lighten the mood, "I almost thought I was gonna have to replace you."

"Nah, you can't get rid of me that easily, sweetheart."

You've shaved every part of your body three times. There are four different outfit combinations waiting on your bed. You've already brushed your teeth but considering going for a second go around. Your hand is catching a cramp from pulling your hair up, to taking it down, then back up again. Nothing feels right.

There's a sweat stain building on your shirt when you finally manage to step into the kitchen. Ruth is raiding your pantry for snacks, while Charlie is coughing up a hairball by the sink. Great.

"Please don't eat me out of house and home. Charlie's food is more expensive than mine," you beg. Ruth is cat-sitting tonight due to the fact that last time Olivia watched him, she ended up with cat litter in her hair. Don't ask.

"No promises." She pauses her rifling to look you up and down before continuing, "Something else is getting ate up tonight, too."

"Shut up. I didn't have anything else," you lie.

She seems to read you like a book, nodding along to whatever excuse you had for a thin tank top and strong vanilla perfume. "You smell like the Pillsbury Doughboy's asshole," she chortled.

"Fuck you, and I'm leaving." You playfully smack her arms before stepping out.

It's a brisk walk to the Baxter Building. Tall skyscrapers and flashy billboards to pass the time while you debate your choice of shoes. H.E.R.B.I.E better have a foot massage setting, you think to yourself.

As you get closer, you feel your pulse in your throat. Like frog and toad became friends in your esophagus. You can feel the sweat start to form again in your pits and the trembling of your feet as they carry you closer and closer to him. You've never had the urge to turn around and go home like this before.

You raise a hand to knock on the door. Why are you so nervous?

The answer comes in the form of a effortlessly domestic looking Johnny Storm. He's wearing a plain white tee, navy blue sweats hanging low on his hips. His hair is swept upwards from the unmistakeable mark of his helmet that he toyed with on occasion. He's leaning against the frame as his eyes light up at the sight of you. How can a man be this beautiful?

"You don't know how long I've been sitting at the door like an idiot," he smiles.

You settle into step beside him as you wander to the elevator. Has he always looked like this? Like an angel that was sent down for the sole purpose of damning you to Hell. Making you commit all seven deadly sins if it meant one more night with him.

He's mindlessly blabbering on about a rogue incident in Reed's lab before you come to the horrifying realization.

You like hearing him talk. You like when he blows up your phone at work for the stupidest reasons. You like when he kisses your hands after you've made him a random late night snack. You like pretending to hate him when that's not the truth.

You like him.

Actually, it's worse. Much worse.

You love Johnny Storm.

He seems to notice the dazed look in your eyes as the shocking truth has dawned on you. He pauses mid rant to wave a hand over your face. "Did you just see the future or what was that—"

"IthinkI'minlovewithyou"

He freezes.

"Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with me." You drag both hands over your face before you start backtracking. "Let me out of here, I'm going ba—,"

The words don't fall from your lips before Johnny is crashing into you. The kiss is sloppy, a mixture of teeth and exhilerating want. His hands roam up your sides feeling everything, before making their way to cradle your neck. He's pushing your back against the elevator wall, easily locking you in place. You're sure you could stay here forever. This moment replaying on a loop for centuries.

Then the elevator dings open to the residential floor. You break apart when you realize you both are breathless. You wish you never had to breath again if that was the only barrier from kissing him forever.

"I'm in love with you, too." He says it so easily, like if someone asked if the sun was going to rise the next morning.

"Do you think I'm ever going to hear the end of it from Liv and Ruth?"

"Not a chance," he grins, before dragging you to his room.

[goodnightngoread]

BABEEE OMG YOUR EXS TO LOVERS JOHNNY FIC?? perfection, i loved it with my entire heart 😩🥹💗 loveeee your writing

awww i'm so glad u loved it !!! exes to lovers is so hard to find especially for johnny 🤭

[goodnightngoread]

Fore!!!!

johnny storm x cart girl!reader content warnings: none! all fluff! summary: johnny storm’s favorite way to relax? golf. his favorite part of golfing? the cart girl who pretends not to notice he only ever buys drinks from her wc: 2.5k

masterlist.

It was 7:45 AM, and the clubhouse smelled like sunscreen, lemon cleaner, and gossip.

You stood at your usual prep station behind the bar, loading bottles of water into the cooler on your golf cart. The other cart girls were buzzing around the back room like bees in matching polos, filling chip baskets, adjusting visors, reapplying gloss.

“He’s coming today,” Riley whispered like it was top-secret intel.

You didn’t even look up. “Who?”

“Johnny Storm,” she hissed. “The Human Torch. Hero of New York. Celebrity heartthrob. Walking tan commercial.”

“And my future husband,” Megan added from the other side of the room, tying her ponytail with a pink scrunchie.

You snorted and shook your head, double-checking your cooler inventory. “You guys say that every time he shows up.”

“That’s because it’s true,” Riley said. “He’s hot. Like, literally. And he tips so well.”

“Ten bucks for a soda,” Megan sighed dreamily. “It’s better than what most people tip here and almost romantic.”

“Well,” Riley added, loading up her cart with suspicious speed, “We would know if he ever bought from anyone but you.”

That made you pause.

You turned. “Huh?”

“Come on, don’t play dumb.” Riley leaned on the cart’s edge with a teasing grin. “He only ever buys from you. Every time he comes in. Doesn’t matter if we’re closer, he waits. And then he pretends to be ‘so thirsty’ he needs, like, five drinks at once.”

You blinked. “Maybe he’s just…not thirsty when you drive by?”

They both gave you the flattest look imaginable.

“Girl.”

“I’m serious!” you laughed, pulling on your hat. “He’s nice. He tips generously. That’s it.”

“Sure,” Megan muttered. “And next you’ll tell us the sun rises because it feels like it.”

You climbed into your cart and turned the key, the motor humming to life beneath you.

“You’ll see,” Riley called as you started to drive off. “He’s gonna flirt with you so hard today.”

You waved it off, steering out toward the fairway.

“If he buys anything,” you called back over your shoulder, “it’s because he’s thirsty!”

You didn’t know it yet, but Johnny Storm had already been spotted in the parking lot, hair wind-blown and sunglasses too expensive, asking the front desk what time your shift started.

By the time you hit hole six, the sun was fully up and the course was starting to hum with early morning players. Golfers waved as you passed, some flagging you down for waters or sports drinks, others just offering a nod or a tip of their cap.

And then you spotted him.

Or rather, he spotted you.

Johnny Storm stood at the edge of the green, squinting toward your cart like it was a mirage. He was wearing a baby blue polo that somehow made him look like a country club ad and a celebrity at the same time. His sunglasses were too expensive, his smile too white, and his hair was just…unfair.

He raised both arms in the air like he was greeting a long-lost lover.

You snorted and pulled the cart to a stop beside him. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.”

“It’s been twelve days,” he said gravely. “I counted. They were dark times.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Did you come here to play golf or flirt with the staff?”

“Yes.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the cooler. “So. What’ll it be? Gatorade? Water? Lemonade? All of them, like last time?”

“Ooh, you remembered. I feel special.”

“You make it very hard to forget.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Say more things like that. I want them printed on a t-shirt.”

You handed him a cold bottle and raised your palm expectantly. “Four dollars.”

He handed you a twenty.

You frowned. “Johnny.”

“Tip included,” he said with a grin. “Plus, emotional damages for how cute you look in that visor.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

“Also,” he added, grabbing a second drink and holding it up like a prize, “I’ll take a backup hydration bottle. Just in case I pass out from, you know…looking at you too hard.”

“Right,” you deadpanned. “Medical emergency. Got it.”

“You’d rescue me, though,” he said, leaning against the cart like he was posing for a calendar. “Right? You’d swoop in and revive me with one of those little pink drinks you keep in the back.”

You gave him a long look. “You’ve never bought the pink drinks.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen you drinking one. And I trust your taste.”

You blinked.

He winked.

Before you could reply, one of his golf buddies called out from down the fairway. “Yo, Romeo! Are you buying drinks or writing sonnets?”

Johnny turned slightly and shouted back, “Both!”

Then he looked at you again, soft, almost sheepish now.

“Hey,” he said, lowering his voice just a touch. “Thanks for always stopping for me.”

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden sincerity. “Of course. It’s literally my job.”

“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “But you make it feel like it’s just for me.”

And with that, he grabbed his drink, gave you one last grin, and jogged back toward his group—leaving you stunned, smiling, and not quite sure what just happened.

Back at the clubhouse, Riley and Megan were not going to let this go. You rolled back into the clubhouse around ten, a little sun-dazed and already craving lunch. You parked the cart, unplugged your handheld payment reader, and headed inside with a quiet sigh—only to be met with the sound of whispered chaos.

“Oh my God, look at her. She’s smiling.”

“Did he say something? What did he say?”

“Tell me he finally gave you his number. Please. I need to live through you.”

You paused in the doorway.

Riley and Megan were standing near the ice machine, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, grinning like wolves in visors.

“What?” you asked warily.

“Don’t play innocent,” Megan said, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it your way. “We saw the whole thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We may or may not have started staring from the window when we saw you pull up to hole six,” Riley said sweetly. “You two looked like you were filming a romance movie.”

“He was buying drinks,” you said flatly.

“He bought two drinks and gave you a twenty,” Megan pointed out. “And then lingered. There was leaning. There was eye contact.”

“There was a wink,” Riley added. “Like, a devastatingly flirty one.”

You tried not to smile. Failed.

“He’s just…like that,” you said, cracking open your water. “He flirts with everyone.”

They looked at you like you’d grown three heads.

“He does not flirt with everyone,” Riley said. “He flirts with you. Exclusively.”

“You know how many times I’ve circled past his group?” Megan added. “He doesn’t even blink at us. But the second he sees you, he turns into a lovesick boy with a credit card.”

You walked around the counter, pretending to reorganize the snack bins just to avoid their eyes.

“He’s nice,” you said, shrugging. “And maybe he’s just…really hydrated.”

“Oh my God,” Riley groaned, slumping onto a stool.

“You think he memorized your favorite drink because he’s dehydrated?” Megan asked.

You froze. “Wait, what?”

They both stared. “Oh my god, you didn’t even notice.”

“Notice what?”

“He only buys the pink lemonade ones when you’re drinking them,” Megan said, “Literally. Never before. We started tracking it.”

“There’s tracking?”

“Of course there's tracking.”

You dropped your face into your hands.

“You guys need hobbies.”

“You need to wake up girl,” Riley said. “Or maybe you just need a date with Johnny Storm, who is clearly in love with you.”

You shook your head and muttered, “He’s not.”

But the heat creeping up your neck said maybe, just maybe, you weren’t totally convinced anymore.

The next few days followed a pattern.

A stupid, suspicious pattern.

Johnny kept showing up to the course. Not every day, that’d be too obvious, but often enough that Riley and Megan kept score on the whiteboard in the breakroom. “Storm Watch: Day 3,” complete with tally marks and doodles of flames.

And every time he showed up? Same routine.

He waved at you, not anyone else. Waited for your cart to circle around. Ordered the same exact drink as whatever you were sipping.

Once, you were chewing watermelon gum and he pulled out the same kind from his pocket like it was totally normal.

“Wow,” you’d said, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re in sync,” he’d replied, grinning. “You’re the trendsetter. I’m just trying to keep up.”

You rolled your eyes. But your face had felt warm for the rest of the afternoon.

Today, it was even weirder.

You’d just pulled into hole fourteen when you spotted him, not at his usual tee spot, but loitering by the water cooler, clearly waiting.

You slowed the cart.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on hole fifteen?” you called out.

“Took a shortcut,” he said, stretching his arms overhead in a way that was definitely on purpose. “Was hoping to run into you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You realize we sell drinks at every hole, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But they’re not your drinks.”

You blinked. “…That’s the dumbest line I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re smiling, though.”

You were. Damn him.

He leaned an elbow against the cart roof, getting a little too comfortable.

“You know,” he said, voice dipping just slightly, “you could let me take you out for a drink sometime.”

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

“Is that a line, or…?”

“It’s an invitation,” he said.

“Right,” you muttered, grabbing a water bottle from the cooler.

He took the bottle. His fingers brushed yours.

“Hydration and heartbreak prevention,” he said, grinning. “You saying yes might save me.”

You scoffed. “You’ll survive.”

“Maybe. Barely.”

He lingered for a second too long, then turned and jogged off, turning around twice to wave at you, like he couldn’t help himself.

Back at the clubhouse, you stared at the cooler for a long time.

You didn’t say anything.

But the next morning, you made sure to stock extra of his favorite drink. Just in case.

The course was quiet that morning.

Overcast skies meant fewer players, and the usual buzz of golf carts and distant cheers was replaced by birdsong and the occasional low rumble of thunder somewhere far off.

You were parked under a tree by the edge of hole nine, flipping through your phone and sipping a half-warm coffee, when footsteps approached from the fairway.

You looked up.

“You again,” you said, trying not to smile.

Johnny jogged over, hair pushed back by the wind, no sunglasses today. Just him, his face open, unguarded. His polo sleeves pushed up. A little less “celebrity,” a little more boy next door.

“You’re hiding,” he said, stopping at your cart.

“I’m on break.”

“Break from selling drinks or from being the most popular girl on the course?”

You rolled your eyes. “Still trying to flirt?”

“No,” he said, softer now. “Just…trying to talk to you.”

You paused.

He nodded toward the passenger seat. “Can I sit?”

You motioned for him to hop in.

He did, folding his arms loosely and leaning back. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked out at the trees, the pale gray clouds, the stillness of the course.

“This is my favorite part,” he said eventually. “When it’s quiet. Before it gets loud again.”

You glanced at him. “Didn’t take you as a ‘quiet moment’ type.”

He gave a breathy laugh. “Yeah, most people don’t. They think I like the flash, the attention. And I do. I mean…I did. Kind of still do.”

He picked at the label of the water bottle in his hands.

“But this place? It’s the only place I don’t have to be on.”

“You come here to hide?”

“Not hide. Just…breathe.”

You watched him for a second, heart slowing.

He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t trying. He was just being.

You took a sip of your coffee, watching a leaf swirl across the grass. “Why me?”

“What?”

“You could buy drinks from anyone. But you wait for me. Why?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Because you don’t treat me like a headline.”

That caught you off guard.

“You’re funny,” he continued. “You’re smart. You’re not trying to get anything out of me. You see me, and I think… I think I like the version of me you see. It feels better than the one everyone else wants.”

Your chest tightened.

He turned to look at you, eyes warm, a little nervous.

“And okay, yeah, you’re gorgeous, and I like your smile, and you say things that make me spiral in the best way, but it’s more than that. You make this place feel real. You make me feel real.”

The silence after was soft. Not awkward. Just heavy with truth.

You fiddled with the corner of a napkin in your lap.

“You’re not what I expected,” you murmured.

“Is that a good thing?”

You met his gaze.

“Yeah. I think it is.”

It happened at the end of your shift.

The sun was low, casting long shadows across the course. Your cooler was empty, your sleeves smelled like sunscreen and lemon Gatorade, and all you could think about was getting off your feet and into your car.

You were wheeling your cart back to the clubhouse when you saw him.

Johnny was leaning against one of the wooden posts near the exit path, hands in his pockets, still in that slightly rumpled polo like he hadn't moved since his last round.

You slowed the cart.

“You lose something?” you asked, teasing.

“Kinda,” he said, pushing off the post. “I was waiting for you.”

You stepped off the cart, tilting your head. “You already bought four drinks and a granola bar. You can’t possibly be that thirsty.”

He gave you a small smile, but it was different this time, nervous. Real.

“I figured if I waited until you were off-duty, you’d have to talk to me like a person and not a customer.”

“You’ve never acted like a customer,” you said softly.

“Yeah, well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was kind of hoping you’d notice.”

He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to you.

A drink.

One of your pink lemonades.

Only this time, written across the label in marker were five simple words:

“Call me if you’re ready.”

And beneath it? His phone number.

You looked at it. Then at him.

“This is cute,” you said, smiling. “A little cheesy. But cute.”

“Yeah, well. I panicked. I was gonna say something cooler, but then I thought maybe you’d like this better.”

You ran your thumb over the writing.

“I do,” you said. “Like it better.”

He brightened.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yeah, Johnny. I think I’m finally thirsty.”

He broke into the biggest grin you’d ever seen, sun-drenched and boyish and so obviously relieved.

“Cool,” he said. “Cool cool cool. So I’ll, uh, be ready whenever you are. No pressure. I can wait. I’ve been waiting. Just didn’t want to keep showing up and not say something because my friend Ben said I was acting like a sap with no game and-”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, warm and quick.

He froze mid-ramble.

You smirked. “Maybe bring me a drink next time.”

“You got it,” he breathed. “I’ll bring a whole cooler.”