hayley🌙

"yuck," sue joked, "keep it in your pants, storm."

"yeah, j, you sound a little dramatic right now."

johnny rolled his eyes, but his smitten smile told a different story. he took the phone off speaker and placed it by his ear again, "you call it dramatic, i call it the truth."

"well, the people of new york can't have you dying so i suppose you should pick me up tomorrow."

"does 'the people of new york' include you?" he bit his bottom lip, trying his best to hide the lovestruck smile on his face that sue would most likely tease him over after he gets off the phone with you.

"if you're on time to pick me up, yes."

"oh, baby, i'm there two hours early with a bouquet of flowers and a welcome home sign."

sue narrowed her eyes at johnny as she heard the faint sound of your laughter through the phone. johnny's cheeks grew a light shade of pink at the sound. johnny was down bad. it was cute.

"alright, j," you replied, "i gotta go, but i'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"counting down the hours, babe."

you hummed, "bye."

"bye, baby." johnny placed his phone face down on the counter.

he thought he clicked on the button to end the call, but alas, you were still on the other line. you were about to end the call yourself and send him a text telling him he's such a klutz sometimes, but then you heard his voice on the other side of the line.

you thought that it was him realizing his mistake. you thought that he would pick up the phone again and say goodbye one more time.

but you were wrong.

"i like her, you know," sue said, though her voice was muffled. "she's good for you."

"yeah, she is." johnny replied.

you felt bad listening in on their private conversation, but it was also nice to know that his family approved of you. you'd been seeing johnny for close to five months now. it was still a secret to the rest of the world, but his family knew about you.

you've had multiple sunday night family dinners with them. you practically cemented your place at the table. you had chores that you signed up for (johnny washes the dishes and you dry them). franklin makes grabby hands at you when you visit.

in all sense of the word, you were already a part of the family.

sue spoke again, "is she coming to the mayor's gala next week?"

you blinked. you've talked to johnny every day since you started dating. he never mentioned anything about a gala. surely it just slipped his mind.

you listened intently.

johnny paused, "i haven't asked her."

"johnny, we've known about this for two months," sue reprimanded, "you need to tell her soon so she can get everything in order on her end. it's a big deal. i'm sure she'd like to prepare for it."

"i don't know if i should bring her."

sue's eyes buldged out of her head. she placed the mushed apples and spoon down on the counter, placing her now empty hands on her hips, "what do you mean?"

"i mean, it's casual, you know?" johnny started, "i don't know if it's a good idea to bring her to something so public."

you pulled the phone away from your ear. tears began to well in your eyes. you hurriedly clicked on the 'end call' button and the line went dead.

"this is why you don't eavesdrop on people's coversations," you muttered to yourself. you haphazardly rubbed your eyes, wiping your cheeks free of the tears that slipped past.

johnny thought you were casual. johnny doesn't want to be seen with you in public.

the realization dawned on you like a cold wave. whatever you thought you had with johnny was one-sided. he wasn't planning dates every week or introducing you to his family or picking you up from the goddamn airport to show you he was serious about you. from the information you just learned, he does this for casual.

the thought of it made you sick.

on the other side of the dead line, johnny winced at his sister's booming voice.

"johnny, what the hell are you talking about?!" she exclaimed, confusion etched on her features. "what do you mean this is casual between the two of you?"

johnny groaned, running his fingers through his hair, "god, of course it's not casual to me. but i don't know what this is to her. i don't know if she even wants to be public with me. she knows what that territory comes with."

sue softened, "have you talked to her?"

"no," he responded, "and i don't know if i can."

"of course you can, johnny," she placed a comforting hand on his arm, "what's stopping you?"

"i'm scared." johnny admitted, looking at sue. "what if i lose her over this? what if she says that this isn't something that she signed up for? the media, the public, the scrutiny? i'd rather have her in secret with you guys than not have her at all."

"hey," sue placed a hand under his chin, cradling his face like how she used to when he was younger. "you need to talk to her. right now, you're making the decision for her and that's not fair. you need to give her the chance to decide what she wants for the two of you."

"i know," he muttered, "but it's scary."

"mhm," she hummed, giving him a sisterly smile, "but if it's any consolation, i have a feeling she'll stick around."

"thanks, sue," johnny said. "i'll talk to her tomorrow."

"good." she picked up the food again and sat beside franklin to continue feeding him. the baby smiled at johnny, quietly telling his uncle that he's got this.

johnny placed a kiss on the top of franklin's head and made his way to his room. he picked up his phone that was forgotten on the counter. his heart jumped at the notification from you.

from: babe <3

'hey, on second thought, you don't need to pick me up tomorrow. i think i'll be too tired so i'll just go straight to my apartment.'

johnny frowned at your text, his fingers quickly swiping on the screen to call you again. he chewed nervously on his bottom lip as each call went straight to voicemail.

he plopped on his bed, typing a quick response to your message.

to: babe <3

'i can take you straight to your apartment, baby. no worries.'

he waited patiently for your response, but never got one.

--

the thing about johnny storm is that he's a stubborn individual. it's one of your favorite things about him. once he's made his mind up about something, it takes an army and half-- or in your case, a bat of your eyelashes and a peck on the lips-- for him to change his mind.

however, when you walked out of the airport gates and saw a man with a sign saying 'welcome home, baby!,' holding a bouquet of roses and three heart-shaped balloons, you didn't love his stubbornness at the moment.

he had a baseball cap on his head, perfectly masking him from the public. if it wasn't for his over-the-top attempts of welcoming you home, he would've blended in with the crowd easily.

you didn't want to see johnny. especially not right now when you spent the entire flight home bawling your eyes out and drinking the plane's mini bar dry. the flight attendants cut you off from the wine list by hour two.

johnny beamed as he walked closer to you, arms outstretched to engulf you in a hug. you tensed at the feeling of his arms around you. it felt so nice. you missed being with him while you were away, but the nagging voice in your head continued to replay the words you overheard on the phone.

it's casual.

johnny pulled away, immediately grabbing your bags from your grasp. he handed you the flowers and balloons, "don't worry baby, i'll take you straight home so you can rest. i can just drop you off and we can hang out another time, or we can hang out at yours, if you want? we can just nap or watch a movie. whatever you want to do."

"i thought i told you you didn't need to pick me up," you said, self-consciously tugging at your clothes. you weren't really dressed nicely. you were in sweatpants and a hoodie-- which you realized then was actually johnny's. it's not like he's never seen you in this state before, but you were hoping that the next time you saw johnny you'd be dressed to the nines so he could see what he was missing out on.

it's casual.

johnny unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. johnny leaned on the door, "yeah, i know, but i wanted to anyway."

he shut the door before bustling away to put your things in the trunk, including the balloons that took up too much space in the car. as he shut the trunk, johnny took a deep breath.

he practiced what he was going to say to you (with some workshopping from sue) and to say that he was out-of-his-mind scared would be the understatement of the year.

johnny made his way to the driver's seat. before he put the car in drive, he turned to you, "i missed you."

his words sent a pang of hurt in your chest. you closed your eyes, craning your head to look away from him. johnny's eyebrows furrowed, lips forming a tight line. he was expecting a different response. the entire week you've been gone was spent on the phone with him between work meetings and client calls.

"babe? everything okay?"

you wiped your face with the sleeves of your hoodie, cursing silently when johnny's scent hit your nose. you gulped, "johnny, it's fine. you don't have to pretend anymore. i know."

"woah," he turned the engine off, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could face your properly. "what are you talking about?"

"stop it," you groaned, "i already know, okay? you don't have to pretend you're actually into me like this."

"hey, hey, what?" johnny asked, panicked. he reached over to hold your hand, flinching when you pulled away the minute his fingers touched your skin. "babe, what do you mean pretending?"

mustering up all your courage, you faced him. johnny's heart shattered at the sight of your watery eyes and wobbling lips. he wanted nothing else but to hold you and kiss your tears away.

"i heard you on the phone while you were talking to sue," you whispered, the last shred of dignity you had left leaving your body. "look, i know it was wrong of me to listen to your conversation but i couldn't help it, okay? i'm sorry for that."

"what are you apologizing for?" he questioned, "i don't care that you heard what i said-- wait, what exactly did you hear?"

"you said that we're casual." the words left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"wha-" johnny looked bewildered, then he realized that you only heard up to that with his conversation with sue. "oh my god, baby. no, no, no. you got it so wrong."

"how wrong could i be?" you spat, patience running thin that he was still keeping up this facade.

"babe, did you hear the rest of that conversation?"

"i didn't really think i needed to hear more about how i'm casual to you. you made it pretty clear."

against johnny's better judgment, he let out a chuckle, "oh, my love. i don't know you don't see it, but i am head over heels in love with you."

you blinked, "what?"

"if you listened a little longer, you would've heard me saying that nothing about this is casual to me, but i thought that you thought this was casual," he explained, a bashful smile on his lips. "you would've heard me tell sue that i'm terrified of bringing up going public with you because i'm scared that you won't want to and i'll lose you."

"oh."

"and then you would've heard sue tear me a new one for not communicating with you," he laughed, slowly inching his hand closer to yours. he let out a breath of relief when you didn't pull away. "i practiced all night what i was gonna say, but obviously that flew out the window the minute this conversation happened."

"oh," you felt stupid not being able to say anything else but that, but your mind was racing a hundred miles a second. you spent over half a day believing you and johnny were practically over. and now, here he is in front of you, telling you that it's the complete opposite.

"yeah," johnny mumbled, "for the record, this isn't casual to me and i hope it isn't for you either because i gotta tell you babe, i'm so gooddamn, foolishly, wholeheartedly in love with you."

you pursed your lips, swatting his upper arm with a snort, "damn you, j."

"there you are, baby," johnny said, fondly. he held the side of your face in his palm, humming as you nuzzled your face in his warm touch. "let's try this again. i missed you."

"i missed you, too," you whispered, placing a barely-there kiss to his palm. "i'm sorry for how i acted."

"don't be sorry," he assured, "i understand. i probably would've been more heartbroken if i was in your shoes."

you unbuckled your own seatbelt and leaned over the console. you placed your lips on his, sighing in content at the familiar feeling. he placed his hands on either side of your face, holding you close. you pulled away, "for the record, i'm so goddamn, foolishly, wholeheartedly in love with you, too."

johnny's face lit up like a kid on christmas morning. he bumped his nose against yours, "want me to take you home?"

"take me to yours," you replied, "so i can shower and get ready to go shopping. i heard that there's a gala next week? i'm not against showing up uninvited."

johnny laughed, warmth blooming in his chest, "i already rsvp'd for two when i first got the invite two months ago. i was hoping you'd join me, i was just too chicken to ask."

you tilted your head to the side, love oozing out of your pores, "yeah?"

“Shit,” you cursed and started to free yourself from the sheets. You looked around for your clothes and items you had disposed of carelessly around the room the night before.

“Babe?” Johnny groggily sat up in bed and looked at you.

“My alarm didn’t go off,” you said, still looking around the room. “Everyone will be awake by now. I have to try and sneak out of here,” you said, slipping on your F4 crewneck Reed had given you when you joined the team as their assistant, so that you could march the rest of the team. You were in charge taking care of anything and everything they needed not related to science.

“I turned your alarm off. You needed to sleep,” Johnny stated simply, as if he didn’t just become the reason the team would spot you sneaking out of his room.

You stopped mid-jump into your jeans from yesterday. “Johnny—why would you do that?” you said, gesturing your hands dramatically toward him while whisper-yelling, “The whole team could see me and find out about us.”

“So what if they did?” he asked the question like it was as simple as that.

“Johnny, we’ve talked about this. We’ve only been official for, what, four months?”

“131 days,” he stated confidently. “And I think we should tell them.” He put his hands behind his head and sat up, leaning against the headboard, bare torso exposed.

You finally zipped up your pants from the day before, no time to figure an outfit out, and walked over to him. You smiled softly, noting that he had the exact day count since your relationship became official, and you sat down next to him, staring at his chiseled body.

“Like what you see?” he asked smugly, reaching out and pulling you into him for a kiss.

You pulled away and rolled your eyes in response. “Let me just think about it, okay? But now I seriously have to go tiptoe out of here and get to work.” You leaned in and kissed him again before making your move to the door.

“Hey,” he called out. You turned and faced him before reaching for the doorknob. “I love you,” he said with a grin.

You immediately smiled in response. “I love you,” you said before slipping out of the door quietly.

Johnny had told you he loved you exactly nine days ago, and he says it any chance he gets—and it makes your stomach flip every single time.

You successfully made it to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and to your office setup—consisting of a desk in Reed’s lab—without running into any of the super-enhanced individuals and their toddler. You considered it a success, even if you looked like you just rolled out of bed.

“Good morning!” Sue said, walking in the lab doors. You were facing away from her, writing down your to-dos at your desk for the day.

“Rough night?” she asked with a smirk.

You knew you looked worse than your usual put-together demeanor, but didn’t know you looked bad enough to warrant that question.

“Just a little tired. Overslept,” you stated, not even looking up from your notebook.

She hummed in response and walked by you with Franklin in her arms.

Your thoughts began to wander as you mindlessly filled in your long list of to-dos: call the news channel to reschedule Reed’s interview, order new beakers for Reed, source the fireproof material used for Johnny’s suits, etc.…

But all you could think about was why you were so hesitant to tell the rest of the team about your relationship with Johnny.

He was perfect in your eyes. When you first started with the team, you found yourself rolling your eyes every time he spoke. He was smug, a womanizer, and overly flirtatious with anything that walked. But as you got to know him, you realized it was, in fact, an act. He was kind, caring, soft, amazing in bed, and always remembered the little things: how you liked your coffee, how your eye started to twitch when you were stressed, the way you got excited whenever Franklin came to you for a hug. You both slowly grew to like each other—and now love each other.

Early on, neither of you told anyone because you weren’t sure where things were going. But now, it was serious. You were in love. The big L-O-V-E.

You were tapping your foot when Ben stomped in, making you lose your train of thought.

“Woah, not in your usual work attire, I see,” he exclaimed as he walked in the lab with food for everyone, HERBIE zooming in next to him, beeping.

Odd comment, you thought. This wasn’t your first time dressing down in front of them.

“Yeah, she ‘overslept,’” Sue responded for you, smirking at Ben. Ben walked over and placed the food in front of her and Franklin. They were giving each other eyes, but you chose to ignore them both, continuing your to-do list: find new custom T-shirts for Ben that won’t rip, order Franklin’s booster seat, etc.…

You thought it was best to keep it a secret, and it was nice that it stayed that way—something for just you two. Your relationship was something sacred, and it was fun at first. No sly comments from Ben and Sue—just you two.

But when other girls flirted with him at events and press briefings, and you couldn’t reach out and grab his hand to show them he was yours, it bothered you. When you couldn't hug him in the kitchen with everyone around simply just because, it made your chest ache. When he was injured after a particularly tough fight, you couldn’t grab his face and kiss him to let him know everything would be okay and that you were there.

So, maybe it was time for everyone to know.

Your thoughts were interrupted again by Reed entering the lab, “Mornin” he said, not even looking up from his book. He walked around the big orange couch where Sue and Ben sat whispering, to his chalkboard. Preparing for the morning debrief, he said his hellos to the family and started writing.

You had mentally decided your sacred secret would be found out tonight after you talked to Johnny. Just as you finished your to-do list and made up your mind, Johnny sauntered into the lab.

“Morning, FAM!” he nearly shouted as he continued making his way to the couch.

You placed your pen down and sipped your coffee. You didn’t look toward Johnny as he stopped right at your desk. You grabbed your notebook and pen to bring to the couch for the debrief. He was grinning at you as you glanced up at him. Then you saw Ben and Sue staring at you from the corner of your eye.

“Morning, Johnny,” you said sweetly, confused as to why he was acting like this. He continued to grin at you, and you furrowed your brows at him, silently asking him why.

“That is not your sweater, sweetheart.”

He stood in front of you, still smiling, and your mouth opened in shock. You looked up and saw Ben and Sue trying to hide their laughs.

“What’s going on?” Reed asked cluelessly.

“Someone grabbed the wrong sweatshirt when they snuck out of Johnny’s room, it seems…” Sue said, raising a brow, still laughing with Ben.

You turned back to Johnny, still standing next to you and smiling at your desk, and your cheeks turned bright red. You ran to the side of the lab and contorted yourself so you could see the back of the grey crewneck in the big mirror.

J. STORM

It said across your shoulders. Your blush grew deeper, and you looked at Johnny again—this time for help—but he smirked and made his way to the couch. You hung your head low and followed him.

“So, you’re sleeping together. No one cares, just keep it professional,” Reed said simply, not looking away from the chalkboard.

You and Johnny looked at each other again, standing in front of the whole team.

“Not exactly…” He grabbed your waist for support. You squeezed his side, as if silently letting him know to continue. “We’ve kind of been dating for about… 131 days,” he said, and you rolled your eyes at his exact number.

“Sue! You owe me $30. Looks like I know your brother better than you do,” Ben said, throwing both his arms up in victory.

Sue rolled her eyes and placed Franklin in her lap as he was babbling to his toys.

“You were betting on us?” you said, shocked. Ben and Sue nodded.

“We’ve noticed you two dancing around each other forever. It was honestly comical—the silent stares, the little touching when you thought no one was looking. Bleh. But Sue didn’t think Johnny would have the balls to actually make a move and be serious. I know my best friend, though.” Ben raised his hand, and Johnny high-fived him with his free hand. You leaned into him more, and he placed a kiss on your forehead, still smiling brightly. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad he did make a move though. You have both seemed lighter the last few months,” Sue said.

“You mean, 131 days,” Ben corrected, causing both you and Sue to roll your eyes at him.

“Alright, let's get back to work, shall we?” Reed said, uninterested in the bets and gossip occurring behind him.

You and Johnny both sat down, this time a little closer together than you normally would have, and the debrief carried on as normal. Except now, you felt the weight of the secret off your chest, and relief that you could finally act like Johnny’s girlfriend.

The day carried on as usual: you made your phone calls, ran your errands, and set up all necessary appointments that were on your to-do list.

When the workday ended, you made your way to Johnny’s room—but this time, you weren’t creeping down hallways and checking doorways for team members. You simply walked to your boyfriend’s room.

When you got there, you let yourself in and saw Johnny sitting in his chair, looking out the window with his headphones on. You snuck up behind him and quickly removed his headphones, causing him to jump.

The second he saw you, his eyes softened, and he smiled like a lovesick puppy.

“Hey, you,” you said softly with a smile.

He pulled you into his lap so you were sitting with your legs across his, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed you softly and smiled down at you.

“So everyone knows. Cat is out of the bag, my love” he said warmly.

“You know, after this morning, I had made the executive decision we were going to sit everyone down and come clean,” you confessed. “But it seems I took care of that part for us this morning—when I got dressed in the dark.”

He laughed at that and hung his head back. God, you wanted to hear him laugh forever.

“Well, now you can keep that sweater and wear it whenever your heart desires,” he said, rubbing circles on your hip where his hand rested.

You leaned into him and closed your eyes, feeling at peace.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you,” he whispered back.

How could someone be so utterly wrong about another person?

Perhaps it wasn’t all intentional. Bias was unavoidable to a degree. Woven into human nature as certain at times as our hair color or eye color. We built our opinions from scraps of known information, shaped by learned behavior and the neat little patterns our brains insisted on seeing. It was biology to use that information in order to protect oneself from harm. And it certainly didn’t help that the temporary promotion came with a gentle but pointed warning from Mrs. Richards herself…

“I need to warn you about something that comes along with the territory the next few months—”

“I think I’m prepared to handle the job’s tasks,” she interjected, aiming for a mix of humility and quiet confidence in her abilities.

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with your skills,” Sue assured, though her pause lingered a fraction too long. Ever the diplomat, she weighed each word with care, as if balancing her professionalism against the instincts of an older sister.

“Johnny is…” Sue’s eyes softened, but there was something underneath. An almost imperceptible flicker of concern. “A handful.” The warning hung in the air, far heavier than the casual delivery suggested. A handful could mean many things. Immature. Demanding. Reckless. Charming in that dangerous sort of way. And yet, no amount of quiet bracing could have prepared her for the moment he actually walked in.

The door swung open like it had been waiting for his entrance, and if his sister’s comment had summoned him. The faint scent of motor oil and something faintly burnt drifted in with him. He wore the grin of someone who’d never been told no. A confidence in his step that made it feel like he knew the entire world stopped and stared at him alone. “Hey, Sue—” his gaze slid, easy and unhurried, until it caught on her. 

Sue gestured between them. “Johnny, this is—”

“The temporary assistant,” he finished for her, stepping forward without hesitation. “I’ve heard plenty about you.” His handshake was warm, literally, and he held it for half a beat too long, grin deepening like he wanted to see what it would take to make her blush.

“I hope it was all relevant to the job,” she replied, meeting his eyes with the same measured steadiness she’d use in a boardroom. Her tone wasn’t cold, but not open either; it was precise, like every word had passed inspection before leaving her mouth.

Johnny tilted his head, studying her. “Guess we’ll find out.”

She withdrew her hand, smoothing the edge of her clipboard against her palm. “If there’s anything you need work-related, you can go through me. Otherwise, I’ll be coordinating with Mrs. Richards directly.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be talking plenty,” he said with an easy wink. It was the kind of gesture most people would let linger in the air. She didn’t.

“As much as the job requires, Mr. Storm.” Her nod was crisp, professional.

“Please, call me Johnny.”

“I prefer to keep things professional in the workplace,” she said evenly. “It helps maintain clarity.”

“Yeah, see, that’s not going to work for me,” he said, grin leaning more boyish at that moment.

Sue stayed quiet, her expression unreadable. As if deliberately letting the moment stand. It was both proof of the warning she’d given moments ago and a silent test to see how her new assistant would handle the man in question. Luckily, the charms of the Human Torch seemingly missed. Without missing a beat she replied, “Then we’ll just have to disagree on the matter until you give me a real reason to adjust to informality.”

Johnny’s eyebrows lifted, and for the briefest moment, amusement and curiosity sparked in his eyes like a struck match. “Well,” he said, leaning back just enough to suggest he’d conceded without actually conceding, “guess I’ll just have to earn the downgrade to ‘Johnny.’”

“Highly unlikely, given this arrangement is only through the duration of Mrs. Jones’s maternity leave,” she replied, tone even. “However, I can’t dictate how you choose to spend your time, Mr. Storm.”

“A challenge.” His grin sharpened, all boyish confidence. “I like that.”

“Okay, Johnny,” Sue cut in, her voice edged with older-sister authority. “That’s enough harassing the poor girl.”

“I reject that. I’m not harassing.” He scoffed, looking at the woman mouthing can you believe her, only to be met with an unamused shrug. 

“Go.” Sue’s tone was flat, firm. It was the kind that brooked no argument.

“Leaving.” He tipped his head toward her in mock salute, then glanced back at the assistant. “Pleasure meeting you, Sweetheart. I’ll see you around.” And with that, he’d left as casually as he’d arrived, like the interruption had been nothing more than a warm-up act.

Thus began a steady procession of small, unavoidable run-ins with the man. The first came during her opening week on the job. Sue suggested a short trip back across town to the Baxter Building. Something small to act as a private celebration before Tabitha’s send-off to bed rest ahead of her little one’s arrival. Just the three of them, some bakery pastries, and coffee spread across the couch in the quiet living area.

The peace lasted all of ten minutes.

“Alright,” came a voice from the elevator, carrying the particular brand of mischief that seemed to announce him before he actually appeared. “I return the galactically powered menace to your watchful eye. After letting him skip nap time and pumping him full of sugar.” A blond head poked its head into the living space, eyes lighting up as they saw her. “Oh, speaking of sugar…”

Johnny strolled in like he owned the floor beneath him, Franklin perched easily in his arms. The toddler’s little sneakers bounced against Johnny’s side with every step, the boy practically vibrating from whatever sugar-laced adventure they’d just had. Judging by the spark in Johnny’s eyes, he himself was in a similar state.

“Johnny,” Sue scoffed, already sensing the trouble before it unfolded.

“What?” He grinned, all innocence that didn’t fool anyone. “I gotta beat Ben at being the Funcle.”

“How’s my favorite non robotic assistant?” he’s eyes darted to Sue’s regularly staffed assistant who looked at him unamused. “No offense Tabby,” He told her as she rolled her eyes, hands settling on her swollen belly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Storm,” Sue’s newest charge replied evenly, offering him the same professional nod she had the first time they’d met.

Johnny grinned, as if her resistance was the best thing that had happened to him all week. “Y’know, most people would’ve cracked by now. You’re starting to make me nervous.” When she didn’t respond to his comment he continued. “Guess I’ll just have to find another way to win you over. Maybe Franklin can help.”

At the sound of his name, Franklin beamed at her and held out a tiny hand. She reached forward and shook it gently, the faintest smile touching her lips. “See that? He likes you already,” Johnny said, shifting his hold on the toddler. “And the kid’s got great instincts.” Sue made a quiet, knowing sound from her corner of the couch, and Tabitha sipped her coffee to hide a grin.

The assistant straightened, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “Instincts aside, I’m sure Franklin’s affections are much easier to earn than mine.”

Johnny’s brows were lifted in a mock challenge. “We’ll see about that.”

Sue cut in, her voice warm but pointed. “Johnny…”

“What? I’m just talking,” Johnny said innocently, bouncing Franklin on his hip with practiced ease. The toddler let out another gleeful squeal, arms flailing in delight. Johnny's eyes, however, lingered on the young woman next to him on the sofa. That ever-present smirk playing at his lips never wavering. “We’ve got months, Sweetheart,” he added, voice dropping just slightly, just enough. “I’m a patient guy.”

His gaze flicked toward the coffee table. Years of living with Sue had trained him not to ask before grabbing what he assumed was fair game. Especially with a toddler in the mix. In the Baxter Building, "what's mine is yours" was practically law between the Storm siblings. So, without a second thought, he reached out and snagged the to-go cup resting beside a stack of picture books and spare pacifiers. He popped the lid, took a confident sip... and immediately regretted it.

Instead of the lightly sweetened, milky, vanilla thing Sue usually drank, he was hit with a full blast of unadulterated espresso: jet black, no sugar, extra strong. He paused mid-sip, visibly tensing like someone who’d just been punched in the taste buds.

Sue caught sight of him and let out a sharp breath. “Johnny—”

He grimaced, forced the liquid down with theatrical suffering, then stuck his tongue out like a scolded child. “Who drinks this willingly?” he rasped, eyes watering. “This isn’t coffee, it’s punishment in a cup.”

Setting the drink down with exaggerated caution, he glanced back at the woman, her amusement clearly growing behind her smirk. Something ignited in his stomach watching as her less than rigid act came at his displeasure. The first time she’d let down the professional act even for a moment.

Johnny leaned in, tilting his head, his grin finding new life. “You know,” he said, voice smooth now, “a girl who drinks coffee like that... probably needs a little sweetness in her life.” He let the words hang, just long enough to be felt before flashing her the kind of grin that usually came with a warning label. “Lucky for you, I’m happy to provide...”

“Out.” Sue’s voice cut through the air, firm and unforgiving as she extended her arms toward Franklin. Her expression left no room for argument, just the steady authority of an older sister who’d long since run out of patience for Johnny’s antics. Johnny raised his hands in surrender, already backing toward the door, mischief practically radiating off him. But as he stepped away, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, eyes locking onto the woman again.

With a wink and that signature smirk, he added, “Rain check on the Sweetness. Don’t think you’re getting out of it. I’ll wear you down eventually.”

He hadn’t been entirely wrong, either. Because it wasn’t long after that moment that he surprised her. Not with another joke, or a ridiculous stunt, but with something far more disarming.

Three days. That’s all it had taken. Three days into managing the carefully coordinated chaos of Sue Storm’s professional life, and she was already debating whether or not she should fake her own death and vanish into the mountains. Tabitha had officially left for maternity leave and the mess left behind had fallen squarely into her lap. She was doing her best not to buckle under the pressure, holed up in the adjoining office, a fortress of to-do lists, unanswered messages, and too many events to cram into someone else’s schedule. Sue Storm really was Mrs. Fantastic, if she managed this much on a normal basis. 

A vinyl record spinning low in the corner, some vintage jazz number meant to soothe her fraying nerves. It almost worked. Until the faint murmur of voices in the hallway reached her. It was barely noticeable over the gentle crackle of the record, but enough to prick her ears. Then: a knock. Polite. A beat too casual. Followed by the door opening anyway. She didn’t look up, figuring it was Sue, back early from her meeting. But the footsteps were too light, too familiar in their rhythm. Then a voice.

“Man, you look tense, Doll.”

She blinked, then raised her head. Johnny Storm stood next to her desk, grinning like he’d just stumbled upon something far more interesting than whatever his day had originally held. Her glasses were crooked. Hair a mess from her anxious fingers running through it all morning. She knew she looked a wreck. Not the kind of way anyone wants to be caught in, and especially not in front of him. But then again, he was just her boss’s younger brother. Still, the sting of his observation made her wince.

“Way to make a lady feel great about herself, Mr. Storm,” she said, voice dry as paper. The apology started to form on her lips, soft and automatic. “I’m—”

But he laughed. A real, unpolished sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest. It hit the walls of the office and filled the space entirely, as it worked to clear out the tension just a little. “No, no, you’re right,” he grinned, holding up his hands in theatrical surrender as perched himself on the only empty corner of her cluttered desk. “I mean, I’ve been waiting to see a crack in that ironclad wall of yours,” he said, head tilted as he looked down at her, not with judgment, but with curiosity. “Gotta say, I like it.”

“Not much in here that lets me know more about you,” he said after a beat, voice thoughtful. “I thought I’d come do some recon, but looks like all you dragged up here was some music.” He gestured toward the corner, where the record player spun something low and moody. All smoke and soft brass, filling the spaces where words might’ve been too much.

She blinked, caught off guard by the weight of his comment. For once there hadn’t been teasing. Just… genuine curiosity. Still, she shrugged, returning to her screen without really seeing it. “There’s not much to know,” she said lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Just a girl trying not to drown in Sue Richard’s impossibly packed schedule.”

In her tone she tried to push off the soft, dismissive, nature with her practiced kind of armor. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be known. Not here. Not by him. But Johnny didn’t push. Instead, he sat something onto the desk beside her keyboard with a quiet thunk. A to-go cup.

Her eyes flicked to it, then to him. He nodded to it without a word, his eyes effectively saying for you. She’d been expecting, instinctively, something saccharine and ridiculous. A caramel swirl monstrosity with six sugars and whipped cream, and enough milk to supply a whole maternity ward. A callback to his over-sweetened preferences, that time he’d drank from her cup when he’d assumed it Sue’s.

But the cup was plain. The aroma sharp. She lifted it slowly, cautious and took a sip. Dark. Strong. Bitter. Exactly the way she drank it. Her brows lifted, just slightly, and for once, words didn’t come easily. She glanced at him, surprised, and found him watching her with a small, satisfied smirk. Not smug. Just… pleased. “Didn’t think I’d get it right?” he asked, a playful edge to his voice, though his posture hadn’t shifted.

She blinked once, then set the cup down gently, fingers lingering on the warmth. “Honestly?” she said, glancing back at him. “No.”

“Well,” Johnny leaned back slightly, bracing his hands behind him on the edge of her desk, his posture relaxed, but his grin anything but. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

And damn him, he was. His words tugged at something in her chest. Something small and inconvenient and far too easily stirred. She hated that it caught her off guard, hated more that he didn’t seem to notice the ripple his presence left behind. His gaze had already shifted, roaming over the cluttered corners of her office again with idle interest, like he was seeing it for the first time.

“You know,” he added casually, “you should really make this space yours. At least for now. Studies say people work better when their environment actually feels like them.”

She huffed a small breath through her nose. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

Johnny straightened then, clapping his hand lightly against the desk as he stood. “Anyway. I’m off. Some charity golf thing. Sunshine, cameras, pretending I know what a nine iron is. You know how it is.”

She offered him a glance, amused, maybe even a little reluctant to see him go, but it was brief. Controlled. “Thank you,” she said softly, fingers curling around the warm cup still nestled beside her keyboard. “For the coffee, Mr. Storm.”

He rolled his eyes with theatrical flair as he turned toward the door. “One of these days,” he tossed over his shoulder, “it better be just Johnny.” And with that, he disappeared,  leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne, the lingering heat of the espresso, and an absence she suddenly wasn’t sure she was thrilled to notice.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Saturdays were sacred. Or at least they were supposed to be. A quiet little corner carved out of her week, untouched by phones ringing or emergency scheduling changes. No Sue, no international crisis, no chaos in superhero suits. Just her and the worn spines of old books, the scent of paper and dust, the ritual comfort of a place that didn’t expect her to perform.

The shop was tucked away. Not the sleek chain store down the block, but a tiny, tucked-in independent with uneven floors and the kind of silence that invited exhale. She came here often enough that the owner, a soft-spoken man with thick glasses and a deep love for Victorian ghost stories, knew her name. She was halfway down the second-floor fiction aisle, a stack of paperbacks already under one arm, when a voice spoke from just behind her. “Didn’t peg you for a poetry girl.”

She froze. Turned. And there he was. Johnny Storm, of all people, standing a few feet away, sunglasses pushed into his hair making it look disheveled, a to-go coffee cup in hand, and the most unbothered expression she’d ever seen him wear. He was in jeans. A white shirt. Some kind of casual jacket. Not the polished charm of his media persona, not the gleam of a man trying to impress. Just… a guy. In a bookstore. On a Saturday morning before most of the city bothered to be awake.

She blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”

“What, because I know the British romantics?" he grinned, stepping closer and casually leaning against the shelf. “Give me a little credit. I read things. I went to college. I suffered through English class. Birds and mountains, all that jazz.”

“I bet you pretended to read them. Or got some girl in your class to give you the bullet points ahead of class with that charming smile.”

He laughed and held up a hand in mock defeat. “Guilty. But seriously, Rime of the Ancient Mariner?” he nodded at the book in her hand. “You into seriously ruining the vibes of a wedding?”

“I’m into the classics,” she said, slipping it into her stack.

“Well,” he said, with a half-smile, “guess I’ve been categorizing you under the wrong genre.”

She raised a brow, skeptical. “What genre did you have me under?”

He sipped his coffee, thinking for a beat. “Non-fiction,” he said finally. “Sharp, efficient. All structure, no fluff. Certainly not poetry.”

She snorted before she could help it, and regretted it instantly when his smile brightened like he’d just won a bet with himself. “I try to be professional,” she said, mostly to herself.

“And you’re great at it,” Johnny replied, surprising her with the sincerity behind the words. “But I’d like to assume there’s more to you than lists and calendar reminders.”

Her arms tightened around her books, something about his tone striking too close to something she hadn’t let herself think about in months. That she’d built her entire life around being useful. Efficient. The calm in someone else’s storm, and somewhere along the way lost a bit of the things she found enjoyable. It was hard to have a life when the majority of your working life revolved around keeping someone else afloat. “Shouldn’t you be at some event?” she asked, shifting the subject, her voice steady again. “Shaking hands, lighting things on fire for charity?”

He shrugged. “Needed a reset. My therapist says I have to find quiet places that don't come with a camera pointed at me.”

That surprised her. Enough that she glanced up from the shelves of gently loved books in front of her. “You have a therapist?”

“Why does everyone sound so shocked when I say that?” he laughed. “I’ve seen things. Fought things. Spend quite a bit of time on fire. That can mess with the mind I’ll admit. Sue cried the day I voluntarily booked my first session.”

She laughed, and he smiled like that had been the goal all along. Then he held out the coffee in his hand. “Trade you. You recommend a book I’ll pretend I’ll finish, and I’ll give you this, on the condition I get something that doesn’t taste like battery acid in return.”

She eyed the cup with suspicion. “What is it?”

“Straight espresso,” he said, lifting it like a dare. “No sugar, no cream. I’m branching out. Figured if you drink enough of this stuff to kill a man, it must be worth the risk. Spoiler alert: it’s not. It's still crime in a cup.”

She took it, sniffed, and sipped. Bitter. Strong. Exactly how she took hers. He didn’t joke after that point. Didn’t smirk. Just turned and walked toward the front counter and waited for something better from the tiny espresso machine tucked into the back corner of the store, installed by the owner’s wife in what looked like a quiet rebellion against the chain cafés nearby.

She brought the cup to her lips again, pretending not to notice how easily he left it behind in her hands, like it was second nature to share. Like the fact that his mouth had touched it before hers wasn’t worth remarking on. Not that it mattered. She’d drunk after him once before. This just felt… different.

Her eyes followed him as he drifted toward the shelves, one hand brushing the spines like they might give him the answer to some quiet question. No rush. No bravado. Just a guy wandering a bookstore like the world outside wasn’t made of crime, gossip columns and headlines. Then she recalled his request. Something for him to read. 

Johnny Storm didn’t strike her as the kind of man who read often, and certainly not by choice. There was too much velocity in him, too much need for movement and distraction. She imagined him more of a fan of the cinemas than novels. There was strong doubt he sat still long enough to fall into a story unless the pages were filled with action or something lude. And so, she'd never quite assigned him a literary genre in her mind. No tidy label. No easy shelf to place him on.

Something accessible seemed safer, palatable, maybe even charming in its simplicity. So by the time he returned, a faint grin curving his mouth, one hand cradling a new cup of something more suited to his taste, the other tucked coyly behind his back like it contained a secret, she already had a book waiting in her hands.

She wasn’t entirely sure what made her reach for that particular one. Maybe it was a quiet rebellion against his reputation. A subconscious test, curious to see how he'd handle a story that offered less escape and more reflection. One with a title that might resemble a mirror. Maybe she simply liked the way it looked, worn and quietly tragic among the glossier titles. Whatever the reason, she held it out between them.

The Beautiful and Damned. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “This isn’t some cryptic signal for me to back off, is it?”

She shook her head, lips twitching. “Not unless it needs to be, Mr. Storm.”

Johnny turned the book over in his hands, scanning the blurb with a surprisingly thoughtful glance. “Read Gatsby a while back. Liked it more than I thought I would. I’m sure it’s good. Thanks for the recommendation.” Then, without missing a beat, “Which brings me to my much more superior suggestion for you.”

She tilted her head. “What do you mean, your suggestion for me?”

“I’m giving you a book rec. Equal exchange. A little literary diplomacy if you will. We read, we reconvene, we give each other another and so on.” Something about that phrasing caught her off-guard. We reconvene. Casual, natural. Like it wasn’t strange at all. Like they were just two friends with overlapping routines and not… whatever this was. It wasn’t quite friendship, was it? And it certainly wasn’t nothing.

A quiet discomfort flickered at the edge of her thoughts. It was all a little too casual, too familiar. Too easy. She worked for his sister, after all. There were boundaries, weren’t there? Unspoken, maybe, but understood. Sue had never forbidden anything, never drawn a line in the sand. Her only warnings had been gently pragmatic: that Johnny could be a lot. Loud. Reckless. The type who flirted with beautiful women because he didn’t know how not to.

But she’d never said stay away.

Before she could dwell on it too long, Johnny was already extending the book toward her with something like pride glittering in his eyes. The Blazing World, by Margaret Cavendish. Her brows lifted slightly, surprised by the choice. A name she didn’t recognize. A curious blend of science fiction, philosophy, poetry and in ambitious prose. Strange and brilliant in ways that rarely showed up on casual reading lists, and even fell through the cracks of scholarly work.

She took it slowly, fingers brushing his as they passed the slim volume between them. His skin was warm, unsurprisingly, given he carried the sun’s power in his body. She let her thumb skim the edge of the pages, not yet opening it. Her voice came quiet, more contemplative than she'd expected. “You’ve read this?”

“I’ve attempted to read it,” he said, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t get far. But I liked the idea of it. Worlds colliding. A woman building her own Empire. Seemed like something you’d appreciate more than I could.” The comment caught her off guard. Not because it was simply flattering, but because it was…observant. It showed his understanding of her tastes, given the little information he had on her, and provided a thoughtful recommendation. It almost made her feel sheepish, given she’d picked something off best sellers lists to pass along to him, where he’d put in more effort.

She glanced up at him, studying the way he leaned back slightly, letting her set the tone. No teasing. No firework smile. Just him, standing there, strangely sincere beneath all that practiced bravado. “It seems weird,” she said finally, thumbing the cover. “But brilliant. The kind of thing I’d stumble upon.”

He grinned again. “Sounds like I provided a better suggestion,.”

She tried not to laugh but didn’t quite succeed, and he looked far too pleased with himself. They stood there a moment longer than necessary, the space between them a breath too close, books cradled like offerings in their hands. Then, casually he said, “So. Same time next week? For the post-mortem?”

She blinked. “You’re seriously going to read it?”

He shrugged, but there was something steady in his eyes. “I said I’d try. Besides…” He nodded toward The Beautiful and Damned in his hand. “Feels like the kind of deal you don’t back out of.”

She smiled. It was small, restrained, but real. “Same time,” she said softly before she could overthink how unprofessional it was to be seeing her boss’s brother on a familiar basis. It was the kind of thing she’d scold herself for… later. 

He offered a mock salute before turning to leave. He didn’t bother her after passing a few bills to the owner. Didn't even turn back around. She could hear the bell above the door jangling as he stepped out into the late afternoon light. She watched him go, unsure what it meant. If it meant anything at all. But with the book still clutched in her hands, she tried not to dwell. And when she finally cracked open the cover, she found herself smiling.

Not because of the words on the page. But because, against every reasonable assumption, Johnny Storm had just surprised her.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The office lights were too bright when she came back in. The kind of artificial white that bleached out time and made everything feel faintly unreal. Her meeting had run over, leaving her with a dull headache and the vague sense that she’d forgotten something important, though she couldn't name what. She set her folder down with a muted thud, shrugging off her coat before freezing mid-motion.

There was something on her desk. Not just something. A book. She recognized it immediately. The worn, wine-colored cover. The familiar weight of it in her memory. The Beautiful and Damned. Only, this copy wasn’t hers. Hers had never been dog-eared like that, the spine a little more cracked now than before, the corners softened as if handled too often in too short a time. She stared at it, unmoving. A note might’ve made it easier. An explanation. Even a dumb sticky note with Told you I’d finish it in his cocky handwriting would’ve fit the narrative she’d built for him in her head. But there was no note. Just the book, left deliberately.

Slowly, she pulled out her chair and sat down. The silence of the office folded around her. When she opened the cover, her breath caught. The margins were full of ink. Not dense, frantic scribbles or anything that suggested pretense. Just... notes. Small, blocky handwriting in black pen. He hadn’t annotated passages with inherent rhyme or reason or filled every blank space. He’d written where it seemed to strike his fancy.

She flipped to a random page.

“This guy's self-pity could power the city grid.”

“Does Gloria actually like him or is she just bored?”

“This part… hits harder than I wanted it to.”

She turned another page. Then another. Every few leaves, there’d be another brief line in the margins. Some funny. Some startlingly intelligent. Some… vulnerable in a way that made her heart trip a little in her chest. Not because they were bold confessions, but because they weren’t. They were insights. Real glimpses into how his mind worked. He’d read it. Not skimmed, but truly read it. In a matter of days. And he’d thought about it. Enough to leave pieces of his perspective tucked between the lines. 

She wasn't sure what she had expected from him on Saturday. Maybe a careless toss of the book back into her hands, some joke about the slow downfall of rich people, a sarcastic rating. But not this. Not a thoughtful connection with the literature. Not ink on paper. Not something left behind, with no need for acknowledgement or using it as an excuse to harass her at work. Just a quiet answer to a question she hadn’t realized she’d been asking.

There was more to Johnny Storm than he truly let on. 

Her eyes drifted back to the desk. Nothing else was left with it. But there was something in the way the book had been placed deliberately there without spectacle. Like he wanted her to find it. Like he wanted her to notice. But he didn’t want to be around when she flipped through it. The realization was almost endearing in a way. Perhaps he wasn’t fully confident with the situation after all.

She leaned back in her chair, the book still open in her lap. The office buzzed faintly around her, but she didn’t hear it. Instead, she felt the weight of those pages, of everything between the lines. And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t know what to do with that kind of sincerity.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The bookstore was quieter than usual. No light filtered through the front windows, not with the snow falling outside. And the cold shift in weather seemingly kept everyone away. A coffee grinder rumbled briefly before dying into stillness. The smell of cinnamon and old pages curled in the air. She was already in the same aisle when he found her, pretending to browse, fingers resting lightly on the spine of a book she wasn’t reading.

“Hey,” came his voice, softer than usual.

She looked up. Johnny stood a few steps away, hair slightly windblown, coffee in one hand, the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t look like someone who set things on fire for a living. Here, he just looked... a little uncertain. Maybe even a little hopeful. He nodded toward her, then toward the shelves. “So. Did you finish it?”

It took her a beat to register the question. She gave a small nod, folding her arms. “I did.”

A pause. He took it in stride, stepping closer, careful not to get too close. “And?”

She tilted her head, fingers still resting on that forgotten book beside her. “It was strange,” she said finally. “Dense. Messy. Ahead of its time. Kind of brilliant. Kind of exhausting.”

A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So... you loved it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She rolled her eyes, but softly. “What made you pick it?”

He shrugged. “I remembered the title from an old lecture back in college. Seemed like it’d match your energy. A woman building her Empire and all, with that dramatic energy of hers.”

That pulled a laugh from her, and she tried not to internally scold herself for the involuntary nature of it. “You think I have dramatic energy?”

“I think you build your own world,” he said, too quickly, before glancing away like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Or, you know. Something like that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... charged. She watched the way he sipped his coffee, how his fingers wrapped around the cup like he needed something sure to ground himself in the moment. “I liked the annotations,” she said after a moment. “You are actually funny when you aren’t trying too hard.”

“I can’t say I get that a lot,” he said, but the smile was modest. No fireworks. No bravado. He looked at her then and for a second she didn’t feel like she was standing in a bookstore at all. Just suspended, caught between the margin of something she hadn’t named yet and something he wasn’t forcing her to.

He gestured toward a nearby display. “Okay. Your turn.”

“For what?”

“New picks,” he said. “I’m clearly on a streak. I’ll try not to ruin it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is this becoming a regular thing now?”

He gave a half-shrug, half-smile. “Only if you want it to be.”

The words hung in the space between them, casual on the surface, but landing somewhere far less casual inside her. He said it with the same ease he said most things, like nothing mattered too much, like no moment was ever heavy enough to be held too tightly. But now, with him standing just behind her, following her lead as she turned down a quieter aisle, she couldn’t quite ignore the way her thoughts tangled around the simplicity of it.

Only if you want it to be.

What did she want it to be?

She let her fingers trail the shelves, touching covers she didn’t read, spines she didn’t care about. Searching. A book for him, that was the task. Another title. Another exchange. Something witty or unexpected. Something that said I see more in you without actually saying anything at all.

And yet her mind refused to focus. Because now, the game felt different. Slightly altered in its stakes. It had been harmless, hadn’t it? Originally just a test to see what he was made of. Now it could be a flirtation wrapped in pages and margins, passed between them like a secret handshake. Now it felt like she was making choices with weight. Choosing a book meant choosing how much to show. What version of herself she wanted him to hold in his hands. How much of her growing appreciation for him she’d let on.

Behind her, she could hear the subtle shift of his footsteps as he paused somewhere down the aisle. Not crowding her. Not pushing. Just… waiting. As if he knew better than to fill the silence too soon. She pulled a title from the shelf, turned it over, and put it back. Too grim. Another. Too ridiculous. Another. Too transparent.

How did you find the perfect book for someone who was suddenly no longer a passing curiosity? What does he see when he looks at me? The question slipped in before she could stop it. It wasn’t that she needed an answer. But lately, the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, it was quieter than the Johnny Storm she’d been warned about. No charming remarks. No obvious lines. Just these brief, disarming glances. Like he was trying to understand her.

And now here she was, stalling in front of the fiction section. Like what she picked for him could open or close a door she hadn’t even decided she wanted to walk through. She glanced sideways, found him leaning lightly against the end of the shelf, idly flipping through something he hadn’t really chosen. He looked relaxed. At ease. He was watching her, eyes lifting from the pages every so often to her, then back down. Not like he was even particularly curious about the outcome. Just... present. There. Noticing. She turned back to the shelves, pulse ticking louder than it should’ve. Eventually, her fingers settled on a slim paperback. One she remembered liking years ago but hadn’t thought about since.  She turned, holding it out to him before her mind could make her lose the nerve. 

Johnny took it, thumb brushing the edge of the cover, then flipping through a few pages like he was testing the weight of it. “From the Earth to the Moon, huh? Any particular reason?”

She hesitated, then lifted a shoulder. “Sue mentioned once that you liked space. Said it was your first love. Probably would be your last.”

That pulled a faint smile from him, the crooked and boyish kind, but something flickered behind it. He leaned into the shelf beside him, posture casual but gaze a little more focused now, the book still resting open in his hand. “Asking my sister about me,” he said, voice lighter than the look he gave her. “Now that’s unexpectedly personal.”

“I wasn’t asking about you,” she replied, too quickly, too defensively. “She mentioned it, and I simply cataloged the information.” Her voice was clipped, her posture a touch too stiff. Like she’d said more than she meant to and was trying to shrink it back into something neutral.

But he didn’t tease her for it. Didn’t grin or throw out some easy line the way she expected. He just watched her. Not with judgment, but with something far more subtle. Curiosity, maybe. Or understanding. She couldn't tell. He flipped the book closed with one hand, the soft sound of the pages coming together. “Well,” he said at last, eyes flicking to the cover, “it’s a good pick. You’re not wrong, by the way. About space.”

She raised an eyebrow, surprised he was still on that thought. “I used to memorize the constellations,” he continued, more to the book than to her. “Could name them all before I hit eight. Used to think the stars made more sense than people did.”

That last line hung there, a small piece of himself that was unguarded. Like it had slipped past his usual filter of flirtation. She didn’t say anything right away. Just watched the way he shifted his weight, his free hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket, like maybe he regretted the truth of it.

“You don’t think that anymore?” she asked, carefully.

“I think,” he said, glancing up again, “that the older you get, the harder it is to look up. So much happening around you, all the responsibility of being an adult, it leaves little room for those daydreams of distant stars.” He said it like it wasn’t profound. Like it didn’t carry a weight that caught her off guard.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, aching to fidget, to ground herself in something tangible. Instead, she said, “That’s why I picked the book. Thought maybe you could use a reminder of simpler times.”

That made him smile again. “I’ll read it,” he said, voice low. “Promise.” She gave a small nod, unsure what else to do with the weight of him looking at her like that. Like she wasn’t just a person passing through his orbit, but something fixed. A point of gravity. Then, thankfully, he broke the moment. “Alright,” he said, tucking the book under his arm. “I owe you one now. You want to cry, laugh, or question the futility of existence?”

She smirked faintly, relief bleeding into the expression. “Dealer’s choice.”

“Dangerous words,” he said with a wink, stepping away from the shelf and back toward the café corner of the shop. “Alright, emotion roulette it is.” She followed a few steps behind, bookless, hands tucked into her sleeves. But the space between them wasn’t awkward. It was almost familiar; comfortable in a way that snuck up on her.

“Okay,” he said, a little breathless, like he was admitting something that might cost him. “I’ll confess, I did some research before today. So this isn’t just a spur-of-the-moment pick. I might’ve also called ahead to make sure they had something in stock.” He didn’t wait for her reaction. Just pressed the book gently into her hands before she could protest. She looked down.

John Clare.

A collected volume. Thick, matte-bound, the kind of edition usually found in academic libraries or quietly aging on secondhand shelves. It wasn’t a single title, not a curated selection by the poet himself, but a posthumous compilation. Normally, she avoided those. They always felt like someone else’s hands had been too involved. Like the purity of the author’s voice had been filtered through other intentions.

But this time, she didn’t move to hand it back. Not when he stood there, a little hopeful. Like he knew it wasn’t flashy, and certainly was off the beaten path, and had still chosen it anyway. She traced a thumb lightly along the edge of the pages. The spine cracked faintly under her grip, and she could already feel the density of it. The weight of someone’s entire lifetime of work captured in the binding.

“You called ahead,” she repeated softly, not quite a question.

He shrugged, half-apologetic. “Didn’t want to wing it. Figured if I was gonna bring you poetry, it should be something thought out a bit more than your Frosts of the world."

That answer surprised her more than the book itself. She opened to the first page, letting the weight of it settle in her hands. The paper was thinner than she liked. The font, a little too small. But there was something in it that made her pause. A sort of stillness she hadn’t expected. “Clare’s not one of the poets I’m largely familiar with, but I know of him. A bit more accessible  than most,” she said.

“Yea,” he agreed. “I read a few of the shorter ones. There was this one about a field, or maybe it was a tree? Either way, it didn’t sound like much. But then halfway through one of them just… it made sense in a way I didn’t expect.”

She blinked. That wasn’t the kind of reaction she expected him to admit. Especially not about a 19th-century poet who wrote about hedgerows and abandonment in the same breath. “So you picked this for me,” she said slowly, “because… it got under your skin?”

“I picked it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “because it felt honest. Messy. Kind of sad, but not in a showy way. Thought maybe you’d like that. I thought breaking up the rich academics with a man who spent time in an asylum or living amongst paupers would have a genuine nature you’d enjoy. You don’t seem to like flashy things.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked down at the cover again, the faint embossed lettering of Clare’s name. Something inside of her shifted. Like a door opening somewhere she hadn’t noticed was locked. Normally, she would’ve dismissed the book. Too long. Too curated. But he’d gone looking for it. For her. With intentionality. And that changed everything. She didn’t say thank you. Not because she wasn’t grateful, but because the words felt too shallow for what he’d just handed her. Not the book itself, but the thought behind it. So instead, she just held it. And that seemed to be enough for him.

Johnny didn’t press. He didn’t wait for a reaction like he needed validation. He just gave a small nod, "There's a table open near the back," he said, tilting his head in the direction of the café corner, where a window seat sat mostly in shadow, partially hidden by a crooked row of nonfiction titles and a wilting potted plant. “If you’re not in a rush.”

She hesitated, then followed. Neither of them said anything as they settled into the space. He placed his drink down, she set the book beside hers, and for a while, the only sounds were the low murmur of voices across the store and the soft shuffle of pages turning somewhere nearby. She watched him over the rim of her cup. He’d leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the shelves across from them as if thinking through something he didn’t want to name. His fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the wood, quiet and patient.

Finally, she reached for the book again. Her thumb flipped through the first few pages. The introduction. The publication note. The timeline of Clare’s life, compressed into neat paragraphs. Born poor. Largely self-taught. Obsessive. Unwell. Brilliant. Forgotten.

She landed on a random poem.

“I am! Yet what I am, none cares or knows.”

Her breath caught, just slightly. It was the kind of line that didn’t require understanding. It simply existed with profound truth. Like someone had written down a thought that had once lived, wordless, at the back of her own mind. And now here it was, plain and devastating and true. She didn’t look up right away. Didn’t want him to see the way the words had impacted her. But he must’ve noticed something. Because after a beat, his voice cut in, quiet.

“That one stayed with me, too.”

Her eyes lifted slowly to his. He didn’t smile. Didn’t try to soften the weight of it. He just looked at her like he knew. And it wasn’t the intensity that got to her, it was the ease. The way he let silence exist between them without rushing to fill it. He was simply present.

She closed the book carefully, ran a finger once along the edge of the pages, and asked, suddenly needing to know, “Why are you doing this?” Johnny blinked, caught off guard by the directness of it. “This,” she said again, motioning vaguely between them. “The books. The effort. Poetry, for God’s sake. I know you’re not doing this just to cure some momentary boredom. I’m sure you could find much better company for that.”

There was no accusation in her tone, just quiet curiosity, laced with something more hesitant underneath. A softness mixing with caution. He leaned back in his chair, exhaled once through his nose, and ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Honestly?” he said. “I’m not totally sure.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, more reflex than anything else, and looked down at the table like the words might be hiding there. “But when I’m around you,” he continued, slower now, “it’s like I don’t have to keep being whoever everyone thinks I am. I don’t have to try so hard to be entertaining. Or clever. Or whatever version of me people are used to.”

His eyes lifted to hers again. “You don’t look at me like I’m supposed to prove something. That’s… rare.”

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t look away either. “And I think there’s something about you,” he went on, quieter now, almost hesitant. “Something still. Like, there’s this kind of loneliness to you, but not the sad kind. More like you made peace with being on your own. I don’t exactly like to just sit with myself and my own thoughts if I can avoid it.”

That made her inhale a little too sharply. His expression softened, but he didn’t apologize for saying it. “I guess I just like being around that,” he said. “It feels safe. Real. I don’t know. Maybe that sounds selfish.”

“It doesn’t,” she said, almost before he finished.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “It’s not about impressing you. If it was, I’d be doing a way worse job, trust me. I’ve got a knack for putting people off at a point when the ‘charming’ nature no longer seems, well, charming. I think I just… want to know what it’s like to be seen by someone who doesn’t already have an idea of me in their head.”

She held his gaze, heart ticking too loudly in her chest. She felt guilty. Just because she hadn’t made the thoughts known, she did have ideas in her head. Ones that were constructed from Sue’s warning. From the articles she tried to avoid. Small giggled conversations on her walk home from young women calling the billboard of him half exposed dreamy. The only contradiction to those being from the sparse moments he’d shown her since those flirty interactions at the beginning.

This version of him — stripped of bravado, all the golden-boy confidence gone — felt startlingly close to something she hadn’t realized she missed in the company of people. A kind of honesty that didn’t ask for anything back. She looked down at the book again, ran a thumb along its frayed edge. “Well,” she murmured, her voice soft but not without a hint of dry amusement, “you’ve shown me a few sides I didn’t expect to experience, Mr. Storm.”

The use of his name was deliberately formal, but not cold. More playful than professional now. A tease, laced with familiarity. The kind of formality that invited contradiction. He caught it immediately. His grin flickered to life. “Careful,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly in mock warning. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” He tapped a knuckle gently against his temple. “It’s already in there.”

She rolled her eyes, but it lacked any real bite. The weight of the moment hadn’t lifted entirely. It lingered beneath their words, steady and quiet, but this, the soft return to banter, felt like exhale. Like an acknowledgment that they could hold both things at once: the intimacy, and the distance. The honesty, and the pretense. Johnny took another sip of his coffee which had long since gone cold, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze drifted back to the book in her hands, then to her. For a moment, something uncertain passed through his expression. Almost as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do next now that the conversation had settled, now that silence had taken root between them again. 

He looked away, toward the front windows of the shop. Outside, the snowfall had thickened. What had started earlier as a quiet flurry had built slowly into something more committed. The light from the streetlamps cast soft halos through the drifting flakes, and the sidewalks were turning from gray slush to something closer to white. “Huh,” Johnny murmured, more to the window than to her. “Coming down harder now.”

She followed his gaze. People passed by in heavy coats, shoulders hunched, breath visible in short bursts of steam. The kind of cold that made your bones feel thinner. “I could walk you home,” he offered, lightly. 

The words were casual. He tried to make them sound that way, at least. But there was a quiet earnestness underneath. She looked at him for a second too long. Long enough that his confidence wavered just slightly, a flicker behind his eyes. “Are you planning to set yourself on fire for warmth if I say yes?” she asked, deadpan.

He grinned, his shoulders loosening with the shift in tone. “I mean, I wasn’t planning to, but I could probably manage it if things got desperate.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. She stood, the book still in hand. “Fine,” she said, slipping her coat on. “But if you turn this into some dramatic chivalry act, I’m leaving you.”

“Noted,” he said, reaching for his jacket. “Subtle heroism only. Got it.”

They paid for the books without conversation. Just silently ringing up, bags wrapped tightly around the precious cargo so it wouldn’t get damp. Then they stepped out into the street together. The snow greeted them in silence. Clinging to their hair and eyelashes as they walked side by side down the sidewalk. The city felt smaller in the snow. The world reduced to a few feet ahead of them, the hush of their footsteps, and the occasional flicker of streetlight through the white.

They were halfway down the block when the wind came slicing between the buildings, sharp and sudden. It cut through the wool of her coat like it wasn’t even there. She flinched at the cold and instinctively curled in on herself, shoulders tucking tighter, hands disappearing deeper into her pockets. A shiver worked its way through her before she could stop it.

Johnny noticed. He glanced sideways at her, brow lifting just slightly, like he was trying to decide how much trouble he'd be in for what he was about to do. Then, without a word, he reached across the space between them and tugged her gently into his side. One arm slung easily over her shoulders, like it had happened a thousand times before. Effortless. “Pretty sure Sue would kill me if I let her assistant freeze to death on the street,” he said, casually. Light on the surface. 

But his arm stayed where it was. Solid. Warm. Unmoving. Her steps faltered for a half-second. Less from the physical shift and more from the fact that it felt... Natural. Not like something he was doing to be charming. Not to get a reaction. Just a kind gesture to keep her warm.

She glanced up at him, lips parted slightly like she might object on principle. But he was staring ahead, focused on the snow, pretending like he hadn’t just closed the distance between them with no ceremony whatsoever. “You really think Sue would care that much?” she asked, tone deliberately flat.

“Oh, she’d absolutely care,” he said. “She really likes you. Warns me pretty repeatedly not to run you off.”

She let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. And then, surprising even herself, she didn’t move away. His warmth radiated through the fabric of her coat. The snow was still falling, heavier now, and the sidewalks were turning slick with a fine sheen of frost, but beside him, tucked neatly into his side, she didn’t feel quite as brittle in the cold.  They kept walking like that. No big moment. No shift in the world around them. Just his arm around her shoulders. And her letting it stay there. Which, for both of them, felt quietly remarkable.

They rounded the final corner before her building, the familiar stoop materializing out of the haze. She slowed her steps, and so did he. “This is me,” she said quietly, pausing at the foot of the stairs.

He stopped with her, but didn’t pull away just yet. His arm stayed where it was for a second longer than necessary before he let it drop. The absence of it made the cold return too quickly. He looked at the building, then at her. Snow clung to the edges of her coat, melted on the curve of her collar. She didn’t meet his eyes right away.

“You warm enough now?” he asked, tone light.

She nodded. “More or less.”

He gave a slow exhale, breath fogging in the space between them. Then, almost as if to explain the gesture retroactively, he added, “Didn’t want Sue to kill me for letting her assistant freeze to death on a Brooklyn sidewalk.”

She huffed a quiet sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, but close. “How noble of you.”

“I have my moments.”

She glanced up at him then, finally meeting his gaze. Snow was caught in his lashes, and melted into the blond fringe over his forehead. There was nothing performative in his face now. No smug smile, no raised brow. Just a softness she didn’t quite know how to answer.

“Well,” she said, adjusting the book under her arm. “Thanks for the escort, Mr. Storm.”

He gave a slow nod, as if there were words he wanted to say but chose to hold back. Then, with a small, familiar tilt of his head, he said, “Anytime.” Stepping back from the stoop, he added, “I’ll see you Monday.”

The reminder settled between them. Sue’s schedule, the foundation ceremony for their late mother, with Johnny needing to be there for part of it. She nodded, the thought grounding her. They’d see each other again in less than forty-eight hours.

“Goodnight, Mr. Storm,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips as she started up the steps. She didn’t look back, but her fingers curled tighter around the book she carried. Eager to lose herself in its pages. In something that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t in years.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

She didn’t see him on Monday. Not because he’d flaked. Johnny was many things — sometimes reckless, often loud, and rarely on time — but never unreliable when it counted. Especially when it was related to his family. 

She didn’t see him because she never made it to work at all.

Sunday night had slipped into a quiet blur, the kind of fatigue that wasn’t cause for alarm. But morning came with a harsh jolt. A fever burning through her, a stuffy nose that wouldn’t clear, muscles aching in a dull, persistent throb. The flu had claimed her completely. She spent the day wrapped in blankets, while she drifted in and out of restless sleep. Outside, the world moved on, but inside her house, everything felt still. Except the steady, frustrating pulse of illness.

Sue had told her to stay home. The call had gone through that morning. Franklin crying in the background, muffled sounds of bickering between Ben and Johnny over cereal and Sue’s  gentle insistence and no-nonsense warning. “You need to rest. You’re not permitted in the office until you feel better. That’s an order.”

She had reluctantly agreed, lips pressed tight, even as guilt settled heavy in her chest. Missing work felt like failure. Like letting Sue down. Letting Johnny down, especially since the foundation was in memory of their parents, stung especially hard given their recent… breakthrough. But the fever that had clawed its way into her bones didn’t care about guilt. It demanded surrender. And so she surrendered, curling deeper into tangled sheets, the weight of the blankets somehow both comforting and suffocating.

The hours passed in a strange blur. Outside, daylight faded from pale to gray, then sank into the muted shadows of early evening. The city’s usual hum dulled to a low, distant thrum. The apartment felt hollow.  She’d never put much effort into updating the place. Where most clung to sleek, modern trends, she preferred the warmth of older things: a four-poster bed, a worn chestnut wardrobe, faded floral wallpaper, candle holders still half-used. It had a quiet kind of charm. A lived-in elegance, even if she rarely spent time there. Her fever-glossed eyes drifted over the room. Past the quilted blanket draped over the plush chair in the corner, the wooden record player and vinyl stack beside it, the shelf overflowing with books, titles spilling onto the floor like fallen soldiers.

And there, on the nightstand, lay the book Johnny had given her. Still unopened.

She closed her eyes again. The television murmured in the background, turned low, more ambient noise than entertainment. The stillness was a comfort.

Until it wasn’t. A knock. Hesitant. Unexpected. She froze. The room seemed to shrink around her. Another knock came, firmer this time, breaking the fragile calm. Her pulse fluttered. Who could it be? Friends? She didn’t have many in the city. Family? Even fewer. Maybe the fever was playing tricks on her. When the knocks didn’t come again, she sighed and sank back into the pillows. Probably someone at the wrong door. A delivery. A mix-up. She was too sick to care.

But then, light. Not the flicker of the television, but something warmer. Like a fireplace glow. That’s nice, she thought hazily. Fireplaces are nice. A small, delirious smile tugged at her lips as she buried herself deeper under the covers.

Another knock. Not from the front door this time. From her bedroom window. She sat up, breath catching, sheets clinging to her overheated skin. Panic lanced through her, briefly, until she registered the source of the flickering light outside the glass. She stumbled toward the window, ignoring the fever-sweat clinging to her back, the weakness in her knees. Fumbling with the latch, her fingers finally managed to pry it open. A blast of cold winter air rushed in, stealing the breath from her lungs and chasing heat from her cheeks.

And there he was. Hovering just above the fire escape, flames curling lazily around his shoulders and hands, casting flickering light across the snow-dusted ledge behind him. Johnny Storm. “I thought I had the wrong window for a second,” he said, grinning, though his voice held something gentler than his usual swagger. A thread of concern tugged behind the humor.

She blinked, dazed, gripping the windowsill like it might keep her upright. “You’re here?”

“Uh... yes? Is that a question?” he replied, one brow arching in that familiar, teasing way.

“Just... fever,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting past him, toward the soft mess of her room. The nest of blankets, the tissues, the half-empty mug of cold tea on her nightstand. “Wasn’t sure I was hallucinating.”

He didn’t laugh. Not really. Instead, he stepped closer, the flames fading from his skin until only the natural warmth of him remained, haloed in faint light. Then, before she could even process it, his hand reached forward. Back of his dexterous fingers, cool and gentle against her forehead. “Oh, doll… you’re burning up,” he murmured, brow furrowing.

She turned her face slightly, attempting a weak smile. “Bit ironic coming from the Human Torch.” That led to a chuckle, short-lived though it was, as it dissolved into a sudden coughing fit. She braced herself against the window frame, chest heaving, head spinning.

Johnny’s hand hovered, uncertain, ready to steady her if she swayed too far. “Easy. I’m not worth laughing to death over, yeah?”

She gave him a look, still half-glazed from the fever. “Do you... need me to come down and unlock the front door?”

Johnny tilted his head, a spark returning to his grin. “What? And ruin the moment? I’m Prince Charming, Sweetheart. I can crawl through the window like Romeo.”

Despite herself, a breathy laugh escaped her lips. She stepped back, giving him room. “Just don’t fall, Hotshot.”

“Oh, I never fall,” he said smoothly, one foot swinging over the windowsill. “I fly.” With practiced ease, he climbed inside, landing softly on the hardwood floor beside her bed. The moment he was in, she noticed the bag slung over one shoulder. Navy blue backpack, slightly beat-up, and obviously full.

Her brows furrowed. “What’s in the bag?”

“Supplies,” he said matter-of-factly, already setting it down on the floor. “Soup. Electrolites. Cold meds. Every single cough drop the corner store had. A thermometer shaped like a dinosaur, don’t ask, and your favorite cookies. Which, for the record, I had to bribe someone to get the last pack of.”

“You really came all the way here... just to bring me cold supplies?”

He shrugged, kicking off his sneakers. “Sue said you were sick, and when you didn’t show up today, I figured I’d do what any irresistible fire-powered hero would do.”

“You broke into my room.”

“I entered with style,” he corrected, “Huge difference.”

She sat on the corner of the bed, the warmth in her cheeks no longer just from the fever. “You’re ridiculous.”

Johnny pulled out the soup can, shaking it gently. “And yet, here I am. Ridiculous with a side of chicken noodle.” She watched him move around her space like he belonged there. Like it wasn’t weird at all that a literal superhero had just flown into her bedroom window in the middle of a winter night. Or that her boss’s brother, Jonathan Storm himself, was standing in her room with a bag and concern written all over his face. Like taking care of her was just something he did now.

Almost as if he could sense the direction her thoughts had drifted, Johnny’s gaze wandered across the space. His expression shifted. She followed his line of sight, bracing herself. It wasn’t the Baxter Building. Not even close. He lived among glass walls and touchscreens, floors that practically cleaned themselves, and a fridge that probably told you the weather and your mood. Her apartment, in comparison, felt like it belonged in another century. The kind of place with creaky floorboards and mismatched furniture passed down, not bought.

Framed photos lined her dresser. A school portrait from second grade with pigtails. A blurry snapshot of her with a chocolate-covered mouth at a birthday party. Trinkets from forgotten vacations. A chipped ceramic dish that held earrings and loose change. The floral wallpaper had peeled in places, but she hadn’t bothered to fix it.

And then… the books. He turned toward the far wall, stopping short. “Whoa.” Her eyes followed his. Three narrow shelves were mounted unevenly, packed end to end with novels. Classics, sci-fi, romance, history. Some stacked sideways, others crammed on top of one another like a game of bookish Tetris. And that wasn’t counting the ones on the floor. Piles of them leaned against the wall, curling at the corners, some clearly re-read until the spines cracked.

“You… uh,” Johnny said, gesturing at the organized chaos. “You ever think about getting an actual bookcase?”

She blinked. “The shelves work fine.”

“They’re working overtime,” he replied, stepping closer. “You’re one sneeze away from a paperback avalanche.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “They’ve survived this long.”

“I think we oughta ban you from the bookstore until you figure out a better way to display this incredibly large collection of yours,” he teased, eyeing the leaning towers of novels like they might collapse at any moment.

“That’s only about a third of it,” she admitted, voice raspy with exhaustion. “I’ve got boxes tucked in closets. Bit of a hoarder when it comes to books…”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Johnny said, still grinning. Then, after a beat, his expression softened. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be making you talk this much. You sound like you’ve been gargling gravel.” He glanced around the room again, his gaze landing on a small door just to the right of her bed. “Bathroom?” he asked, nodding toward it.

She nodded. Without another word, he made his way over and opened the door. She frowned slightly when it didn’t close behind him, her curiosity rising, until she heard the faucet turn on.

The sound of running water filled the room, followed by the creak of a cabinet and the soft clatter of what she guessed was a soap dish. He emerged a moment later, brushing his hands together. “Alright. Got the water running. Not too hot, not too cold. Just enough to ease the pain.”

She blinked at him. “You drew me a bath?”

He shrugged, casual. “Better you try it while someone’s here to make sure you don’t drown or fall and hurt yourself.”

She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half disbelief. “Wow. That’s… unexpected.”

“I’m full of surprises, sweetheart.” He turned, walking back toward the window like he might be heading out. But then he stopped and looked back at her with a more serious expression. “I’ll wait downstairs. Unless you want me to go?” His voice was light, but there was a flicker of something unsure beneath it. His eyes dropped to his sock-covered feet, as if she might suddenly ask him to grab his sneakers, climb back out the window, and forget this ever happened.

For a moment, she said nothing, just watched him, feeling the warmth behind her ribs outweigh the fever in her skin. “You can stay,” she said softly. His head came back up at that, relief flickering across his features. “But,” she added, clearing her throat, “no making fun of Mr. Bear or anything else mildly embarrassing you may come across. I’m too fevered to fight back right now.”

He gave a low chuckle, hand already over his heart. “Scout’s honor. I’ll be on my best behavior. And I’d never mock… Mr. Bear,” he paused, testing the word as his eyes settled on the little brown teddy bear on her bed. 

She rose unsteadily from the bed, and for a second, he instinctively stepped forward, attempting to steady her but she waved him off gently, managing her way to the bathroom door. Just before disappearing inside, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“Hey Jonathan?”

“Yeah?” Hearing his full name, not the one he went by, was a step in the right direction, but still felt entirely too formal for his liking. Still, he fought the grin threatening to take over his face at the small concession she’d offered.

“Thank you,”

His mouth opened like he had something clever to say, but what came out was softer. “Anytime, Doll.”

She lingered just a moment more after the door clicked shut, listening faintly as his socked footsteps padded away from her bedroom. A second later, the soft creak of the floorboards in the hall told her he was far enough to respect her privacy. She exhaled slowly and turned toward the bathroom. Warm steam curled gently around the frame as she stepped inside. The tub was already filling, the water swirling with just enough heat to soothe without scalding. But what stopped her wasn’t the bath. It was the candles.

Three of them. Set along the edge of the sink and the corner of the tub, flickering softly. Matchbook she kept in the drawer absent. He’d lit them. So she wouldn’t have to use the bright overhead light. Her chest tightened. Just a little. She didn’t dwell on it. A few minutes later, she sank into the water, the warmth pulling a shaky sigh from her lips. It didn’t erase the ache in her bones, but it helped. The low flicker of candlelight danced across the tile. Johnny Storm. Lighting candles. Drawing baths. She smiled faintly to herself. 

Ten minutes. That was all she could manage before the fatigue started tugging her under. She climbed out carefully, dried off, slipped into fresh clothes. Sweats, thick socks, and the hoodie she usually reserved for laundry days. It smelled like clean cotton and fabric softener. Damp but brushed hair soaking through the material, she padded down the stairs slowly, gripping the rail for balance.

Her apartment hummed. Soft record on the turnstyle, Elvis it sounded like, and the occasional soft clink of metal against ceramic. When she turned the corner into the kitchen, she saw him. Johnny was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup with focused intensity. He’d found one of her oversized mugs and had clearly decided it doubled as a bowl.  He hadn’t noticed her yet.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him. This was... new. Unexpected. And honestly? Kind of nice. She couldn’t recall the last time someone had gone out of their way to take care of her. “Didn’t burn the place down, did you?” she rasped, voice still rough but lighter than before.

Johnny turned, surprise flickering across his face before it gave way to something softer. “There she is,” he said, voice low, dramatic in that way television hosts announced the mundane like it was breaking coverage. “Looking a little more alive.”

She moved slowly, cautiously, into the kitchen. Her legs were still shaky, but the bath had cleared some of the fog in her head. “I’d say it smells good, but I currently can’t smell much,” she murmured, eyeing the oversized mug he was ladling soup into.

“I didn’t screw it up, or go snooping while I waited,” Johnny said. 

She slid into one of the kitchen chairs. The wood was cold, grounding. “Thank you,” she said simply.

He set the mug down in front of her, along with a spoon, then sat across from her, forearms resting on the table. For a moment, there was only the sound of the spoon clinking against ceramic as she stirred the soup, letting the steam warm her face. She felt the weight of his gaze but didn’t look up. “You didn’t have to stay,” she said eventually.

“I know,” he replied. “Didn’t really feel like leaving.”

She glanced up at him then. His hair was still tousled from the wind, his cheeks faintly pink from the cold. He looked almost out of place in her old kitchen, like a snapshot from someone else’s life. “You could’ve just dropped the stuff off,” she said.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I don’t know. I just, wanted to be sure you were okay.”

She broke eye contact, focusing on the soup instead. “This is a lot of effort for someone who is simply your sister’s overglorified secretary.”

Johnny smiled faintly. “I stopped seeing you as just ‘Sue’s assistant.’ a long time ago.”

She went still at that. He didn’t push it. She took a slow sip of soup, Let it warm her from the inside out. He waited patiently, watching her without hovering. “This is good,” she said after a beat, voice low.

“Not much of a cook, but I’m good at heating things up,” he said. “It’s kind of my thing.” That got a small smile from her, the first real one since she sat down.

Johnny stood slowly, the chair legs scraping softly against the tile. For a second, she thought he might walk off, give her space again. But instead, he circled the table and lowered himself into the chair beside her. She turned slightly, eyes following him, uncertain. He didn’t speak, just reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her forehead. His palm was cool, fingers steady. She leaned into it without thinking.

Still too warm. His brow twitched. His touch moved gently, sliding from her forehead to the side of her face, then drifting into the damp strands of her hair. He paused there, fingers tangled loosely in it. “You’re soaked,” he murmured finally, barely above a whisper. “It’s going to keep you sick.”

Her breath caught, at the quiet concern in his voice, at how close he was now, at the way his fingers held more tenderness than she was used to. Before she could say anything, he pulled back slightly. Palm smooth over her head, and then: Warmth.

Not fever-warm, but something softer. A slow, radiating heat that started at the base of her skull and traveled through the heavy strands of her hair. She could feel it shift, lifting dampness, drying gently. It was careful, completely in control, and absent of the heat she knew him capable of. She closed her eyes. When it faded, her hair was dry. Still tousled and messy, sure, but no longer soaking through her sweater. No longer clinging to her skin.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Johnny’s hand dropped, resting lightly on his thigh. He didn’t meet her gaze right away. His eyes were on the floor, like he hadn’t meant to do it. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line. She didn’t say anything. Just reached for the spoon again, when she noticed his other hand resting near it. She brushed their fingers together intentionally.  His head turned toward her at that. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “Thanks.”

He only nodded. But he didn’t move away. “Our mom used to get on Sue about going to bed with wet hair,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough at the edges now. “She’d lecture her every time, like it was some cardinal sin.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, even as exhaustion pressed behind her eyes. Johnny glanced at her again, then down at where her hand was still resting on his. “Sorry,” he said. “I should’ve asked first.”

She shook her head. “Johnny, it’s okay.” The name slipped out too easily, too naturally. Her eyes widened slightly at the sound of it. So did his.

“You called me Johnny,” he said, turning more fully toward her now.

“Yes,” she murmured, suddenly self-conscious, “but—”

“No ‘Mr. Storm.’ No ‘Jonathan.’ I admit, I kind of thought you’d take that to your grave.”

She gave a tired, almost embarrassed laugh. “Blame the fever.”

He didn’t smile this time, just looked at her a beat too long. “You don’t have to pretend with me right now. You don’t have to be professional. I sought you out, remember? After hours.”

Her fingers shifted slightly against his. “You’re my boss’s brother,” she said, though it came out thinner than she intended. The old lines she’d drawn between them felt faded now, like chalk in the rain.

“And you’re not at work,” Johnny replied, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “You’re sick, and alone, and I’m not here because anyone asked me to be. I’m here because I want to be.”

She looked down again. Not at their hands, but somewhere past them. “I don’t… let people see me like this,” she admitted. 

“I noticed,” he said gently. That pulled her gaze back to him, an almost startled kind of glance. He held it. “I mean, you are practically apologizing every time you cough. Got those apologetic eyes,” he added, more lightly, but the warmth in his tone didn’t waver.

She let out a soft breath. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “I guess I thought if I stayed professional enough, you’d stop looking at me like I was…”

“What?” he asked.

“Like you are right now,” she whispered, too worn down to keep the words in.

Johnny’s brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t think I could stop looking at you like this if I tried.”

The words hung in the space between them. They were irritatingly sincere. Something about the way he said it made her throat tighten. Her chest rose and fell, slow and steady, like she was grounding herself. She didn’t respond. Couldn’t. The moment felt too fragile. Heavy with something she wasn’t sure she had the clarity to unpack just yet. Not tonight. Not like this, bleary-eyed and fever-warm, emotions unguarded and closer to the surface than they usually were.

But what struck her most was that he didn’t push. He didn’t follow it up with another line or ask her what she was thinking. He didn’t move closer or lean in. He just… gave her room to sit with it. And that, more than anything, made her exhale a quiet, breath of relief. Because the truth was, she didn’t trust herself right now. Not with her head foggy and her heart aching and all these new emotions rising like steam off hot pavement. She couldn’t tell yet if they were real or just fever-drunk fiction. And she needed space to know the difference.

“Alright,” he said, pushing his chair back with an exaggerated sigh. “Moving on before I say something less than charming and ruin the whole mood. If you’re done with that” he nodded to her soup, “I’ll take care of it while you go lay back down.”

She blinked. “I can—”

“Nope,” he cut in. “Your only job right now is not fainting on your way to the couch. I’ll handle the rest.” She watched him collect her mug and spoon with an ease that made the whole thing feel normal. Like he’d done this before. Like taking care of her wasn’t some burden or performance. He turned back, halfway to the sink. “Also, I put on something actually worth watching. What’s the point of being sick if you’re stuck with the news? You need something comforting.”

She narrowed her eyes faintly, wary. “Like what?”

“Like something you enjoy,” he said over his shoulder, rinsing out the mug and tossing the rest of the soup.

She wandered toward the television, feet dragging softly across the floor. She hardly watched anything these days, but her fingers moved on instinct, flipping to the one channel she remembered always airing the reruns that brought her a strange kind of comfort.

By the time he returned and dropped onto the couch beside her, she had already sunk into the cushions, blanket pulled around her shoulders, the black-and-white with intro music drifting through the room. He raised a brow, surprised. “The Twilight Zone?”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, glancing over.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just wouldn’t have guessed you were a Serling girl.”

“It’s my favorite,” she said, voice low but sincere.

Johnny leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing top-secret intel. “Can I let you in on a secret?” She arched a brow, waiting. “It’s my favorite too.”

A soft scoff escaped her lips before she gently shoved his shoulder, surprising even herself with the casual contact. “You are such a liar, Jonathan Storm.”

He grinned, relaxed and unbothered. “I’m not. You can ask Susie. I still make her watch them with me, though she claims I just like how dramatic the opening theme is.”

She gave him a sideways look. “That does sound like you.”

He turned back to the screen, his expression growing briefly more thoughtful. “I really like that one with the World War I pilot. Y’know, the guy who disappears through the cloud and ends up going back to save his comrade.”

Her eyes flicked over to him, a little surprised at the depth of the reference. “That’s a good one,” she murmured, tucking her legs up beneath her. “Kind of poetic, actually.”

She tried not to unpack the notions under his favorite episode. The idea he saved lives for a living, and he seemingly understood what standing one’s ground to save others meant. It was a sad thought. One day he may do the same to save his family or a civilian. 

He smiled, oblivious to her internal thoughts, and said nothing else. For a moment, the show filled the room with that strange mix of eerie music and philosophical narration. The light flickered gently on both of their faces, shadows shifting as they sat in silence. Then Johnny glanced over at her and frowned. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her hands were balled beneath the blanket and her skin was noticeably pale.

“You’ve got chills,” he said, already sliding closer. “You should be under like, six blankets right now.”

“I’ve got one,” she pointed out, feebly. He didn’t say anything, just reached for the other end of the blanket she had half-draped over herself and scooted closer until he could pull it around both of them. She went rigid. “Johnny, don’t. I don’t want you to get sick.”

He gave a short, soft laugh. “Sweetheart, cosmically altered DNA makes it nearly impossible to get sick”

“But still—”

He turned slightly to face her, his expression gentler now. “Hey,” he said, voice low. “Let me take care of you.”

She looked at him for a long second. Her guard almost rose again, but didn’t. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe it was the warmth he gave off, literally and otherwise. Or maybe she was just too tired to keep pretending she didn’t want him close. So she nodded, and leaned, just slightly, into the space between them. And Johnny, in his own quiet way, shifted to make room. Pulled her in.

He was warm. But it wasn’t harsh. It was like curling up beside a sunlit window, steady and soft, and she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held her without expecting something in return. Actually, the last time was the night he walked her home. She rested her head against his shoulder, her body finally beginning to settle, her muscles less tense, her breathing slower. “See?” he murmured, voice close to her ear. 

She huffed out a faint laugh. “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Unbelievably.”

The episode played on, but she barely registered it, her body finally relaxing into the pull of warmth and fatigue. Every now and then, she felt Johnny’s fingers shift where they rested along her arm, just light, absentminded motions. 

“You really don’t do this much, do you?” he asked after a quiet minute. She didn’t answer right away. “Let people take care of you,” he clarified gently, as if afraid to spook her.

“I don’t really know how,” she admitted. “I got used to being the person who handles things. Who keeps the wheels turning.”

Johnny nodded, not teasing now, not performing. “I see that.”

“Being vulnerable,” she added, “it never felt safe. Even when it was.”

There was a beat of quiet between them. “You don’t owe anyone softness,” he said, voice low and even. “But you deserve to have it. When you want it.”

That made her blink. Not because it was overly sweet or romantic, but because it was… kind. Thoughtful. Honest. And completely unexpected coming from someone the world painted as a hotshot. “Thanks,” she said, and meant it.

“For what?”

“For being much more than I originally thought you were. You’re, well for a lack of better words, kind.”

Johnny chuckled at that, his hand brushing over her blanket-covered arm in a casual motion. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she murmured, her voice already starting to drift with sleep.

“Noted.” Her head grew heavier on his shoulder, and Johnny didn’t move, just adjusted slightly to let her rest more comfortably, eyes flicking back toward the screen but not really watching. Outside, the city moved on. Cars in the distance, and the hum of nightlife. But in that little pocket of warmth and television static, she was finally still.

And Johnny, for once, was content to be quiet.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

She was back at work. Back to pressed collars and polite emails, back to the soft echo of her heels against the polished floors. Her desk was where she’d left it. The schedule just as full. Sue had barely let her finish “I’m fine, really” before sweeping her into two meetings and asking for three updates. It was easier, in a way: Slipping back into routine. No vulnerability required. No warmth, no weight, just structure and the quiet comfort of being needed.

And yet. Her fingers paused on the keyboard.Her mind drifted back to that night. To the TV flickering in her living room, the glow of black-and-white episodes washing over her walls. To Johnny’s arm around her, steady and warm. He hadn’t stayed. At some point, long after she’d fallen asleep, he’d moved her upstairs to bed. She hadn’t even stirred. Just woke the next morning under her own blankets, still flushed with the remains of fever and confusion, the TV off, a note on the counter in barely-legible handwriting:

Didn’t want to wake you. Get some rest, and I’ll check in later. — Your own personal Prince Charming aka Johnny Storm

She hadn’t told anyone. Not even Sue. Not because it was a secret, but because the words weren’t easy to find. Something had shifted, but she didn’t know what name to give it yet.

Not a romance, not exactly. But something more than familiarity. Something quiet. Unrushed. She rubbed her temple absently, eyes flicking to the digital clock on the bottom corner of her monitor. A little past three. The week had crawled and sprinted all at once, especially after returning on Tuesday. Her gaze drifted toward the tote bag tucked under her desk. She’d brought the book with her. The one Johnny had picked out. 

John Clare had been a delightful surprise. There was something raw and untamed about his work, brilliant and aching in a way that clung to her long after she’d set the book down. He wasn’t polished like the other Romantics. His verses didn’t care for perfection. They bled loneliness and dirt and madness, and somehow, they still made her feel seen. Clare was a laborer, a man of the earth, not the universities. His longing was not performative, but primal. Honest. It had struck a chord she hadn’t expected. 

She still had a day left before Saturday. What had started as a casual coincidence now felt like something... A rhythm. A tether to something outside her routines. It wasn’t grand, or loud, or public. But it was theirs. And she was looking forward to it. More than she wanted to admit. Not just for the books. Not even for the quiet comfort of thumbing through dusty spines in side-by-side silence.

But because she was genuinely eager to hear his thoughts on Verne. His take on the moral gray areas, the invention of impossible machines, the way he always seemed to latch onto the underdog character no one else noticed. She wanted to talk about what she’d read. Wanted to see the way his eyes lit up when he made a point, or how he interrupted himself when he got too excited. She wanted to know what he’d pick next for her. She wanted to sit next to him and—

God. Those eyes. That particular shade of crystalline blue that somehow still felt warm. The bashful smile he sometimes slipped into when he was proud of something and didn’t want to say so. The way it curved gently at the edge of his full lips like a secret. 

She blinked hard, realizing she was staring at her monitor, her browser still open to a tab she hadn’t meant to click. With a quiet sigh, she closed it. Her fingers returned to the keyboard, but the page in front of her looked like static.

Focus? Long gone.

It was as if Johnny Storm — brash, ridiculous, too-handsome Johnny Storm — had shown up with that ridiculous navy blue backpack and cracked something open in her. Not with grand gestures. Not with fire and flair. But with soup. With gentle whispers into her damp hair. With the quiet, unexpected way he’d tucked her in and left without needing to be thanked.

And that was the part she couldn’t shake. Johnny Storm was kind. Truly. In a way people didn’t give him credit for. He was the type to pay attention when no one thought he was looking. The kind of person who remembered how you took your coffee. Who lit candles so the light wouldn’t hurt your eyes when you were sick.

He was careful with her. Considerate. Like she was something delicate and worth handling gently, not because she was fragile, but because she deserved the opportunity to be if she chose it. That’s what he said. Said she deserved the choice of being soft. And somehow, that made her head pound worse than any flu ever could.

The quiet hum of her thoughts was broken by the subtle ping of the pager clipped to her waistband.

SUE RICHARDS : OFFICE. ASAP.

She sighed, already pushing back her chair, straightening her blouse in the reflection of her black screen. Back to business. Back to the part of her life where everything made sense, where emotion had its place. Boxed and filed neatly beneath efficiency. But as she reached for the doorknob to close the door behind her, something stopped her. Soft yellow and crooked at the corner, a sticky note clung to the wood just above eye level. She stared for a beat before plucking it off.

"Hope your day is fantastic. See what I did there? Fantastic. Anyways, Johnny"

There was a tiny doodle of a winking face next to his name. Also a little doodle of their team's logo next to the word fantastic. Of course there was.

Her lips twitched. And then, despite every effort not to, she smiled. It was ridiculous. The handwriting was awful, and the joke barely qualified as a pun. But it was so very him. Playful, charming, and still, somehow, thoughtful. He hadn’t made it into a performance. Just a small note, as if to be respectful of her packed schedule with the lost days this week. Meant for her, and no one else. She pressed it flat between her fingers for a moment, then carefully tucked it into the side pocket of her planner before heading down the hall toward Sue’s office, still smiling. 

Saturday needed to hurry up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Saturday morning came quietly, sunlight sifting through gauzy curtains in pale ribbons. The kind of morning that felt like a breath held just a little longer than usual. She put on music while getting dressed. Something light and old. The kind of record that made the apartment feel like it belonged to a version of her she hadn’t let exist in a long time. Normally, Saturday meant comfort. Casual. Efficient. But today…Today, she hesitated over her wardrobe. No T-shirt. A sweater instead: soft blue and warm against her skin. A nicer pair of jeans. The nail lacquer she’d brushed on the night before had dried into a muted burgundy that made her feel quietly elegant. Her makeup was subtle, but thoughtful. Deliberate. She didn’t think too hard about the why. Not yet. Maybe for once, she didn’t need to analyze or compartmentalize what this was. Maybe she could just let it be. It wasn’t a confession or a declaration. It was a choice. To feel something. To want something. To allow herself to be soft. 

A lightness threaded through her chest as she smoothed down the hem of her sweater. Something weightless and unfamiliar, like the feeling of stepping outside just before a storm breaks and realizing, for once, you don’t mind if it rained.

A knock at the door. Startled, she blinked and glanced at the clock. He wasn’t supposed to meet her at the shop for another thirty minutes. Curious, she jogged down the narrow staircase of her townhouse, feet against the old wood, and pulled open the front door, only to be met with…Wood. A solid wall of it.

She stepped back instinctively, eyes adjusting to the unexpected sight. It wasn’t a wall. It was furniture. A bookcase. A towering, beautifully worn, dark walnut bookshelf stood on her porch like some kind of offering from the gods of literature themselves. And behind it, peeking over the top, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, was Johnny Storm. “Surprise!”

Her eyes widened. “What in the world—?”

“I know we said bookstore,” he said, edging the bookshelf forward with careful steps, “but I figured if I’m going to keep enabling your addiction, you need somewhere to put your hoard.”

“My collection,” she corrected, stunned, still standing in the open doorway.

“My mistake,” he said solemnly, stepping into full view. His hair was wind-tousled, cheeks flushed with cold and exertion, the sleeves of his henley pushed up to his elbows. He looked infuriatingly handsome. Like he’d just stepped out of an autumn-themed magazine spread. “I rescued it from a junk shop down in Brooklyn,” he added. “Had to sweet-talk the guy to part with it. Said it belonged to some ex-college professor who chain-smoked and read philosophy aloud to his cats.”

She blinked at him. Then at the bookcase. Then back at him. “You… dragged a whole bookcase to my house?”

“I carried it,” he corrected proudly, setting it down with a grunt just inside the threshold. “Didn’t trust a delivery service not to damage it. Plus, dramatic entrances are kind of my thing.”

She stared for another breath. Then, without fully meaning to, she laughed. Not a polite chuckle. Not a tight-lipped smile. But a genuine, bubbling laugh that warmed the air between them. Johnny’s grin softened at the edges as he looked at her. “I figured if we’re going to hang out in bookstores every Saturday, you need a place to keep the spoils.”

She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been called worse.” But he didn’t step back. Not yet. Just stood in her doorway like he belonged there, looking pleased with himself and, at the same time, strangely... hopeful. She rested a hand lightly on the edge of the bookshelf, fingers grazing the worn wood. It was beautiful. Not new. Not modern. But solid. Thoughtful. Like he’d really looked for something that would suit her, not just fill a space.

“I love it,” she said quietly. And she meant it.

“I saw it and immediately thought of you,” he admitted. She looked up at him then, brows faintly lifted. “Not in a weird way,” he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Just… it felt like something solid. Not some new modern thing that doesn’t fit the vibe of your place, but something that would last a couple generations.”

She nodded once, slow. “It’s perfect.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her. Eyes soft, the usual spark of mischief dimmed down to a low, steady glow. She was still in the sweater she’d picked carefully that morning, her hair half-tucked behind her ears, eyes brighter than they’d been in days.

“You feeling better?” he asked finally.

“Getting there,” she said.

“Good.” He leaned slightly against the bookshelf, arms crossing. “Because I was hoping maybe we could still do the bookstore. Unless you want to stay in. I can take down those poor shelves and set up this bad boy. Promise I’ll try not to set anything ablaze if I get frustrated.”

She laughed, “I think the bookstore’s still on the table,” she said, then glanced at the shelf again. “But maybe we move this first? I don’t want it sitting in the doorway all day, reminding the neighbors how weird I am.”

Johnny grinned. “You mean how classy and well-read you are?”

“I mean how I’ve let a man deliver furniture to my door like some Regency-era courtship ritual.”

He smirked. “If this is a courtship ritual, I’m definitely doing it wrong. I should’ve brought flowers.”

She stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Next time, maybe.”

He arched a brow. “So you’re saying there’ll be a next time?”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Get the bookcase in the door first, Romeo.” With a dramatic sigh and an over-the-top bow, Johnny lifted the bookshelf again and carried it inside, the wood groaning slightly as he maneuvered it through the narrow entryway. She closed the door behind him, warmth curling at the edges of her stomach as she watched him start up the stairs without being told what to do. 

Johnny Storm had been in her home before. Enough to feel comfortable navigating it on his own. Something that should’ve felt more disarming than it did. She followed behind him. He knocked her bedroom door ajar with his foot and stepped in, mindful of the pair of shoes she’d been planning to wear before he showed up unannounced. Glancing around her tidy room he smiled as he looked at her made bed. A grin tugged at his mouth. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Bear. Survived the great fever of the century, huh?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile. “I thought we had a no-teasing agreement about Mr. Bear.”

“We did,” he said, already walking toward the corner where the old wall shelves sagged under the weight of her books. “But it was provisional, and frankly, I’m reconsidering the terms.”

She scoffed softly, leaning against the doorframe as he set the bookcase down with care. He was already sizing up the room, scanning for a suitable spot. “Do you happen to have much in the way of tools?”

Her nose wrinkled with a grimace. “Sparse would be generous. I have a sad little drill I found at a pawn shop in Harlem. Missing most of the bits. Pretty sure it gave its dying breath the last time I tried to hang a curtain rod.”

Johnny winced in playful sympathy. “Let me take a look. Maybe I can coax it back to life.”

She raised a brow. “Since when do you fix power tools?”

He glanced over at her, feigning offense. “I do have an engineering degree, you know. I wasn’t just invited to the Baxter Building for my charming smile or last name.”

Her lips twitched. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He grinned, that easy, spark-in-his-eyes grin. “I actually worked. Built things. Ran simulations. Helped Reed maintain the ship before everything went sideways. Just because I light on fire doesn’t mean I forgot my mechanics classes.”

She nodded, quiet again. Another layer. One more thing about him that didn’t come through in headlines or swaggering entrances. It wasn’t loud or performative, it was subtle. Quietly competent. Jonathan Storm was kind. He was loyal in a way that wrapped around the people he cared about without asking for anything in return. And, frustratingly, he was smart. Not just clever, but sharp. Capable.

It was borderline infuriating to watch him revive the half-dead drill with a few taps and a muttered, “Come on, don’t embarrass me now,” and then methodically take apart the sagging old shelves. He moved with a purpose, placing the new bookcase against the wall like he already knew exactly how she’d want it.

She’d meant to help. Maybe even offer to hold a side steady or hand him screws. But she’d ended up sitting there instead, caught in the tangle of her own thoughts, watching him work like he belonged there. And then he sat beside her on the edge of the bed, his warmth brushing against her skin. “Something wrong?” he asked, voice soft.

She hesitated, then let out a breath. “Just thinking.”

He nudged her knee gently with his own. “About...?”

“You.”

He turned his head to look at her fully. “What about me?”

She swallowed, gaze fixed somewhere near the floorboards. “I just… I was wrong about you. In so many ways.”

There was a pause.“How so?” he asked quietly.

She exhaled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before meeting his eyes. “You told me you liked that I didn’t have this idea of you in my head. And maybe it looked that way from the outside. But Sue warned me before I ever took this job what I’d be dealing with. And I don’t live under a rock, Johnny. Your face is everywhere: News outlets, gossip blogs, billboards. You’re a public figure, and people talk.”

He didn’t flinch, just listened. “I didn’t want to make assumptions. But... It's human nature, isn’t it? You take what you’ve seen, what people tell you, and whether you mean to or not, you start to build a version of someone in your head.”

She laughed softly, almost bitterly, and looked away. “But then you showed up. You took care of me when I had no one else around. You noticed I didn’t have a bookcase and carried one across the city for me like it was nothing. You’ve been thoughtful. Selfless. And every time you do something like that, it makes me feel guilty. For getting you so incredibly wrong.”

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was low but steady.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being careful,” he said. “And yeah... people do look for patterns in others. We make snap judgments to protect ourselves. I’ve done it, too.”

He shifted, glancing down at his hands before meeting her gaze again. “But when I said I liked that you didn’t have an idea of me in your head, I meant that you didn’t treat me like I was just the Human Torch. You didn’t flirt, or flatter, or try to get something out of me.”

She blinked, surprised. “I had a wall up.”

He smiled faintly. “Exactly. It was all business. No games. And for some reason… that was comforting. Honest. You didn’t pretend to like me.”

“I didn’t know you.”

“And now you do?”

A beat. Her voice dropped. “I’m starting to.”

Johnny’s expression softened, but he didn’t push. He sat with it for a moment, then gave a half-smile. “Well… I guess it’s my job now to keep getting to know you without screwing it up somehow, huh?”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes drifted to the bookcase again. The dark wood, worn at the edges, like it had lived another life before finding its way to her room. “Why me?” she asked quietly.

He blinked. “What do you mean? I feel like I just—”

“No, not really,” she cut in gently. “You’ve said pieces. But I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. You could be anywhere. With anyone. And somehow, you’ve ended up… here. Sitting on my bed. Moving furniture. Talking like this. With your sister’s assistant.” He opened his mouth, but she kept going, voice tightening just a bit. “And before you say it, yes, I am Sue’s assistant. That’s how you know me. That’s the reason we’ve spoken at all. But why go past that? Why become… familiar? Why keep showing up?”

Her eyes met his, searching for something. Johnny sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t answer right away. “When I first met you,” he said slowly, “you treated me like I was just another guy getting in the way of your schedule. You barely looked at me. You were busy. Focused. Unimpressed.”

She tilted her head, arms crossed, but her expression had softened.

“And yeah, maybe I thought it was funny,” he admitted. “The Human Torch getting iced out by someone who literally booked my schedule the day before. But it didn’t feel like a joke. It felt… refreshing.”

His gaze found hers, steadier now. “You weren’t trying to be liked. You weren’t interested in some version of me that other people expect. You were honest. Blunt. Professional to a fault, honestly. And then, little by little, I started noticing things.”

“Like?”

He smiled faintly. “Like how you hum when you’re trying to multitask. Or how you pretend you don’t care about your desk plants dying but secretly bring in new ones every time. Or how you never ask for help, even when you obviously need it.” Her brows lifted, surprised. “I noticed, because I started caring. And I didn’t mean to, not at first. But the more I paid attention, the more I realized you were someone who listens more than she speaks. Someone who takes care of everyone else and doesn’t let anyone take care of her.”

He paused. “And I guess I just wanted to show up. Because not many people do, for you. And you sure as hell won’t ask. I can’t wrap my mind around someone who’s so selfless, so good to Suzie and Franklin, scheduling down time for Reed so he’ll take it, or can make Ben smile, being all alone in this city.”

The room was quiet again. Still. Then, her voice came, softer than before. “You make it hard not to care back, you know.” Johnny’s eyes flicked up, a little stunned by the honesty in her tone. She gave a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t even know when it changed. One minute you were just this... constant distraction. Loud, dramatic, always two steps from setting something on fire—”

“Three steps,” he said automatically, lips quirking.

She shot him a look, but didn’t lose her thread. “And then it just… shifted. Somewhere along the line, I started looking forward to seeing you come around. You brought me coffee and I started enjoying your nonsense. The teasing. Even the interruptions.” She glanced down at her hands, picking at her sleeve absently. She looked up again, meeting his eyes. “I guess I realized I liked you a lot more than I thought. That I liked having you around. More than I wanted to admit.”

Johnny blinked, then gave a quiet smile. But there was something softer behind it now. Something grateful. Like hearing it from her was something he'd wanted, but hadn’t expected. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured, “how rare it is for me to feel... understood? At least by people who aren’t family. It’s easier to be that version of myself so people don’t go digging.”

She shrugged a little. “You’re not that hard to understand, Johnny. You want to be taken seriously. You want to be more than what people out there know you for. And you are. You’re so much more.”

The space between them had shrunk without either of them noticing. They weren’t touching, not yet, but the distance was gone. It was just them now, the air thick with everything they hadn’t said until now. He reached out, not to grab her hand, but to rest his fingers near hers. “You don’t have to decide anything today,” he said quietly. “But if you ever wonder why it’s you, it’s because I feel more like myself around you than I do anywhere else.”

Her hand turned slightly, brushing against his. “I already decided,” she said. That made him still. “I don’t know what it means yet,” she added, voice barely audible, “but I decided the day you brought soup and took care of me.”

He grinned wide and disbelieving. “That was your moment?”

She gave a soft, shy smile. “Yeah. That was it.”

A beat. “Can I kiss you now, or would that ruin everything?”

She didn’t speak right away. But her smile deepened just a little. Her eyes met his, steady and warm. “It wouldn’t ruin anything,” she said.

And that was all it took. Johnny leaned in. Not rushed, not cocky, not the flirty bravado he used to wear like armor, but careful, like he knew exactly what this moment meant. His hand hovered at her cheek, giving her the space to stop him if she wanted to. But she didn’t. When their lips met, it wasn’t fireworks or sparks, it was something softer. The kind of kiss that didn’t feel like a beginning or an ending, but like something already known.

She felt him exhale through his nose, slow and steady, like even he couldn’t believe it was finally happening. His hand brushed her jaw, thumb resting lightly at her cheekbone as he pulled back only slightly, their foreheads touching now. “You taste like coffee,” he murmured.

She laughed under her breath. “You taste like smug satisfaction.”

He grinned, eyes still closed. “Can’t help it. Been wanting to do that since the day you sternly called me Mr. Storm like some old librarian."

“That was literally the first thing I ever said to you.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head, forehead still pressed to his. “This is probably a terrible idea.”

He opened his eyes, just barely. “Yeah. Probably.” And then she kissed him again, because if this was a bad idea, it was already too late.

A few minutes later, they’d migrated back to the pillows, not in a rush of passion, but a slow sprawl of limbs and conversation. The bookcase stood quietly against the far wall, half-filled with the books Johnny had started placing before everything spiraled into confessions and kisses. She lay on her side, head resting in her palm as she watched him stretch out beside her, one arm slung over his stomach.

“Does Sue know you’re here?” she asked, teasing.

Johnny snorted. “She knows I’m with you. Doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, beyond a shared appreciation for literature, but she’s definitely suspicious.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“She is usually right,” he said with a grin.

Her fingers drifted lazily across the edge of his sleeve, brushing the fabric like she was trying to memorize the feel of it. “Hey Johnny… This... whatever this is between us, it doesn’t have to be some big, dramatic thing.”

He turned to her, the grin fading into something quieter. “No. It doesn’t. But it’s something. And I’m not going to pretend it’s not.”

She nodded once. “Good. Because I’m done pretending, too.”

There was a stillness after that. Not awkward, but content. Comfortable. Then Johnny tilted his head, a slow smirk playing at his mouth. “So... will you let me take you out sometime? Go steady, as the youths say these days?”

She rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder. “Please don’t say ‘go steady.’”

He caught her hand before it fell away, bringing it to his lips in a way that felt effortless. Familiar. “That’s not a no,” he murmured.

She smiled, soft and certain. “It’s a yes. I’d love to let you take me out.”

“Perfect.” He glanced around the room, then back at her with a mischievous glint. “Can we still go to the bookstore?”

She let out a laugh, surprised by how easy it was to imagine. The two of them wandering between shelves, arguing over paperbacks, drinking coffee. They’d done it already but now instead of tiptoeing around one another, they’d be pretending they weren’t quietly obsessed with each other. Pressing kissing in quiet corners of the store when no one was looking…

“Yes, Johnny. We can still do the bookstore.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

One month later… 

If someone had asked her back when they first met, she never would’ve paired the word gentleman with Johnny Storm. Not in a million years.

New York’s most famously charming rake? Absolutely. A flirt with a face made for magazine covers and a reputation to match? That checked out. Maybe, at some point, he had lived up to that image. She wasn’t there for all of it. Maybe he was that guy once.

But not now. Not with her.

Not since that quiet Saturday with shared kisses in her bedroom, hands brushing in the bookstore, smiles traded like secrets. Since then, Johnny had been something else entirely. 

Yes, he was still unmistakably Johnny, goofy when he thought he could get away with it, always ready with a smart remark and a ridiculous grin, but there was a kind of intention behind everything now. His coat slung over her shoulders without her asking, just because the air turned sharp in the evening. Kisses that rarely wandered beyond knuckles or the curve of her cheek in public, like he wanted to keep something about it just theirs. Doors held open. Seats pulled out. And the truly indecent comments? They were now whispered low and slow, right against her ear, where only she could hear them and usually accompanied by a devilish smile that made her want to roll her eyes and kiss him all at once.

It was strange, really. She hadn’t expected this version of him. But maybe what surprised her more was how much she liked it. How much she liked him.

Not the version plastered across gossip columns or paparazzi photos, shirt half-unbuttoned, sunglasses at night, the so-called hotshot of the Fantastic Four. But this version. The one who sent her pager “I’m proud of you” after a long day she hadn’t even mentioned was weary. The one who was slowly making his way through all her books, writing notes in the margins, just so she could read them later. The one who showed up to the office unprompted with a coffee in each hand and no real reason to be there other than the fact that he wanted to be.

It scared her sometimes, how easily he slipped into her life like he belonged there. And it surprised her even more how little resistance she’d put up when he did. Sue had taken the news with an almost alarming amount of grace. No lectures, no big-sister glares, no stern “don’t-hurt-her” speeches from the kitchen table. Just a knowing smile.

“She’s good for you,” she’d told Johnny one morning over breakfast. He’d tried to play it cool, said something like, ‘Don’t start planning the wedding just yet, Suzie,’ but she could tell how much it meant to him.

And later, Sue had pulled her aside and said, “He’s steadier with you around. Not dull. Just… softer.”

That had stayed with her. Softer. Because that’s how he made her feel, too. He didn’t dim things down. He didn’t take up all the space in the room. He just fit into it, into her world, like he’d always been there, waiting for her to notice. And now, a month in, it still didn’t feel loud or chaotic or fast. It just felt real.

With the territory of being his girl came a quiet shift in her world. A soft deviation from the life she’d been living, subtle at first, then all at once. What used to be long nights at the office, microwaved leftovers eaten in silence, and waking up to do it all over again had become something warmer. Cozier. Messier, in the best possible way.

Now there were dinners at the Baxter Building, where laughter bounced off the high-tech walls and a giggling toddler often ended up curled in her lap, sticky-fingered and beaming. There were double dates with Ben and his sweet-natured schoolteacher girlfriend, Rachel, who always brought homemade dessert and insisted they share it, no matter how full they were. There were evenings where Johnny roped her into ridiculous experiments with H.E.R.B.I.E., and she caught herself scratching the robot's “head” without thinking, just like Johnny always did.

She started keeping an extra box of that absurdly sugary marshmallow cereal in her pantry, because Johnny was prone to munching throughout the evening even after he swore he was full. Somehow, a drawer in her dresser had emptied itself without her even meaning to, only to slowly fill with worn t-shirts that smelled like smoke and soap and him. A second toothbrush had appeared in her bathroom. He didn’t even mention it, just left it there like it belonged. Hair gel. Cologne. A familiar hoodie draped over the back of her couch. Socks in the laundry she hadn’t bought. These weren’t big declarations. They weren’t moving boxes or dramatic speeches.

They were small signs that he wasn’t just passing through. That somehow, somewhere between the bookstore and those soft, sleepy mornings in her bed, Johnny Storm had started taking up space in her life. Not loudly. Not recklessly. Just… genuinely. And the wildest part? She liked it. All of it.

Even the cereal.

She hadn’t really noticed when it happened. There was no hard line or sudden declaration. No “so… are we dating now?” moment whispered over takeout. It was gradual. Now she saw him more days than she didn’t. He had a key, though neither of them had ever said the words “here, take this.” It had just appeared on his keyring one day, nestled between the fob to the garage at the Baxter Building and a tiny glow-in-the-dark Saturn “Franklin” had given him. He slept over. She stayed at his. There were goodnight chats that turned into “I’m already outside” calls. Sunday mornings with his head buried in her pillow and one arm curled around her waist like he didn’t intend to let go.

But. Despite the closeness. Despite the sleepy mornings and stolen glances and passionate kisses that left her breathless, nothing had happened in that arena. They’d slept in the same bed more times than she could count. Curled together beneath blankets, his body warm and familiar beside hers. She’d felt the tension. She knew he had too. The way his breath would catch sometimes, the way his hands would still on her waist, gripping like he was afraid to want more. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want her. That much was clear in the way he kissed her when no one else was around. Deep, slow, full of heat and intent, like he was memorizing every inch of her mouth.

But Johnny always stopped short. Sometimes with a soft groan into her neck, sometimes with a sheepish laugh, sometimes with nothing more than a lingering touch and a whispered, “Not tonight.” At first, she’d wondered if it was nerves. If he was afraid to push. Then she thought maybe it was a phase, a slow burn he wanted to savor.

But as the weeks passed and the boundaries held, close but never quite crossing, she started to realize something else. He was waiting. Not out of fear or disinterest, but… respect. Control. Maybe even intention. For a man so famously impulsive, Johnny had been anything but with her. There was restraint in the way he handled her. Not cold. Not distant. But reverent. As if what they were building was fragile in the best kind of way.

And she couldn’t lie. It made her fall even harder. He could’ve had anyone. That was never the question. But he’d chosen to go slow. With her. To let this unfold without pressure or expectation. To give her time, or maybe give them time, for whatever it was they were growing into. And the way he looked at her when she caught him watching, full of something she couldn’t quite name yet but felt like the beginnings of forever, made her wonder if, somehow, he already knew what they were becoming. Maybe he was just waiting for her to catch up.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t increasingly growing a bit… frustrating in a physical sense. Because for all of Johnny’s patience, his gentlemanly restraint, his whispered goodnights and feather-light touches, there were moments when she found herself staring at the ceiling in the dark, aching. The way his hands fit around her waist, the way his mouth moved against hers when he stopped holding back just long enough to make her dizzy, it was maddening. A kind of slow, controlled burn that curled low in her spine and settled in her chest, tightening every time he pulled away with a kiss to her shoulder and a barely-there “Goodnight.”

She wasn’t inexperienced. She knew what it meant to want someone. But this wasn’t simple want, it was suspended tension. It was nights where his breath would stutter against her skin and he’d press his forehead to hers like he was grounding himself. It was those long pauses in between kisses when her hands found the hem of his shirt and he caught her wrists, kissing her palms instead.

She wasn’t sure if it was nobility or torture. And it wasn’t like she didn’t want more. She did. God, she did. There were times when she nearly said it aloud, nearly asked him why they were still dancing around the line. But the truth was… some part of her liked that he didn’t expect it. That he hadn’t made a move even when she had, in not-so-subtle ways, invited him to.

He didn’t push. Didn’t ask. Didn’t turn her desire into an obligation. It felt… safe. Unusual, in the best way. But she couldn’t deny how much it meant. That, for once, someone wanted her, not just her body. That he could spend the night tangled up beside her and still walk away in the morning with nothing more than a sleepy smile and a joke about the way she hogged the blankets.

And yet, underneath all that comfort and affection, there was this hum of anticipation. An unspoken current that ran just below the surface. She felt it in the way his hands lingered on her back a little longer each time. The way his voice dipped when he said her name. The way he looked at her like he was imagining all the things he wasn’t doing. And it made her wonder. How long could they keep this up? Because love was growing. So was want. And somewhere between soft restraint and quiet intimacy, she knew they were on a path.

That didn’t make the waiting any easier. Especially not when she seemed to be the one feeling it most. That quiet ache followed her even when Johnny wasn’t around. It snuck in during the quiet moments: brushing her teeth at night, folding his hoodie he’d left behind again, slipping into bed alone and finding his scent still clinging to the pillow beside hers. She hated how often she caught herself imagining him there, not just beside her, but with her. Close. Pressed against her in the dark, mouth warm and purposeful, his voice gone hoarse from saying her name.

She’d never needed someone before, not like this. Not in that bone-deep, restless way where just the thought of him adjusting his sleeves or raking a hand through his hair made her chest feel too tight. Worse still, it crept into her daydreams. Mid-meeting thoughts where she’d suddenly imagine his mouth on her neck, or what it might feel like to wake up to more than just his arm slung across her waist. She’d snap out of it, cheeks warm, flustered by fantasies that came entirely uninvited.

He’d ruined her. And he didn’t even know it. Or maybe… maybe he did. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he was waiting, not because he didn’t feel it too, but because he wanted her to be the one to say it first. To ask. To choose. And part of her hated how much she wanted to. But the other part? The other part was already starting to plan what she might say the next time they were tangled up in each other’s arms, all breathless laughter and too-close proximity. The next time his lips paused just beneath her ear, and his voice dipped low enough to make her stomach twist.

The next time it would be her who didn’t allow them to stop.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The office lights had long since dimmed to half-power, casting a quiet glow across the Building's upper floor. Most of the staff had gone home hours ago, but her desk was still a pool of light and blue screens, surrounded by open folders, highlighted notes, and a half-empty coffee cup gone cold. Sue had tried to coax her out earlier: twice, actually. Once with gentle persuasion, and again with a sharper edge when persuasion didn’t work.

"You’re going to burn yourself out," Sue had warned, arms crossed in the doorway. "It’s just a press conference."

"It’s not just a press conference," she’d countered, fingers flying over her keyboard. "It’s the first time we’ve invited press into the building since the Latveria incident. If this doesn’t go smoothly, Reed’s going to spiral, and the board’s going to blame you, and you know it."

Sue had sighed, muttered something about overachievers, and finally left her to it. Now, the halls were quiet. The only sound was the soft clack of her keys and the occasional hum of the cooling vents. She didn’t even notice the elevator chime at first, or the soft, familiar footsteps that followed. Johnny leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. His hair was a little windblown, probably from flying, and he had that infuriatingly relaxed aura about him, like showing up uninvited at 11 p.m. was perfectly normal. “You know,” he drawled, “most people go home when the sun goes down.”

She didn’t look up from her screen. “Most people don’t have to prep four departments and write a twenty-minute speech for a room full of skeptical reporters tomorrow.”

“Mm.” He stepped inside, slow and deliberate. “Well, most people also don’t look this good in computer lighting, so you’ve already got a head start.”

“Johnny.”

“Just saying.” He moved behind her chair and leaned down, arms bracing either side of the desk, voice dipping near her ear. “Come home.”

She tensed, eyes still locked on the screen, though her fingers had paused on the keys. “I can’t,” she said quietly. “Not yet. It’s got to be perfect.”

“It’s already perfect.” His nose brushed lightly against her hairline, his breath warm as he spoke. “You know how I know that? Because you wrote it.”

Despite herself, she smiled faintly, gaze still fixed ahead. “Flattery doesn’t change anything.”

“No,” he agreed, lips brushing her temple, “but maybe a little light kidnapping would.”

She let out a soft laugh, finally turning toward him. He stood over her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him, but he didn’t touch her beyond the way his hand rested casually on the back of her chair. “Johnny, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said, quieter now, eyes locked on hers.

And there it was again, that shift. The playful spark hadn’t gone anywhere, but something heavier sat just beneath it. That restraint. That way he looked at her like he wanted more, but was holding himself back from asking.

She swallowed. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get close. And then stop. Like we’re both standing at the edge of something and you keep waiting for me to jump first.”

He didn’t deny it. Just watched her. “You said you wanted slow,” he said softly.

“I said I wanted real,” she replied. “And this, us, it is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel things. That I don’t want more than just—” She stopped herself. Heat bloomed in her chest and her face.

Johnny’s brow creased. “You think I don’t feel that too?”

“You never let it show. You always stop.”

He exhaled, hand dragging through his hair as he leaned back slightly. “Because if I don’t stop… I don’t think I’ll be able to.” Her heart stuttered. He stepped closer, slower now, until she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed against her jaw, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want everything with you. But I didn’t want you to think that’s all I wanted.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Because that was it, wasn’t it? The thing she couldn’t name. The thing that made her both ache and hesitate. He hadn’t been holding back because he didn’t feel it. He’d been holding back because he did. She stood slowly, rising from the chair so they were eye to eye. “You’re not just some guy I’m passing time with,” she said quietly. “I’m not here for casual.”

He reached for her then, not pulling her in, just… grounding her. Fingers grazing her waist. “Neither am I.” The air between them shifted: Warmer, denser, laced with something neither of them could ignore much longer. This time, when she leaned in to kiss him, he didn’t pull away. 

His mouth met hers like it always did, a familiar rhythm, but something had shifted. There was more behind it now. More intention. More heat. The kind that curled low in her belly and made her press in closer without thinking. His hands found her hips, steady, warm, fingers flexing but he didn’t pull away.

It wasn’t frantic or messy. It was deep. That kind of kiss that quieted everything around them and filled the room with nothing but breath and skin and want. Her fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, and for once, he didn’t stop her. Didn’t deflect with a joke or pull back with a whispered “Not tonight.”

His lips just moved with hers, hungrier now. More certain. Then, just as she started to slip her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, he froze. Not pulled away. Just… paused. She felt it immediately. That subtle change in pressure. That catch of breath. That moment when his self-control kicked back in, like a hand on the brake.

“Wait—” he said, his forehead resting against hers now, his voice low and strained. “Are we really about to do this in the office?”

She blinked, lips swollen and breathless. The glowing screens cast long shadows along the walls. It wasn’t romantic. Wasn’t planned. But somehow, none of that mattered. “No one’s here,” she whispered, touching his cheek. “It’s almost midnight. Everyone’s gone.”

His hands still rested at her waist, but he wasn’t moving. Not yet. “I just—” he exhaled, eyes closed. “I don’t want this to feel like something it’s not. You deserve… more than some desk and low lighting.”

Her voice was soft but firm. “I’m tired of waiting, Johnny.” He opened his eyes, searching hers. She continued, quieter now. “Do you really think it’s going to mean less because it’s here? Do you think I’ll look back and regret it? Because I won’t. It’s not the location that matters.” Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. “It’s you. Being with you is the part that matters.”

Something in him broke loose at that. The last of his hesitation slipped through his fingers like water, and when he kissed her again, there was no more holding back. No more careful restraint. Just months of slow-burning tension finally unraveling. And it didn’t matter that it wasn’t a bed with candles or soft music. It didn’t matter that the desk was cluttered or that she still had her heels on.

In fact, the heels were helpful.

Johnny wasn’t absurdly tall, but he had enough height on her that the added inches made things smoother, more aligned, as they stumbled in tandem, laughter and heat tangled between them. The edge of the desk bumped the backs of her thighs, and with one sweeping motion, papers went flying to the floor, coffee tipping sideways in a startled arc. Johnny barely broke rhythm. With one hand still bracing her waist, he flicked his other toward the spill, steam hissed as the liquid vanished in an instant, evaporated before it could touch a single document.

And then she was on the desk, perched firmly as he stepped between her knees. “God, I love these little skirts,” he murmured against her skin, the words half-laugh, half-groan as his lips traced down the curve of her neck. “You have no idea.”

She did, in fact, have some idea, judging by the reverent way his hands slid along her thighs, fingertips pressing in like he was discovering her body for the first time. His mouth dipped to the hollow of her throat, and he nipped there, just enough to make her breath hitch, leaving heat pooling under her skin.

Her hands moved with growing urgency, untucking his shirt with practiced ease as his own fingers toyed at the waistband of her skirt. That same slow-burning control was there in every movement, but this time there was no pulling back. No hesitation. Just the rising intensity of months of reined-in desire finally breaking surface. “You're still—” she tried to say, voice catching as he dragged his lips along her collarbone, “—obnoxiously overdressed.”

He laughed again, husky and breathless, forehead pressing to hers for a second. “You started it. And I could say the same to you,”

“Johnny.”

“Okay, okay.”

But there was no teasing now, not really. His grin softened as he looked down at her, hands stilling just long enough to give her one more chance. One last out. She leaned forward instead, brushing her mouth against his, slower now. More certain. “I want this,” she whispered. “I want you.”

He answered her without words. Just action: swift, sure, and full of intent. He leaned back, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt before tugging it over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric landed in her desk chair without a second thought. Then he was back, sliding between her knees again like he belonged there.

His hands found the edge of her blouse, tugging it free from where it was tucked neatly into her skirt. The buttons gave beneath his fingers one by one, slow at first, then with a quiet urgency, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t stand the wait anymore. “You always look so put-together,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet hers as he worked the last button. “Drives me crazy.”

His palms pushed the material off her shoulders, leaving the fabric of her bra as the only thing covering her from the waist up. Low lighting, darker now that the computer had kicked into reserve power, he still glanced at her longingly. Blue eyes tracing the exposure without hesitation. Her breath hitched, goosebumps racing along her skin as his palms slid over her sides, memorizing her shape like he needed it etched into memory. He smiled against the skin of her shoulder, pressing a kiss there. “You ruin me. You know that, right?”

She pulled him back to her by the waistband of his jeans, kissing him hard enough to answer. Her fingers fumbled with the latch of his infamously tight chinos, cursing under her breath as the fabric refused to budge. The effort alone made her laugh, a soft burst of amusement she couldn’t hold in. Johnny leaned back with a mock-offended look, a smirk already tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not exactly a confidence boost when your girl starts laughing mid-strip.”

She rolled her eyes, still grinning. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at these pants. They’re a crime against movement.”

He arched an eyebrow and wiggled them for good measure. “They’re flame-retardant. Functional and fashionable.”

“They’re a straightjacket for your legs,” she muttered, tugging again, this time with both hands. “Seriously, how do you even get into these things without a shoehorn and divine intervention?”

Johnny laughed, the sound low and warm in his chest. “What can I say? I make insanity look sexy.” With one final tug, the pants finally gave in, sliding down over his hips in defeat. She leaned back, victorious, breathless from the effort, and maybe a little from the view.

He stood there with all the smugness of a man who knew he looked good half-undressed, his hands resting casually on his hips. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

She shot him a look. “I’d argue that it is quite hard…”

His voice dropped an octave, softer now but still edged with mischief. “They always say it’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for,” He stepped closer, heat radiating off him, literally. A faint warmth always clung to his skin, like the sun had taken a special liking to him and never quite let go. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, slow and deliberate. “I wear them because I always hope you’ll end up taking them off.”

She looked around at the dark office, her shirt and his tossed to the side, now his pants removed. Only her bra on her top half but completely dressed from the waist down from where she sat perched on her desk: nylon, skirt, undergarments, heels. Johnny seemed to notice this fact as well as his fingers traced the outside of her thighs and his eyes darkened. “Speaking of taking things off…” he gestured to her tights. 

She only had it in her to nod, allowing his large hands to work their way under her skirt. Scooting to the edge of the desk to make it easier she lifted herself for a moment as he tugged them from her waist, leaving her skirt bunched up as he then pulled them down the length of her legs. Kitten heels knocked off, tights gone, but skirt still remaining, she looked at him expectantly. 

"You know," Johnny murmured, his voice thick with amusement, "I won’t lie, this is some view. Not at all like the fantasy I had the first time I stepped into your office…” came sarcasm dribbling into his tone. He chuckled against her skin, lips brushing the curve of her neck as he leaned in. The warmth of his breath sent a ripple down her spine. One of his hands slid upward, finding the pin tucked into her hair. With a gentle tug, the twist unraveled, and her hair tumbled free across her shoulders, soft waves catching the dim light like silk. Johnny pulled back just enough to take her in, one brow lifted. “Hmm… that’s an improvement.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the flush that bloomed across her chest and up her neck. “Do you say that to all the women you undress on desks?”

“Only the ones who make power skirts look sexier than lingerie.” His hands were already at her waist again, thumbs brushing over the exposed edge of her skin, just above the waistband of her skirt.

She laughed, but it faltered slightly when he leaned in again, lips ghosting over her collarbone, slow and deliberate. Every brush of contact was heat and patience and promise. “You always flirt this much when you’re half-naked in someone else’s workplace?” she managed, fingers threading into his hair.

His grin was pure trouble. “Only when I’m with my girl. What can I say? She brings out a side of me…” Then his hands slid lower, anchoring at the backs of her thighs as he pulled her closer to the edge of the desk, their bodies aligned, breath mingling. For a heartbeat, the teasing stilled. “I don’t think I can look at this office the same again,” he murmured, voice soft now, more confession than joke.

She gave him a slow smile, her forehead nearly touching his. “Yeah me either”

“Mind if I try something?” he asked, voice uncertain for the first crack in his bravado since this had escalated. She nodded, and he brought his hands to her waist, tugging her until she stood in front of him. He knelt, reaching back up her pencil skirt until he found her panties, eyebrow raised for permission as she nodded, holding his shoulder lightly for balance. He tugged them free, tossing them on top of the growing pile of clothes and standing once more. 

Gently, he turned her to face the desk, the warmth of his hands a steady guide. She heard the soft rustle of fabric behind them, and when she glanced down, she saw his briefs pooled around their feet: quiet evidence of just how far they'd already gone. Fingers, deft and unhurried, brushed her hair to one side, exposing the line of her neck. His mouth followed, lips grazing her skin before he caught her earlobe between his teeth, just enough to make her inhale sharply. “I’ve gotta say,” he murmured, voice husky with laughter, “the skirt staying on? Kind of doing it for me…”

She smiled, lips parting around a breath. “Yeah?”

“Oh, definitely.” He tugged her back against him, the length of his body fitting to hers. “Just picture it. You laid out across your desk…” As he spoke, his hands slid over her waist, guiding her down with gentle pressure. Her stomach met the cool surface of the desk, the contrast sending a ripple up her spine. She turned her head to the side, hair spilling like a curtain as she felt his palms move over the bare skin just above her hips. “God,” he whispered, almost to himself, fingers tracing the line where her skirt ended. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His touch never rushed. Each pass of his hands over her body was like a promise, one he fully intended to keep. Her eyes drifted down from his face to see all of him. Exposed, standing behind her. His manhood stood at attention, already flushed and solid. A bit larger than she’d honestly have expected. Either way, the anticipation and long month of having it restrained behind his sweatpants and pulsing on her backside as he slept made her desperate to finally experience it all. Widening her stance she looked at him with a nod, hands seeking the edge of the desk to brace herself. 

“Yeah much better than just a fantasy,” he muttered, stepping closer. She felt him tug her waist up as much as possible, fingers darting down to see how far along she’d gotten. His fingertips, glistening with arousal when he pulled away. 

Johnny didn’t ask as he lined himself up, bunching the skirt around her waist in the process. He didn't ask permission as he pushed his way inside either, grunt filling her office as he bottomed out relatively easily. He did, however, pause and ask permission before moving. “Wow, that’s, are you—”

“Please move,” she whined, hands braced on the desk as she glanced over her shoulder at him. 

“Yes Ma’am,” and that’s all it took. From one bashful, always stopping advances man, to fucking her right and raw against the desk. The wood groaning, the smacking of skin filling her silent office. After all that time waiting, heavenly. 

“Oh, Johnny,” she gasped, the sound escaping her like breath she’d been holding for far too long. Every thrust was a sweet, relentless ache. Stretching, filling, claiming. He moved with purpose, no hesitation, only the kind of need born from restraint finally shattered.

“Yeah…” he breathed out, the word barely more than a hiss, forehead dropping to rest against her shoulder. His breath was hot against her skin, uneven and desperate, syncing with the rhythm of his hips as he drove into her.

The desk beneath her creaked with every movement, sharp staccato echoes of skin meeting skin reverberating through the quiet office. What she'd once imagined might be slow and tender like the nights they’d shared in secret, had unraveled into something far more primal. And God, it was perfect. All those nights of looking. Waiting. Wanting. They’d simmered into this: a moment neither of them could pull back from.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk, knuckles white, trying to hold onto something solid while her body threatened to dissolve around him. “Johnny—” her voice was a broken moan now, thick with need. “Don’t stop.”

“Not planning on it,” he gritted, one hand splaying across her hip, grounding himself. The other slid up her back, slow and reverent, tracing the curve of her spine through the mess of lace bunched fabric from her bra. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “You feel, fuck, you feel like heaven.”

She couldn’t answer, too far gone in the rush of sensation. Her world had narrowed to the heat of him, the sound of their skin meeting, and the tension spiraling through her with every breath. That was when she heard it: a groan. Not hers. The desk.

“Johnny—” she warned breathlessly, voice half-laugh, half-panic. But he didn’t hear her, or didn’t care. One more thrust, rough and deep, and—CRACK. The desk gave with a sharp, splintering snap, the legs buckling beneath them in dramatic betrayal. Papers flew. An empty coffee mug that survived his initial clearing hit the floor and shattered. And they dropped, a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter.

She landed with a thud, his weight half on top of her, half braced by what was left of the desk. Wide-eyed, she blinked up at the ceiling, catching her breath.

“Well,” Johnny said, completely unbothered, voice muffled slightly as he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, “I guess we’re filing this under workplace hazard.”

She burst out laughing, hand coming up to shove his chest lightly. “You broke my desk!”

He grinned, eyes glittering with mischief and no small amount of pride. “Technically, we broke it. I believe in equal rights, Doll, and it takes two to tango.”

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, flushed, and breathless. “How am I supposed to explain this to Sue?”

That earned a groan, low and drawn out, as he dropped his head briefly against her shoulder. “Okay, please don’t mention my sister while I’m still inside you.”

She let out a breathless laugh, one hand covering her face. “Right. Sorry..”

“Thank you.” He lifted his head again, brushing a few strands of her hair out of her face. “Now let’s go back to the part where I was making you see stars.”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the wreckage of her desk underneath them. “Pretty bold of you to assume I stopped seeing them.”

His grin widened. “Oh? So I am that good.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you still let me wreck your office furniture.”

“I didn’t let you,” she scoffed, rolling off the ruins of the desk and onto the floor with a dramatic sigh. “You did that all on your own.”

Johnny propped himself up on one elbow, watching her with an unrepentant smile. “Excuse me, you were the one begging me to stop holding back and finally ravish you.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. “I did not say ravish.”

“You didn’t have to. I read between the lines,” he said with a wink. “Here I was, planning to be a gentleman. Take you out to dinner, light some candles, go slow, make it all romantic…”

“And instead, you went full ‘raunchy office scandal,’ like this was some bad porno,” she deadpanned.

He sprawled out on his back, arms folded behind his head like he’d just been awarded a medal for outstanding contribution to office destruction. “You encouraged it. Don’t go rewriting history now.”

She groaned, tossing a crumpled folder at his bare chest. “God, I really am a cheap date. Letting you defile me on a desk without even springing for dinner first.”

Johnny caught the folder against his ribs, grinning. “I can still buy you dinner, Doll. Late-night takeout, your place. Then I’ll run you a bath, light a candle or two, do this the right way.” He gave a lazy, suggestive wave between their tangled bodies. “The desk was just the… prologue.”

She raised a brow, tugging her blazer tighter around her chest. “You better not break my bed, Jonathan Storm.”

He barked a laugh, sitting up and running a hand through his wild hair. “No promises.”

“I’m serious,” she warned, a playful glint in her eye. “It’s an antique.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

She rolled her eyes, but the grin stayed, soft and lingering. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re irresistible,” he shot back, tugging his pants up with that same effortless swagger. “Now come on, I wanna do this properly.”

She stood with a quiet laugh, brushing off imaginary dust and tugging her skirt back into place, still slightly rumpled but beyond the point of caring. Around them, the remnants of chaos — cracked wood, scattered papers, the occasional button — told a story neither of them would ever live down. But somehow, in the aftermath, it all felt worth it. They dressed in a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional smirk or lingering glance exchanged across the room. Johnny, shirt still half-buttoned and hair a charming disaster, held the door open for her with an exaggerated bow.

“After you, Miss Desk Slayer.” She rolled her eyes but stepped through, her fingers brushing his as she passed.

And later, after the food had gone cold on the coffee table and the city lights flickered softly outside her townhouse window, he touched her like he had all the time in the world. No rush. No games. Just quiet, deliberate care. The kind that only comes after you stop pretending there’s nothing to lose. His hands moved over her like he was memorizing her, like he wanted to know every breath, every shiver, every unspoken truth. And she let him, opened herself to him fully, as though their bodies could speak the words of a now familiar language.

When it was over, when they lay tangled in sheets and each other, her head resting on his chest and their fingers still laced together, the room felt suspended in a place as vast as space and timeless as infinity. She broke the silence first, voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to come find me tonight.”

He turned his head, pressing a slow kiss to her hair. “I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

She tilted her face toward him, eyes searching his. “You say that now.”

Johnny’s voice was soft. Softer than she’d ever heard it. “No. I mean it. Wherever you are... that’s where I wanna be.”

Her breath caught. She smiled then, fingers tightening just a little in his. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he murmured, already slipping into sleep, his arm pulling her in tighter. And as the night settled in around them, warm and still, she realized something she hadn’t let herself admit until now.

She didn’t want to be anywhere else, either.

Johnny never really slept when you were out on girls’ nights. He’d tell you he would—“Go, have fun, I’ll see you in the morning”—but the truth was, he couldn’t relax until you were home. Not because he didn’t trust you—he trusted you more than anyone—but because he didn’t like the space in the bed when you weren’t in it. So he’d pace around, scroll through his phone, half-watch something on TV, until the hours crept later and later.

So when his phone buzzed that night and it wasn’t you but one of your friends asking if he could come get you, Johnny was already shrugging into his jacket before she finished explaining.

The bar was crowded, neon lights buzzing, music thumping. But he spotted you instantly—you were slouched in a booth, cheeks flushed, your laugh a little too loud. The second you caught sight of him, you lit up, scrambling to your feet with all the grace of a baby deer.

“Johnny!” you squealed, stumbling into him. He caught you easily, strong arms steadying your weight as you immediately started peppering his face with kisses—sloppy little smacks to his jaw, his nose, his cheeks. He couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him.

“You came,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth before grabbing his face in both hands. “You’re the best boyfriend ever. My husband. My shiny husband.”

And Johnny—Johnny Storm, cocky, arrogant, smug Johnny Storm—giggled. A giddy, boyish sound that he tried to hide by tucking his face into your neck, grinning like a fool. God, he loved when you said that. He couldn’t wait for the day it’d be true.

“Alright, baby,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Let’s get you home.”

You clung to him as he scooped you up bridal-style, ignoring your squeal of protest that you could totally walk. Your friends cheered you on as Johnny carried you straight out of the bar, shaking his head but smiling like you hung the stars.

What none of you realized was that paparazzi had been lurking outside, waiting for the perfect shot. And well—Johnny Storm carrying his very drunk, very giggly girlfriend in his arms? Yeah, they got plenty.

The car ride home was a blur of your rambling.

“Johnny, I love your nose.”

“My nose?” he asked, amused.

“Mmhm. And your eyeballs. They’re like a swimming pool. Can I swim in them? You’d get me floaties, right?”

He bit back laughter, squeezing your hand. “Of course, babe. I’ll get you the best floaties.”

You sighed dramatically, turning toward him with glassy eyes. “You’re sweeter than pancakes. And puppies. And fries. And you know how much I love fries.”

Johnny’s heart squeezed. He lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles, smiling softly. “That’s serious love.”

Back at the apartment, he eased you out of your shoes, coaxed a glass of water and Advil into your hands, and tucked you into bed. You tugged at his shirt until he slid in beside you, and then you were right back to peppering his face with kisses, giggling as you went.

“I love you the most,” you whispered, your words heavier now, sleep tugging at them. “You’re gonna be the best husband.”

Johnny laughed again, helpless and lovesick, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

You were already asleep before he got the answer. And he lay awake a while longer, smiling like an idiot, your words replaying in his head.

The next morning, you woke with a pounding head and the sun stabbing through the curtains. Johnny was already up, leaned against the headboard with his phone in hand, a glass of water and Advil waiting on the nightstand.

“Morning, Mrs. Storm,” he teased, setting his phone aside.

You groaned, flopping onto your back. “…Did I say that?”

“Oh, yeah. About twenty times. Called me your shiny husband.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Kill me.”

He chuckled, prying your hands away to kiss your knuckles. “Don’t worry, I liked it. Loved it, actually.”

You peeked up at him through your fingers. “…Really?”

“Really,” he said softly, brushing hair from your face. “You have no idea how much I loved it.”

You tried to smile, but he was already grinning, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Oh, and by the way? You told me you wanted to swim in my eyeballs.”

You smacked his chest. “No, I did not.”

“Exact words,” he said smugly. “Asked me if I’d get you floaties.”

You groaned, hiding in his chest. “I hate myself.”

He laughed, kissing your hair. “Don’t. It was adorable. Also—you told me I was sweeter than pancakes and puppies. And that you love me more than fries.”

You gasped softly. “Okay, wow. That’s… that’s big.”

“Biggest compliment of my life,” Johnny said, smirking. “I might frame it.”

You swatted him again, but your lips were tugging into a smile. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Always,” he murmured, tilting your chin to kiss you gently.

Later that afternoon, when you finally braved your phone, you realized why Johnny had been smirking at it all morning. Paparazzi shots of him carrying you out of the bar had exploded online—him holding you bridal-style, your arms looped around his neck, your face buried against his chest.

The internet had thoughts.

“find you someone who looks at you the way johnny storm looks at y/n 😭” “he’s literally HUSBAND material???” "heLLLOOOO???" “the way he carried her out like she was made of glass STOPP” “y/n calling him her husband drunk and then THIS happening… universe is trying to tell us something 👀” “JOHNNY STORM GIGGLING WHILE SHE KISSED HIS FACE this is why i believe in love”

#JohnnyStormHusbandMaterial trended within hours. Fans made edits of the paparazzi photos set to sappy songs, spliced with interview clips of Johnny talking about you. Someone even made a meme comparing him carrying you to a Disney prince, complete with sparkles.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. “We’re a meme.”

Johnny slid an arm around you, pulling you close with a smug grin. “Correction: we’re relationship goals.”

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Baby,” he said, kissing your temple. “I haven’t stopped giggling about it since last night.”

By the evening, it wasn’t just fans blowing up your phone. It was family.

Sue had texted first: “Johnny, explain why my morning coffee is being interrupted by you trending worldwide with the hashtag #HusbandMaterial.”

Then Reed, ever the scientist, had followed up with a dry: “Statistically, it appears you and Y/N are the internet’s favorite couple. Congratulations.”

But the real trouble came when Ben barged into the living room at the Baxter Building later that day, holding his tablet like it was evidence in court.

“Well, well, Mr. Husband Material,” Ben said, his gravelly voice booming with laughter. “Care to explain why I just saw you carrying Y/N outta a bar like you were straight outta The Notebook?”

Johnny groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Ben—”

“Oh no, don’t you ‘Ben’ me,” the Thing barked, practically wheezing with amusement. “Look at this one! Look at your face, you’re smilin’ like a lovesick teenager. And her callin’ you husband? Ohhh, I’m never lettin’ this one go.”

Sue leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “To be fair, you do look very prince charming in those pictures.”

“Shut up, Sue,” Johnny muttered, cheeks burning.

Reed peeked up from his work, ever the calm observer. “I believe the term is ‘whipped,’ Johnny.”

That earned a round of laughter from the entire room, and you, sitting on the couch, only made it worse by chiming in sweetly, “He is whipped. My shiny husband.”

Johnny’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide. “Babe—!”

But it was too late—Ben nearly doubled over with laughter, pounding the wall with his massive hand. “Shiny husband! Ohhh, this is rich. Kid, I’m gonna be callin’ you that for years.”

Johnny groaned again, hiding his face in his hands while you leaned against him, grinning like the devil.

Later that night, after the teasing had died down and the Baxter Building had gone quiet, you and Johnny curled up together in your shared room. He was unusually quiet, running his fingers up and down your arm as you lay against his chest.

“You know…” he murmured finally, voice soft, “I really wouldn’t mind if you kept calling me that.”

You tilted your head up at him. “What, shiny husband?”

He chuckled, that boyish giggle slipping out again. “Yeah. Just… husband.” His eyes flicked down to yours, suddenly earnest. “Because one day, I really want to be.”

Your heart squeezed, and you pressed your lips to his jaw, smiling against his skin. “Good. Because one day, I really want you to be.”

He exhaled, a little laugh of relief in his chest, before kissing you slow and sweet, like he was sealing a promise neither of you had to say out loud anymore.

And somewhere, still trending online, was #JohnnyStormHusbandMaterial—proof that maybe the world already knew what you both did.

“Check.”

“Final printed copy of the speech?”

“In a PDF format as well! Check.” 

“Lozenges?”

In honey lemon. “Check!”

“Triple shot flat white?”

You don’t vocalize your opinion, but you felt like an old man ordering that at the coffee shop. “Check.”

“You’re getting good at this.”

You fight a blush, waving off Lynne’s praise. 

It’s always daunting entering the Baxter Building (especially now more than usual), but you stick behind Lynne and follow her lead. The lift attendant ushers you both into the steel-lined elevator after you showed proper identification, and you’re off. You always get a bundle of nerves at this part; waiting to reach the actual living quarters of the building. But you’ve done it enough to know to stare at your shoes to avoid feeling nauseous. It’s only when you hear the ding do you look up, straightening out your work pants and making sure the coffee cup in your hand stays upright. 

At first, you and Lynne are met with nothing but silence, which is quite unusual (usually there’s Ben in the kitchen, or H.E.R.B.I.E. watching baby Franklin by the couch, his various beeps that you don’t understand greeting you upon entering). You and Lynne don’t question it, though, her muttering something about a late morning while ushering you to the kitchen area where you put everything you’re holding on the counter. 

It’s only when you feel like you’re taking your first breath of the day, hands cramped, do you hear footsteps bounding down the hallway, high heels clanking on the sleek floors. 

Sue Storm strides in, the pinnacle of elegance. She takes one moment to dust off a piece of lint from her red long-sleeve, made of a material that you’re sure costs more than your weekly paycheck. She greets you both with a kind smile, “Good morning.”

“Hardly,” says Lynne, frowning. It took awhile to get used to the fact that Sue and Lynne’s friendship strung for many years that Lynne no longer bothers to give her an agreeable type of kindness that others seem to give at default for the Invisible Woman. “There’s a seventy-three percent chance of rain and the wind nearly ruined my hair.”

Sue snaps her fingers, regaining her memory. “I almost forgot my coat.” She’s bounding down the hallway again, calling for Reed, but not before telling you both to get yourself comfortable and ushering you to the stools in front of the kitchen island. 

You don’t look at Lynne for approval before taking a seat, legs sore from the morning run your friend made you go on before work. You busy yourself by opening the manila folder that holds Sue’s UN speech, checking thrice for any grammar mistakes (if there are any, that’d be your fault and would no doubt be getting a scolding from Lynne). 

You’re too immersed, brows drawn tightly together and lips mouthing each part of the speech. You don’t notice the soft footsteps entering the room, or the slight halt in the steps, before it continues to proceed in your direction. 

A hand rests on the small of your back, finger splayed out on the material of your sweater. 

You jolt, not expecting the contact. 

You swivel the seat and are met with the eyes of Johnny Storm. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” he says flatly—a fact, yet there’s something else hidden beneath his tone. A slight surprise, maybe hurt, as if he expected you to let him know every time you’d be making an appearance in his vicinity. 

His hand stays on your back. 

You open your mouth to reply, though with what you’re not sure, but his movements stop you. He reaches his other hand to your face, thumbs brushing in between your eyebrows and smoothing out the furrowed line. “They’re gonna get stuck like that.” 

You glance at Lynne. She has a compact in her hand, angling the mirror at a stray piece of hair, pretending not to notice. 

When you look back, Johnny’s eyes are still on you. Observing, memorizing, whatever it is he does. 

Your association with Johnny is… new. You’ve been on a few dates, four to be exact, and each time your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you returned home and he’s already calling to schedule a new one. You’re unsure if you’re part of a rotation of girls, or if you’re the only one he’s seeing. You don't think it's the latter. You’re too shy to ask. What you do know, however, is that you’re certainly not seeing anyone else. Dating is a fickle thing for you, really, and you had only agreed to going out with Johnny because he’d been incredibly persistent. Plus, it is an undeniable and unmoving fact that he is—to the eyes of all—incredibly attractive. You never had it in you to say no. 

You feel your face warm up at the intensity of his gaze, looking down briefly at your ballet flats to collect yourself. You look back up and manage a small smile, hoping it comes as casual and not the complete mess you feel inside. 

You’re quiet—a plain fact that even Johnny has to have already gotten used to. Words don’t leave your mouth as you hoped it would. You imagine saying something that would elicit a smirk, or something. Instead, you remain silent. 

If he notices your nerves, he doesn’t say anything. Just glances behind you at the counter before his eyes light up. “‘That the big speech?”

You nod, instinctively turning and moving the paper to the side and in Johnny’s line of vision to read. You feel the heat of him press against your back. 

He pretends to scan the page. His eyes dot over the little notes on the margin, arrows pointing before and between words. His mouth crinkle upwards when he notices the tiny smiley face you’ve written after a particular note, commending Sue on a certain sentence. “So professional,” he says coolly. 

Sue finally comes back down the hallway, coat splaying on her arm. She notices you and Johnny and a knowing smile plays on her lips. “Time to go. Are you done flirting with my assistant, Johnny?”

“Not yet,” he rapidly replies, barely sparing his sister a glance before his eyes shift to you and he smiles. It’s small, but carries the weight of mischief and reassurance. “So—how about dinner tonight?”

You blink. “Tonight?”

“Yeah. When you’re done with all this UN business.” His tone is light, but there’s a shift in his eyes like he’s unsure of whether or not your answer will be yes. Hope flickers. 

You hesitate, aware of Sue and Lynne’s attention and the fact that your heart is beating way too fast. “I’ll see how late we’re there.”

“That’s not really the answer I was hopi—“

“Johnny,” Sue’s voice cuts through, demanding but light. “I’ll make sure she’s back in ample time if you can let us go.” She frowns at Lynne apologetically. “We’re already running late.”

They’re actually running early, but Lynne has always been a stickler for time. Sue seems to know that. 

Johnny grins, as if the answer is as good as yes. “I’ll take it.” He pushes off the counter, standing tall with a kind of confidence only the Human Torch can carry. He leans in and brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes scanning your nervous face. “Try not to frown too much until then.”

The weight of Sue and Lynne’s gazes on you is strong. 

You try your best to ignore it, following them down the building and into the waiting car. 

—

The UN conference goes by smoothly (for the most part), you not really doing much except standing to the side with Lynne while Sue delivers her speech with natural poise. At one point, a reporter walked up to you—nervous, unassuming you—to see if they could get the scoop of something, anything, on Sue Storm. You stared blankly at the reporter, not being trained for anything like this, until Lynne yanked your arm and said unequivocally, “We won’t be taking any questions.” The interaction was over soon after it started, but had left you shaken up, cursing at yourself for not knowing what to do. 

The interaction still haunts you as you toe off your flats upon entering your apartment, slinging your bag down on the floor as you make your way to the couch and flop. You wonder if the reporter approached you because maybe you looked too meek to deny anyone a question. You hate that feeling. You always thought a job like yours would be a great way to make an impact while still staying away from the spotlight and glamour of politics, but clearly you had been wrong. Especially if you’re affiliated with someone from the Fantastic Four.

You’re contemplating your life decisions when your chubby tabby, Kiwi, curls himself around your right leg. He sniffs lightly at your work pants before nuzzling his head softly on your shin. You smile, reaching down to pluck the docile animal from the floor and lay him carefully in your arms. 

“You don’t have to worry about the press, do you, Kiwi?” you say softly to the cat in your arms, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Well neither do I—anymore, at least. Let’s feed you.” 

You make your way to your small kitchen and into the cupboards until you find Kiwi’s food. Your nervous system calms down at the mundanity, continuing your late-afternoon routine of making sure the bowl of food and water is full. When you’re sure that Kiwi is properly satisfied, you leave him and walk into your bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. 

You’re slipping off your blazer and blouse, eyes rummaging through your array of t-shirts in your drawer to see which one would be the comfiest to slip on. You pick a tattered college tee, the one where it slips off your shoulders to combat the light warmth with a pair of shorts to match. They have kiss marks printed in a straight pattern, something a friend got you for Valentine’s Day. It’s silk and feels nice on your skin. You slip off the remaining rings that adorn your fingers and hoop earrings, delicately placing them on a tray over your dresser. You breathe in relief, finally feeling normal again. 

This is how the rest of your night goes, rummaging through your pantry for a snack and coddling Kiwi on the couch as you sift through various channels on your television. You’re praising Kiwi as he lets out continuous purrs on your lap when there’s a knock on your door. 

Your head jolts us, eyebrows furrowing as you gently set Kiwi to the side before making your way to the door. 

You open your door curiously, a hint of nerves, only to be met with Johnny.

Your nerves suddenly make more sense.

Your eyes angle up to meet his expression, one showing a bit of alarm. 

“Who were you talking to?” he asks plainly, peering into your apartment. 

You follow his line of vision, taking in everything he is. There’s a bunch of scattered papers, copies of the latest speech, on your small dining table. Various blankets litter your couch and you have two bottles of polish (one a top coat) on your rug. One part of the string lights you hung around your living room dangles down from when a tack broke and you were too lazy to fix it. Kiwi nudged a few pieces of kibble from his bowl and onto the floor. 

It’s definitely not a sight to see for guests. 

The silence stretches as you don’t have it in you to reply. What would you say? You were talking to your cat? 

Thankfully, Johnny doesn’t wait for your reply. He peers down at your face, a lackluster and slightly disappointed expression. “Sue said you were too tired for dinner.”

You do remember telling Sue that, apologetically asking her to relay the information to Johnny since you probably wouldn’t see him for the rest of the day. It was a little embarrassing, a little scary, as you deny seeing Johnny to his sister. But still, she gave you a kind smile and said that she would tell him. 

“But that never usually stops Johnny,” she added after, to which you only offered her a half-smile before scurrying off to Lynne’s side. 

You should’ve known he’d show up. 

“Sue said to leave you alone to, you know, de-stress, or whatever,” he flails a hand up to convey that he saw that advice as useless. “But you need to eat.”

It’s then that you look down and see the brown bag in his other hand, and the familiar waft of food hits your nose. Your stomach growls. 

He hears it, the corners of his mouth turning up. 

“It’s from that place you talked about. Chiu’s Garden, remember?”

The shock in you passes like a splash of cold water. You do remember. You said it in passing, once, about the Chinese takeout you get when work gets too busy and the ache in your head gets hard to manage and you don’t want to cook. You had their number memorized, and the workers there greeted you by name. The place isn’t what shocks you. It’s the fact that Johnny of all people remembers. 

There are many things you want to say. Starting with Thank you and I hope you plucked the sauce that’s on the counter before you left. But mostly How do you remember?

If Johnny notices your shock at the gesture, he doesn’t comment. Only raising a single eyebrow at you. “Can I come in?” 

You realize you haven’t spoken yet. “Are you a vampire?”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, unsure if you meant it as a joke or if it just slipped out because it’s the first thing your mind went to. 

Johnny stifles a laugh. “A vampire?” 

Well, now you clearly have to give him an explanation. “Vampires need permission to be let into private areas.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in your voice, and you curse yourself once again for not knowing what to say and saying the wrong thing. 

He peers at you, eyes squinting and assessing your face. “What have you been watching lately?”

You shrug. You don’t tell him you watched the Scars of Dracula while you were finalizing the last of Sue’s speech the night before. Or how you got fully immersed into it. Or how you talked to Kiwi about how thankful you are that you don’t have a roommate to let unknown strangers into your apartment. 

“Well, I’m no vampire,” he says. 

There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you realize now that you might be in on a joke you created. Not wanting to disappoint him or bring the mood down because, hey, you’re not in on a lot of jokes, you take a long backwards step back into your apartment. “Prove it.”

Johnny responds by taking a similar long step into your apartment, now standing right in front of you. Your chest nearly meets his as he looks down at you with a smirk. Your heart stutters, and you hope the lack of space between you two doesn’t mean that he can hear it. “See?” 

You manage a small nod, walking around him to shut your door. You think your stomach might start doing backflips if you stay that close to Johnny, mind unsure if it’s a rush of nervousness or excitement. 

He seems to take your interaction as an acceptance that he’s allowed to be here, in your apartment, and though he’s never been inside, he quickly assesses the layout and walks towards your kitchen. 

Kiwi looks as if to say, you let a man into the apartment. 

Your eyes reply, I didn’t know he was coming! 

“I know I didn’t show it—“ Johnny calls out from the kitchen. You hear the crinkle of the brown bag and food being brought out. “—but I was really nervous that I knocked on the wrong apartment. I only ever walked you to the front of the building!”

You pad the small way to the kitchen, peering in to see him open a plastic container and dip his fingers in to snipe a piece of broccoli. 

“I had to look at each door to find your last name,” he says through a mouthful of broccoli. “Thank God you live on the second floor, right?” He turns to meet your eyes, giving you a close-lipped, goofy smile that has your mouth threatening to smile back. When he swallows, he motions to all the cupboards above him. “Do you usually eat with plates or out of the container? Also I brought you orange soda.”

“I—I just eat out the container,” you say softly, leaning against the entryway, arms crossed. 

“Perfect! Me too.” He gathers the food into his arms in a perfect balance, picking up the soda can last before motioning past you. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”

You watch him maneuver your apartment with ease, as if it isn’t the first time he’s been here. He tiptoes past Kiwi’s kibble on the floor and barely manages to knock down a picture frame that sits at the edge of your coffee table. He mutters an apology before putting the food down and sitting on your couch. “So what are we watching—oh. Hello.” He peers down at your cat, who stares back at him blankly. “Is this the infamous Kiwi? Is this who you were talking to?” He reaches his hand out and scratches behind Kiwi’s ear tentatively, unsure if he would be squeamish or not. Unsurprisingly, Kiwi leans into his touch. Johnny is delighted “We’re going to have great conversations,” he whispers, as if keeping a secret between him and the cat. 

You find the sight awfully endearing. You don’t realize you’ve been staring as long as you have until Johnny turns his head to stare at you. “You coming?”

You timidly make your way to the couch, now unsure of how to feel at place in your home when Johnny Storm is in it. Johnny Storm, who despite four dates, you’ve barely gotten used to. You like him (obviously, you’ve let him take you out continuously), but you’re still unsure of what he is to you. The ambiguity of your relationship to him is much easier to stomach when he’s across from you at a restaurant booth, or walking in the park with fresh air around you. 

Now—here—with him on your couch, you don’t think you understand your relationship with him all too well. You wonder if he shows up at other dates’ houses like this; their favorite takeout and a soft smile that can quiet any ache. You wonder how different the other girls he sees are from you; if they stumble on their words despite ample practice. 

You take a seat on the other end of the couch, Kiwi already taking up space in the middle. You angle yourself to face him, legs tucked under you with your arms still crossed. 

“You’re too far away,” he says plainly, as if stating a fact instead of discontentment. “But I have a feeling he’s not going to move anytime soon, is he?”

This gets a laugh out of you, looking down at Kiwi, who blinks slowly at your face. “He’s the boss.”

Johnny lets out a tsk tsk, shaking his head with a grin. “I should’ve known. Guess I’m gonna have to share you tonight.”

The rest of the night goes like this: Johnny shows the various things he bought you from the Chiu’s Garden menu, as he was unsure of what to get you. He has a delightful expression as you express that you like all of them. He pumps a fist in the air and you laugh, leaning down from the couch to pick your food of choice from the coffee table. He makes sure to give you a review of everything he tries, and he’s deeply satisfied, muttering about how you two need to go back together next time. Something flutters in your stomach at the mention of a next time. 

Eventually, Kiwi grows bored of the Ted Gilbert Show and hops off the couch, lightly swaying as he makes his way into your bedroom for some peace and quiet. Johnny takes that as an opportunity to sit closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and reaching his other to rest on your knee. He barely pays attention to the ministrations his thumb does on your knee, but it affects you greatly. You, again, wonder if he does this to other girls he’s with. You wonder if it’s stupid that you feel so special. 

“Hey.” 

You look up at him, brows already furrowed from how hard you were thinking. 

“What did I say?” he scolds softly, his hand on your knee leaving as he reaches his thumb in between your eyebrows again. “They’re gonna get stuck like that.” 

—

When you’re not suffering from severe imposter syndrome as you play assistant with Lynne for Sue, you’re taking up extra shifts at the coffee shop down your street. You’ve been working here since you were eighteen and trying to pay for college. Now, you’re a little older and trying to pay your college debts. Still, you know the owner, and they’re more than willing to pay you under the table for your efforts to keep the shop afloat when you can. 

The line isn’t long and you’re striking up a conversation with Miss Sutton, a regular, as she fishes her purse for change. 

“And, Freddie—“ she says, her eyes down at her bag, “—he keeps crying. He’s getting old. ‘Vet said he might be going blind in his right eye.”

Your heart lurches immediately as you imagine yourself in that position; Kiwi growing old and going blind. But he’s only four and you make sure to take him to regular checkups. “I’m so sorry, Miss Sutton,” you say honestly. “Maybe he and Kiwi can have a play date! It might cheer him up.”

She places a few dollars onto the counter and looks at you flatly. “Or remind him of what he no longer has.”

Well, that took a turn. 

You smile tensely at the older woman, taking the dollars and commit yourself to counting them instead of making the conversation worse. So much for comfort. She’s fifty cents off, but you don’t mention it. 

You busy yourself with making chamomile tea, which is one of the easier orders you’ve had all day (you love a good macchiato with lavender syrup with the nice cold foam on the top, but it’s a fucking hassle to make). You hum a little to yourself, in your element at a place you’re comfortable in. Thoughts of a sick Kiwi and a grumpy Miss Sutton exit your mind. 

The bell over the door dings, alerting you of a new customer. You pass the finished drink to your coworker as she finishes heating a pastry. You dust off your hands and turn around. 

“Hello, welcome to—“

You’re met with blue eyes, blond hair, and an accusatory look. 

Your mind goes blank. 

Johnny doesn’t wait for you to finish your obligatory customer greeting, “You’ve been overworking yourself.”

“I—what?”

“You were with Sue all day Tuesday, you cancelled our date yesterday to take a shift here and had an emergency meetup with Lynne, and now you’re back today. You’re overworking yourself.”

You want to say that this is actually what normal people do to make a living, but you don’t say that. Instead, you stare up at his unrelenting gaze and gulp. “Aren’t you—“ your voice comes out squeaky and you clear your throat. “Aren’t you, like, a superhero? You save Earth for a living.” 

He shrugs off your answer like it’s nothing. 

Beside you, your coworker takes note of Johnny, and gasps. 

You both turn your head to the sound. 

“You weren’t lying?” she says, mouth wide. “You’re friends with Johnny Storm?”

Johnny immediately looks offended. “Friends?”

“Viv,” you say, ignoring him, “can you go to the back and make sure Hal is done with the croissants batch? We’re out up here.” 

Viv looks at you as if to say, you’re kicking me out as if Johnny Storm isn’t right here? 

You manage a harsher look, and she’s off, muttering something about getting her camera. You hope to God out of embarrassment that she doesn’t. Johnny visits your place of work and the first thing that happens is your coworker ambushes him. And know he knows that you talk about him.

“I’m sorry about her, I’ll tell her to put her camera away,” you say. 

Johnny looks at you, brows furrowing before shaking his head rapidly. “I don’t care about a photo. I care about you. When was the last time you took a break for yourself? Doesn’t Kiwi miss you?”

“… I did a face mask last night,” you say dumbly. You leave out the part where you were on the phone with an airline company until 2AM because you stupidly booked the wrong time for Sue and Reed’s flight to Chicago, face mask forgotten and on for hours while you tried to fix your mistake before Lynne noticed. 

The admission seems to calm him down a bit, shoulders sagging as his mind recalibrates. “When do you get off here?”

You don’t really have set shifts, you’ve been here since 10AM and helping out any way you can. Hal had you making croissants with him for two hours until Viv asked for your help at the front. Now, it’s 5PM and the sun is getting ready to set—and you hate that Johnny is right, because you feel wrung out. Your body suddenly becomes more alert of the ache on your temples, and the emptiness of your stomach. 

“I can technically leave whenever.” 

His eyes light up. “Perfect! You’re leaving now. Grab your coat.” 

“Johnny—“

“You can go,” a voice behind you says. 

You turn to see Hal and Viv standing together by the door to the back, eyes wide in wonder as they continue to stare at Johnny. It’s a look you recognize from the amount of times you’ve spent with him. It’s why Johnny takes you to restaurants and you get seated at the most private corner, or why he wears sunglasses and a cap in the dead of winter when you stroll through the park. You appreciate the efforts Johnny goes to be unnoticed—knowing you don’t like the attention. But you wonder if that’s just how he’s been going around publicly lately; unnoticed. You realize it’s been awhile since you’ve seen a tabloid of him walking a girl down the street, or a blurry photo of him in a store with someone. Maybe he’s tired of the cameras. 

“Are you sure?” you ask Hal. 

He nods, taking his eyes away from Johnny to give you a softer look. “Croissants are done, I have Viv to work like a dog—“

“Hey!”

“—we’ll be just fine. Have fun with your friend.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you fight the blush that threatens to coat your cheeks. 

You’re too busy going to the back to grab your coat and purse to notice the shock on Johnny’s face. You give one last goodbye to Hal and Viv before you leave the counter to join Johnny’s side. He waits for you to slip on your coat before placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you out the shop. 

You swear you hear a click from Viv’s camera. 

You breathe in the fresh, cool air the second you’re out on the street. You watch as Johnny inconspicuously slips on a pair of sunglasses and pulls the hood of his coat up. 

He’s silent as you both walk the short distance to your apartment, which is unusual. Usually, he’s already talking your ear off about his day, or something Ben has cooked since he knows your affinity with anything cooking or baking-related. You usually stay silent when he gets like that, listening intently and only giving your input when he manages to force it out of you (even after all this time, you’re still nervous). 

But there’s none of that today. Silence stretches even as you enter your apartment building, him holding the door open for you, and as you pat the snow from your boots onto the rug (normally, this is where Johnny says something stupid, like how you both look like ducks shaking water off by a pond). You walk up the stairs and open your apartment door, still silent. 

Your stomach churns nervously. You wonder if Johnny is mad at you—for overworking, as he says. If the concern has stretched into anger. Or if Hal and Viv’s peering eyes,, and knowing of him, threw Johnny off, realizing you’re just like any other person who brags about his existence. But it’s not like that! You wonder if you’ve ruined what you and he have—whether you know what you guys are or not. 

Finally, as both of your coats have been shrugged off and left on the hook by your door—

“I’m your friend?”

You look up from where you were staring at the floor and furrow your brows. “Hm?” 

“That’s how they talked about me,” he says, and you know he’s referring to Hal and Viv. “They said I’m your friend. Is that how you talk about me?”

He stares at you, eyes searching your own as you try to string together a response. “Um… yeah?” 

Because you don’t know what else to call Johnny. Johnny who takes you to the most private parts of a fancy restaurant, and brings you takeout when you’re tired, and shows up to work to make sure you haven’t been burnt out. Johnny who now looks down at you with a pained expression, for reasons you’re a little unsure of why. Isn’t that what people are in whatever stage you and Johnny are in? Friends? Isn’t he seeing other people? 

Johnny exhales sharply through his nose, walking up to you and shaking his head as if your answer had been outlandish. “That’s really what you think we are?”

Your lips part, but you don’t answer. He’s standing so close now that you can see the faint tint of pink on his nose from the cold. His breath fans down at you. You try to imagine what Johnny wants to hear, but still, you’re unsure. “You and I…” you say slowly, “We’re—what else would we be?” 

His jaw ticks. “Together.”

Together. As in, you and Johnny. You think about Johnny walking you to your door, eyes lingering at your lips but he moves to kiss your cheek and you’re convinced you’d just imagined it. Johnny, who has admitted to looking for restaurants with similar dishes to ones you’ve cooked, so you can compare (“I bet yours is better,” he says plainly, taking another bite. “Do you agree? Or are you too modest?”). Johnny and his thumb that grazes the middle of your eyebrows because they’re gonna get stuck like that. 

You blink at him, voice small. “Together?” 

Johnny genuinely looked confused at your confusion. His brows knot in the way he always tells you to stop doing. “Yeah? Like dating. Together-together. What did you think this was?” 

Heat crawls up the back of your neck, mortification and disbelief tangling in a mess that makes it hard to think. “I—I thought you were just being… you know. Nice. How you treat the other girls.”

His head jerks back. “'The other girls'? Well first, nobody’s that nice. At least, not like I have been. I’ve only ever been like this with you.” 

Your stomach turns at the admission. 

“Second, what other girls? You think I’ve been seeing other people?”

You’re too embarrassed to answer, because you know your answer would be yes. Instead, you huff a large sigh and press your palms to your eyes. “I don’t know what to think right now, Johnny.”

You hear him sigh softly. Two hands reach your wrists. “Hey, hey,” he coos, tone soft as he gently pries your hands away from your eyes. You’re immediately met with a blue storm, swirling with thought and something else that you’re unsure how to name. “I’m sorry if I stressed you out, okay? Come here.”

He envelopes you in a hug, warm and all-encompassing, the kind that makes you realize just how cold the outside has made you without noticing. His chin rests against the top of your head. 

Your arms hover at your sides at first, stiff with hesitation. But as you slowly think through Johnny’s words, you melt into him. The exhaustion from the conversation, from work, from everything presses down harder, and the steadiness of his heart against your head makes something inside you settle. 

Johnny thinks you too are together. 

You wonder how stupid you must really be for not noticing. 

“We’re together,” you say softly into his chest, breathing him in. 

“We are,” he says, a whisper.. “I’m sorry for not making it more… known. I thought you knew.” 

“No,” you say, shaking your head and laughing a little. 

“I didn’t know. I’m too in my head about this, you know?” you admit meekly, your mind now re-assessing every interaction you’ve ever had with the boy against you. Re-assessing with the word EXCLUSIVE over every single memory. 

The two of you stay tangled in each other’s arms until a small meow interrupts your moment, Kiwi coming to curl around your feet. You untangle yourself from Johnny to pick up the cat, resting his body against your chest as you turn to the side so that Kiwi’s head is facing Johnny. 

“Kiwi, this is my boyfriend. I bet you knew that already, didn’t you?” There’s a glee in your voice that has Johnny lighting up, reaching down to give Kiwi a kiss on his head. 

From you.

Your relationship is still relatively new, and despite Johnny being, in Ben’s words, "completely and utterly whipped" , you’ve both been taking it slow. Keeping it private.

Johnny understood the reasoning, of course. For every benefit that came with being in the public eye—and being, well, a superhero —there were just as many ugly, unappetizing drawbacks. 

The kind that involved people getting hurt just for being close. 

And one of those reasons—the one that sat in the back of his mind, stuffed into that dusty, cobwebbed corner where he kept things that made him feel too much—was the fear that someone might figure out his big secret. 

That all it would take to bring Johnny Storm to his knees was you. 

He’s not thinking clearly when he leaves the Baxter Building.

He flames on mid-hallway, and shoots through the air, burning bright over the city. He knows the urgency of his movements will cause headlines later, but he doesn’t care.

“Please be okay,” he mutters as he flies. “Please. Please just be a stupid cat or something. Or like...a clogged drain.”

But he knows you. You wouldn’t say emergency unless it was real.

What if you’re hurt? What if you’re scared, or bleeding out on your kitchen floor because of some dumb mistake—and he didn’t move fast enough?

He barely extinguishes the flames as he lands, shoes smoking as he rounds the corner onto your street. A couple stares. A kid points. A teenager tries to stop him. He jogs past them all, muttering apologies, hair still faintly singed.

The worst things are flooding his mind by the time he reaches your apartment, a thin trail of heat curls off his shoulders as he barrels toward the entrance, just as someone reaches the door.

“Hold that—please—!”

An older woman in a quilted vest turns toward him, pausing mid-step. She looks him up and down, and then begins pulling the door shut. Johnny fails to hide his offense as he pushes himself forward.

“Ma’am, I just—can I—sorry, I just need to—”

“Don’t know you,” she says firmly. “Not letting in strangers.”

“I’m not—well, technically I am —but I’m here for my girlfriend.”

At her silence, he adds, “Kinda. It’s new.”

She raises a brow. “So not a girlfriend.”

“I mean, not in the technical sense but—”

She swings her purse at him. “Out! I don’t know you ! You don’t live here.”

“Ow! Okay—please—I’m not—” He ducks the second swing, trying to wedge his shoulder through the narrow gap she’s holding open with her hip. “I’m not here to hurt anyone! I just need to see —ow, okay, okay —”

She starts muttering something about delinquents and city crime as she thwacks him once more. Johnny ducks again, hands half-raised, grateful none of his family is around to witness him getting smacked around by an elderly woman. They would never let him live it down.

“I swear I’m not breaking in!” Johnny protests. “I’m Johnny Storm! ”

She narrows her eyes.

“You know, the Human Torch?” he adds, gesturing wildly. “Fantastic Four? That’s me, on the billboard!” He turns and points outside, where his face—smirking, flaming—stretches three stories high above the city skyline.

She squints at the billboard. “Well. You should’ve led with that.”

He’s still rubbing his arm when she lets him in.

Johnny doesn’t wait for the elevator. He bolts up the stairs two at a time until he’s face to face with your door. He barely skids to a stop outside before banging on it desperately. When there’s no immediate answer, he takes one step back.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, drawing his foot back—

The door swings open.

You blink up at him. “Johnny?”

“Hey,” He exhales sharply, eyes sweeping over you. Your face is not one of panic.  “You’re—you’re okay?”

You open your mouth to reply, but behind you, there’s a burst of noise.

“Wait—is that—” “OH my god —” “Is that Johnny fucking Storm?!”

Several of your friends spill into the doorway, wide-eyed and gawking.

You go rigid. Then you slam the door shut in their faces, back pressed against it as you turn to Johnny, cheeks burning.

“Sorry.” You breathe out. “Is everything okay?”

“That was kind of my line,” he says, holding up his phone. Your text glows on the screen. 

You frown, then pat yourself down, grabbing your own phone from your pocket. You open his contact— named by Johnny himself as hot stuff🔥 —and there it is. Your emergency text.

Your mouth drops. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. They were curious about the new boyfriend, and Rylee got into my phone, and—”

He raises a brow. “Boyfriend?”

“Huh?”

Johnny smirks. “You said they were curious about your new boyfriend .”

“Did I? Maybe you’re hearing things.”

“I don’t think so,” He steps closer, arms slipping around your waist. “You telling people about me, sweetheart?”

Your lips tug into a grin. “Maybe.”

He leans in, just as someone behind the door gasps again.

You both pull back, laughing. Johnny raises a hand—and with one flicker of heat, singes the peephole black.

“Johnny!” you swat his chest. “If that’s damaged, I have to pay—”

He kisses you.

“I think I can cover that,” he murmurs, then leans in again, lips brushing yours. “As your boyfriend.”

Johnny brings you in again, and every frantic piece of him quiets as you melt into his touch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, breath hitching as you pull back just enough to speak. “If I worried you.”

He starts to shake his head, slow and distracted, because he can’t quite pull himself back into language. He’d rather just keep kissing you until all that panic melts off his skin.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He presses his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut. His hand traces down your back, a little greedy. A little soft. You’re close and warm and real, and it’s making his thoughts scatter. 

“Right. I forgot,” you say, lips tilting into a smile, “Johnny Storm isn’t scared of anything.”

“Well that’s not entirely true,” he says, almost without thinking.

“No?”

Your fingers are in his hair now, brushing the nape of his neck. He shivers. He leans in again—barely resisting the urge to kiss you stupid—and knocks his nose into yours, more gentle this time.

“I’m scared of you.”

Your brows lift. “Me?”

He nods, just a little, his forehead resting against yours. “Yes. You.”

“I’m not scary.”

“On the contrary,” Johnny says. “You’re terrifying.”

“Oh really?” 

He nods. “I’ve been through… well, let’s see. Interdimensional wormholes. Space monsters. Literal hell once, I think? And I didn’t even flinch. But you—” he whistles lowly, “—the second I thought something happened to you… it was like I forgot how to breathe. My whole body just… reacted . I've never felt panic like that. Not even close.”

Something in your face softens. “Really?”

“You make me weak,” Johnny admits. “In the worst and best way.”

Your eyes flicker over his face, taking him in. Your fingers thread deeper into his hair. “Good,” you whisper, and then you kiss him—slow, deep, and just as greedy. When you finally pull back, your breath is warm against his lips. “You big ol’ softie.”

“Don’t start that rumor.” 

“Your secret is safe with me,” you whisper, teasing. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin your public image by revealing you’re obsessed with me.”

“Well,” he says, as his hands settle further on your hips again. “I’d say being emotionally vulnerable is incredibly hot of me, don’t you think?”

You raise a brow. “That right?”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, nosing along your jaw. “Shows range. Depth. Devastating sex appeal. I mean, you’re practically throwing yourself at me right now.”

You laugh. “In your dreams.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you — blue eyes darkened, grin crooked. “Every night. In vivid detail.”

Your breath catches despite yourself. “You, Johnny Storm, are insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, “Pinned against a wall.”

“A door, actually. And I wouldn’t say pinned, per say .”

“I beg to differ.”

“You do a lot of that? Begging?”

Before he can reply, a voice calls from inside.

“Alright, that’s enough! We need her back before this turns way too R-rated.”

Another friend pipes up with mock-exasperation.

“Yeah, Johnny, save some of that devastating sex appeal for another night.”

You groan, forehead dropping to Johnny’s chest. 

“Tell them to go away,” he mutters, arms still around you. 

You peel back, mock-apologetic. “Can’t. Duty calls.” 

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. I guess I'll just go save the world or whatever. Boring.”

You smile and turn to go back inside your apartment. But just before you close the door, Johnny steps forward and steals one more kiss. 

You hover there for a second, voice softer now.  “Thank you. For coming for me.”

Johnny raises a brow, tempted to say something cheeky—some immature innuendo that would make you roll your eyes—but you catch the look and laugh first.

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughs at your expression, but soon softens. “I’ll always come for you.”

Now it’s your turn to bite back a laugh, and Johnny relishes in the warmth that glints in your eyes. 

Another voice from behind you yells: “Just shut the door on lover boy, already!” 

You grin, mouthing a quiet, “Bye,” before the door clicks shut.

Johnny stands there for a moment, staring at the spot where you disappeared. Then he turns to go, tugging his jacket a little tighter around himself as he heads out.

And as he returns home, he thinks of something nearly as terrifying as the way he feels about you: 

Ben was right. He is completely and utterly whipped. 

You couldn’t shake the trepidation that the invasion from Galactus was only the beginning. When the flashbacks invaded your senses, they were incredibly intense.

The metal beam that had punctured your shoulder still left a ghostly ache. Your skin was still sensitive. Every loud noise caused you to flinch. And the anxiety? Well, it was overpowering. At first, it fueled your theories, but now, it was hindering every part of you.

And what that giant had said to you only scared you more, to the point that you were paralyzed when you tried to remember.

Instinctively, you rolled your neck to ease the pain. You wanted to flail your arms, lie down, and forget everything. You wished for someone to hold, someone to help ease this burden. You wished for that someone to be Johnny.

Desperate to dispel your thoughts, you snatched a piece of chalk and stared at the board. You stared, and stared, hand hovering an inch away, trying to summon an idea. Something. Anything.  

Sometimes the motions helped. Most times, you were able to force any sense of hesitation away. Perhaps you were not as strong as you thought you were.

“Are you still getting phantom pains?” Reed asked once he realized your hesitation, his voice tinged with concern.

“No, just slept weird last night,” you attempted to lie, your reply quick and forced. You grit your teeth in failure, hoping that Reed would not pry further. That, for once, he would pretend you didn’t exist, that you were only someone he employed and not somebody he cared about.

But that was not who Reed Richards was. No, he was going to ensure you had the best treatment possible. And he’d known you long enough to understand you weren’t going to ask for help.

“Y/N.”

Your body slumped as you turned around to face him, your train of thought interrupted entirely.

“What does it feel like this time?”

You sighed. “I don’t know. Heavy? Like there's a piece of it lodged inside me still… I just feel different.”

“Interesting,” he mumbled, typing a brief note into the desktop beside him. It beeped back at him in a frequency you recognized, but neither of you acknowledged it. Your last X-rays yielded no results indicating a foreign object, so that was ruled out. Still, your body felt different.

“Pain level?”

“One. Just discomfort, that’s all. And I know that's normal.”

“Okay…” His tone was suspicious as he studied you. “But if it starts to hurt, please let me know.”

“I promise.” You managed a smile, shaking your head and turning back around.

The sound of him tapping a pencil on his desk filled the silence. Clearly, your answer hadn’t satisfied him. “If you don’t log your progression by yourself, I’m going to keep pestering you,” he warned, even though you could practically hear the smugness in his voice. “It’s already strange enough how quickly your wounds healed.” 

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes since he couldn’t see you. “I'll do it first thing tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Reed left it at that, leaving you to finish your work. There was so much to do, which was why he relented at your request for an early return. But he was still going to keep an eye on you, not only because of Sue’s insistence, but also for his own concern.

After all, you had received that injury protecting his son, Franklin. Both of them would forever be indebted to you.

But for you, it was all still new. Still fresh and raw. How little time you actually had on this earth had only just become apparent.

Up until recently, studying the Fantastic Four’s habits and recording data had been what preoccupied most of your work under Reed’s watchful eye. Countless nights had been spent trying to decipher theory after theory, invention after invention, bouncing ideas off of each other like you had all the time in the world.

Yet, you could never wish for an alternative. If anything, you were blessed. You were lucky. Not just from your own initiative, but from the kindness of this family.

And to think that this had all started because of one college assignment was something you struggled to believe. If everything really did happen for a reason, you had still failed to prove it. But perhaps, that was an anomaly that science could not explain.

All of a sudden, you were just there. Whenever the lab was open, Reed could expect to find you. It didn’t matter if you were a recent hire, and it didn't matter if he was there to accompany you. Physics was clearly your passion. And it would be idiotic of him not to assist in whatever way he could.

You never bothered anyone. For months, the only place you frequented was the office, only leaving hints of your presence on Reed’s desk for the next morning, or talking with him when he happened to run into you.

It was normal. It felt like a real job, and you were starting to enjoy the routine. But that didn’t last long, because the family was far more personable than you would have ever thought. 

Across the room, you heard the doors slide open. You turned around, expecting to see Reed, but instead, you found Sue.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” she greeted warmly. “It’s pretty late, and Reed is caught up in a meeting, so I brought you a snack.”

Your eyes fell to the tray she presented. What you found was not only a snack, but a meal. Part of you wanted to refuse, but the other part of you was utterly famished. It was far too easy to get caught up in work to comprehend just how much time had passed.

“Wow,” you replied. “It looks amazing.”

“I’m glad. I hope you enjoy… And if you ever get hungry when you’re here, don’t be afraid to at least ask Herbie to fetch you something.”

A kind gesture. And to you, it meant even more. Yet all you could say in return was a robotic, “Thank you, Doctor Storm.”

She chuckled. “Just Sue, okay?”

Nodding, you covered up your initial hesitation with a smile as she placed the tray of food on your desk. Sue didn’t linger for long, and you appreciated that, but a part of you knew she was also making sure that Reed didn’t push you too hard.

Nobody but you could seem to keep up with his forever churning brain.

Life had felt so simple back then, when all you had to worry about was reevaluating Reed’s theories for a paycheck.

That was until Johnny Storm waltzed into your life, bringing with him a vibrance of color you could no longer live without.

Seeing him in person for the first time completely derailed your train of thought. His dark blue eyes were hypnotizing.

“Wow,” he whistled quietly. “I'm surprised I finally caught you.”

“W-What do you mean?” you stammered. You fucking stammered—something you never did.

“I’ve heard about you, but…” he trailed off and crossed his arms, as if taking a moment to study you further.

“But?”

“You're like a ghost,” he replied, his tone playful. “Never around when I am.”

Turning to your work with an amused smile, Johnny caught sight of your latest formula. His eyes lingered on the equations, an unexpected curiosity flashing in his gaze.

“I'm sure you're a busy man.”

“Not with anything important,” he admitted, glancing back at you. “I don't need to be in another sunscreen ad. But you...you've got me curious.”

His delivery caused you to giggle. When he put it like that, yeah. Plus, he was easy on the eyes. You didn’t need to be Einstein to figure that one out.

When he put it like that, yeah, plus he was easy on the eyes ?

“Now that your bills are paid?” you jested, quickly biting down on your lip to stop another laugh.

“Exactly.” He shook his head with a smile.

A surprisingly comfortable moment of silence settled between the two of you. Johnny really hadn’t expected you to be this gorgeous. If someone had mentioned it, perhaps he would have come by sooner. Months had already passed since your arrival, and he’d only heard your name in brief run-downs when Reed rambled on about work.

Clearing his throat, Johnny continued. “Anyways, are you hungry? We just finished dinner, but I can get you a plate.”

Flashing him a small, hesitant smile, you glanced back at the computer before you. “I’m actually just about to head out, but I really appreciate it.”

He tilted his head, the movement causing you to focus on him again. “Maybe next time?” he asked, hopefully.

Turning off the computer, you stood up from your seat and slung your purse over your shoulder. “Yeah, next time,” you replied softly, your analytical eyes lingering on him for a moment as you passed by him. “If you catch me.” 

That only made Johnny more curious. But this time, he would let it slide. 

As you were locking up the back door, you glanced behind and found that Johnny had approached your unfinished formula. In a wide stance, he remained, studying it and pondering.

It didn’t bother you. He was an astronaut, after all. Besides, his butt looked amazing in those tight white pants.

_____________________________________________________________

When Sue told you she was pregnant, you got straight to business by inventing and baby-proofing  anything she could think of.

You made your excitement quite apparent with how eager you were to be a part of it all. Even if it was technically their money you spent, you helped adorn the nursery with memories. Ben often referred to you as a stray kitten that made herself right at home, occasionally leaving behind gifts in appreciation. Not that any of them complained; your presence just felt right.

Especially to Johnny, who was forever appreciative of your kindness to his sister and soon-to-be nephew.

“Do you think the baby will like it?” you asked Johnny as he passed by your station on his way to training.

Pausing, he stared at your creation with a confused, raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

“It's not cute right now, I know,” you sighed slightly in defeat, but lifted the device up so Johnny could see better. “This little toy can teach colors.” You reached across the table and grabbed a similar-looking one, placing it in his hands. “And that one teaches the alphabet.”

It was tiny, barely filling his palm. Johnny stared at it, then his eyes drifted back to you. How adorable you were, even in disappointment.

“It’s stupid, isn't it?” you groaned, leaning against the desk and glancing back down at the model diagram. The computer coding was still buzzing white on the desktop. God, your workspace was a mess, and so were you. Johnny probably thought you were an idiot. “Obviously, the casing will be bigger so the baby can’t swallow it.”

All he did was chuckle, though, and set the toy back into your grasp. “It’s definitely one of a kind.”

“–I was going to paint it pink or blue, but I guess it doesn’t really matter for gender…” You couldn’t help but attempt to explain further before trailing off, sneaking a glimpse at him to find he was already gazing at you. The mirth in his stare always flustered you.

You’d never really teased Johnny before, but always had a listening ear when the others did. Now that you had his undivided attention, you were going to make an attempt.

Leaning over the table slightly, you continued since he wasn’t leaving. “I could just make another action figure of you. And the only thing it will say is flame on.”

Immediately, his head tossed back, a loud groan leaving his throat. “Wowww Y/N,” he said, shaking his head, concealing the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll remember this betrayal for the rest of my life.”

“Betrayal?” You feigned surprise, clutching your chest. “I’m making a toy based off of you. Which is a great honor, mind you, and that’s your response? I’m hurt, Johnny.”

Shaking his head, he slung his gym bag back over his shoulders and continued on his path. “You’re not a toymaker!” He shouted from across the room, and your laugh in reply reached his ears before the doors slid shut.

Fleeting moments, often only in passing, were when you interacted with Johnny alone. But every single one put a smile on your face.

Johnny was the first to suggest that you move into one of the vacant guest rooms after catching you sleeping in the workshop. It only seemed reasonable with how much you had done for them. 

It was far too early in the morning, and he didn’t even remember why he had wandered down there. But there you were, in almost complete darkness beside Reed’s desk lamp and the flickering of multiple monitors. 

Before Johnny disturbed you, he just studied you. Your hair, usually in a bun, was now cascading down your shoulders, your lab coat off and scrunched underneath your head as a makeshift pillow. Your chest rose and fell slowly, soft, tired breaths escaping your pretty pink lips. You looked so peaceful… so beautiful. Every time he saw you, he couldn’t help but admire you more. When you couldn’t spend time with the family, he missed your presence. Despite how long you’d been around, he still hadn’t mustered up the courage to even try to gauge your feelings.

“Sleepyhead,” he whispered, poking your arm a few times. A groan escaped you as your eyes blinked open. Once you realized who was standing above you, your eyes widened.

“J-Johnny!” you stuttered, sitting up and glancing around, finally remembering where you were, and what you were supposed to be doing. A blush darkened your cheeks as you glanced away from him and to the half-finished equation on the chalkboard. “I, um, shit…” You trailed off.

“How many times have you done this?” he chuckled, finding your bashfulness endearing. His hip leaned against the desk, his dark blue eyes filled with a warmth you’d sworn you’d noticed before. The one that made your stomach flutter.

Sheepishly, you scratched the back of your neck to relieve some tension. For some reason, you just couldn’t lie to him. “A lot…”

“There’s plenty of guest bedrooms for you to stay in,” he managed to say before a genuine laugh rattled through his muscular body. God, when he wore such tight shirts like that, you couldn’t help but stare. What a fine specimen he was. You weren’t blind, just avoidant. Just busy.

“You still nervous to ask us for things or something?” he asked in your silence.

Meeting his eyes, you paused like a deer in headlights, before eventually shrugging. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You practically live here already, Y/N,” he reminded with a faint smirk.

“Still,” you sighed, standing up out of your chair and aimlessly gathering your coat and purse. You didn’t want to lie and say it didn’t feel right. Because it did, it felt like everything you could have ever asked for. But you were scared. What you were used to was comfortable. It was a routine you couldn’t shake. The quietness of your one-bedroom apartment was enough. It had been for years, and it still could be, even though the thought of even hoping for more made your throat close up. Mixing work with pleasure never ended well.

Just as you were about to shrug your lab coat back on, your feet were suddenly lifted off the ground. “That’s it!” Johnny grunted, carefully and effortlessly hoisting you over his shoulder. “I’m making you.”

“Making me?” you shrieked, still trying to process the position you were now in. Digging your elbows into his shoulder blade, you tried to look at him but failed, unable to squirm further from the tight hold his bicep had around your waist, secured against his neck.

“I have work tomorrow!” you scolded in a hushed tone, ultimately giving up.

Johnny tilted his head back to look at you, trying his best to not let his gaze wander to your ass that was now flush against the other side of his face. 

“Yeah, here.” he deadpanned, reaching for your purse and slinging it over his other shoulder.

“But-”

“Just stay the night.” His tone was softer than before. “I don’t want to have to walk you home at this hour.”

That shut you right up.

Johnny brought you upstairs, humming a song to himself quietly. His heavier-than-usual footsteps alerted the others from their bedrooms. Almost all at once, Sue, Pedro, and Ben all emerged to find you hanging over Johnny’s shoulder, your arms folded tightly in front of you, a grimace of defeat on your tired face.

Help! You mouthed to Ben as Johnny kept walking. God, this was so embarrassing.

“The hell are you two doing?” Ben chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. His initial irritation dissipated once he saw you.

“Making her go to bed,” Johnny replied matter-of-factly. “She fell asleep in the workshop again.”

“Again?” Sue questioned, glancing at Reed. “Is this a recurring issue?”

“This is the first time I’ve heard of it!” Reed raised his hands in surrender, suddenly wide awake. He could’ve sworn you told him you were heading home after finishing the last prototype draft. Reed glanced at the clock. That was four hours ago.

“Y/N.” Sue frowned at you as Johnny halted in front of her with you still in his arms. “You’re more than welcome to use any of the guest bedrooms if you need.”

“She knows that,” Ben chuckled, rubbing his eyes. The sound of stone on stone echoed down the hallway. “We told her last time.”

“No sleeping in the workshop,” Reed tried to scold, but it was more out of concern. “If you’re going to sleep over, use a spare bedroom.”

“Fine!” you groaned in a timid defeat. “I promise I’ll try.”

“We need you at your best.” Reed reminded. “And that requires proper sleep.”

“I understand,” you replied, then conveniently started to yawn. Immediately, your hands shot up to cover your face, but all of them caught it. 

“Walk home, my ass.” Johnny rolled his eyes and hoisted you into a more comfortable position before continuing to stroll on.

“And no going back until you have breakfast!” Sue reminded you, calling down the hallway before closing the door behind her. You could even hear Ben still laughing behind his closed door.

Johnny opened the bedroom door and gently bent down to set you on the bed.

“See how easy that was?” he teased, unable to look away from you as he rose back to his full height, trying to subtly gauge your reaction.

Turning your face away to hide your blush, you huffed. “Jerk.”

He feigned hurt, stumbling back as if you had stabbed him. “For being concerned with your health?”

That caused you to snort, and you shook your head in mock annoyance. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s all a part of my charm, Doll,” he replied in that casually cocky tone that he never used on you, raising his hands in front of him and clapping, turning the overhead lights on. 

“Doll?” you simpered, understanding that he was only joking. “Surely you can think of something better?”

Johnny pondered for a moment. “Challenge accepted.”

Then, he shoved his hands in his pockets, checking you over one more time.  “There’s spare linens in the dresser,” he whispered, heading toward the door.  “See you tomorrow.” 

As you pulled back the covers and fluffed up the pillow, your eyes still managed to trail back to him. In a more theatrical way than you would have preferred, he’d still taken care of you.

“Johnny?” you called quietly.

Halting immediately, he glanced over his shoulder and waited.

“Thank you.”

The way you said his name and the sincerity in your acknowledgement caused his heart to flutter, but he only nodded in response and closed the door.

Neither of you wanted to ruin the already established dynamic.  

Late night after late night, your belongings slowly accumulated on top of that room’s dresser and in the bathroom, which everyone soon labeled as “Y/N’s room” when you weren’t around. Back then, you had been too embarrassed to properly accept their generosity.

Regardless, Johnny found it endearing. And he would never tell anyone how much he reveled in the rare occasion he spotted you in your night gown. He just… liked having you around. He tried to convince himself that’s all it was. Deny. Deny. Deny.

You felt it too, in your soul.

But life had other plans, and before you knew it, the world was coming to an end. At least, that was what an alien woman adorned in silver claimed. You barely had time to process. You could not afford a single tear.

Right back into work you went. But this time, you were preparing for interdimensional space travel, and the possibility of your planet being devoured. 

You were scared. Not just for yourself, but for them as well. For a heavily pregnant Sue, who seemed on edge, who hid her fear well enough to help alleviate your anxiety.

Over and over, you reminded yourself to stay calm. For the baby. For them, and the world.

This wasn’t about you. 

_____________________________________________________________

Large panels in the sealing pried open, revealing a clear blue sky. Air whooshed in violently, and the engines rumbled to life. 

Johnny, Sue, Reed, and Ben, stood across from you as their helmets clicked in place. 

“Please let me come with,” you pleaded one more time as the spaceship doors hissed open from across the very public and florid walkway, steam billowing up the pale white walls. 

“No.” Johnny replied so firmly that Sue raised her eyebrows. 

“We need you here, Y/N,” Reed interjected, eyes flickering over to Johnny as he took note of the reaction. 

You bid them all farewell with a bone-crushing hug, but Johnny was the one you held onto the longest, his hands brushing against your waist for a moment longer than appropriate, wishing he could go lower. 

The things he wanted to tell you. But there never seemed to be a time. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” you whispered into his ear. “And that also includes dying.” 

You thought you felt his lips press into your hair as he inhaled slowly, savoring the moment now that the others weren’t watching. 

“I promise.” 

And you knew he meant it. 

Despite that promise, anxiety still consumed you. 

You remembered how hopeless you felt as you watched the rocket disappear into the atmosphere, sending the only friends you’d ever known millions of light-years away–with no guarantee that they would return. It was out of your control. Outliers that could disrupt your perfect calculations. Formulas that they relied on. If anything went wrong… it would just be you. 

You didn’t leave their house for the entire month they were gone. Your days were spent prepping for their return and inventing far too many prototypes to assist with Sue’s pregnancy, undoubtedly finishing and improving what Reed had already started working on. What else was there to do? You were alone with Herbie, your only communication being daily correspondence to ANSA with updates. But there were none. And all you could do was cross days off the calendar. You were stuck. Without their findings, you had nothing to go on. 

As for your nights, you cracked in the first week. The building felt so lifeless without them, and your mind kept thinking the worst, wondering if they would come back. 

It was early in the morning, and you were still wide awake. It had been days since you’d slept. As you trudged down the hallway, you instinctively stopped at Johnny’s room. 

Your chest felt heavy when you thought about him, which is why you’d spent days doing anything else you could possibly do to avoid confronting your emotions. 

But tonight was different; an overwhelming sadness was suffocating you. An itch you couldn’t scratch. 

Pushing his door open, you wandered inside and tried to steady yourself back into the present. You studied his belongings and decor. Some of his clothing was still sprawled about, snack wrappers still crinkled inside his trash can. Remnants of his presence that made you chew on the inside of your cheek, that made you wonder if he would make it back to pick up after himself. 

Before you could even think to stop it, tears started to well in the corners of your eyes. Your lip quivered in resistance,  yet you still collapsed onto his bed. You grasped his pillow and brought it to your chest, burying your face in the silky fabric. It still smelled like his cologne, of him, someone that was unattainable to you. 

Perhaps it was your exhaustion and lack of sleep, but you eventually cried yourself to sleep. It had been years since you’d sobbed that hard, that helplessly. 

Every single night after that, you would stand by the ceiling-high windows and gaze into the star-littered sky, searching for a sign of their return, even though you knew it wasn’t possible. And afterward, you would find your way back into Johnny’s bed, as the thought of him was the only thing that lulled you to sleep. 

That anxiety didn’t fade until the moment you watched all five of them exit the spaceship. Five. In Sue’s arms was a baby boy. If there hadn’t been a sea of people watching, you would have sprinted over there to embrace them. But something wasn’t right. 

What should’ve been a joyous return, quickly proved to be the opposite. Earth’s heroes hadn’t saved you. None of them looked relieved, let alone happy. And the fear of the unknown only stoked a rising sense of panic.

But when Johnny finally found your eyes, there was a glimmer of hope. That was the familiarity you needed, one that grounded you back into reality, one that calmed you despite the chaos unfolding around you.  

Right then, they needed you. 

Sue was exhausted, pale as if she’d seen a ghost. Reed couldn’t even look at you, too ashamed to admit that he was stumped, that he was scared. Ben was utterly silent, his heavy, defeated stare speaking volumes about how dire the situation was. 

Your eyes were wide with concern as they walked past, retreating from the already disparaging reporters. Johnny was last, and as he passed you, his hand came to rest protectively on the small of your back. Without a word, he gently nudged you closer to him, leading you away from the chaos. 

“What happened, Johnny?” you asked as the two of you rounded a corner, finally out of sight from prying eyes. 

From his time in space, and from the impending possibility that your world could be destroyed at any moment, Johnny decided that he wouldn’t take another moment for granted. 

Before another question left your lips, he pulled you into his embrace. 

At first, you were frozen, but gradually, you melted into him, resting your chin against his shoulder, your arms looping around his neck. 

“You alright, Johnny?” you asked softly, breath dancing across the side of his neck. He almost shivered. 

“Just making sure you’re real.” It was all he could mutter, his arms encircling you, hands pawing at your hips momentarily before stilling. 

“What else would I be?” you asked genuinely, wondering if he was okay. Johnny seemed… just as tired and frightened as the rest, even if he tried to mask it with indifference. 

“An angel?” he chuckled, but it was soft and tinged with admiration. Slowly, he loosened his grip on you, placing his finger underneath your chin and leading you to look up at him. “There were a few moments where I thought we wouldn’t make it.” 

He didn’t need to say anything more about it. That was enough for you to understand. 

Johnny cupped your face as he gazed into your eyes. Such a beautiful pair, filled with wonder and wisdom, perhaps even admiration for him, thought he didn’t want to assume. For now, he could only wish that he could gaze into them every morning. He wanted to make you proud, he wanted to keep you safe. 

“You’re beautiful, like an angel,” he whispered before he could stop himself. “So forgive me for being mistaken.” 

Though he’d never touched you so tenderly, it felt so natural, so right. And when you didn’t shy away from the touch, he felt his heart race faster. You only waited patiently, your hand trailing across the fabric of his spacesuit, until it brushed over his name badge. Johnny. 

My Johnny. 

As you stared at his badge, his hand came to rest over your own, giving it a gentle squeeze. Being held by him like this was overwhelming. He was quite literally the only thing you wanted on this God forsaken earth. The realization and acceptance of that caused a tear to slip from the corner of your eye. It hardly rolled down your cheek before Johnny wiped it away with his thumb. 

“Hey, don’t cry for me,” he said softly, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. “I’m right here, Y/N.” 

Your lips parted in anticipation, realizing just how close you were, and how badly you wanted to close the gap. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, like how you missed his stupid jokes and endless compliments, his midnight blue eyes and sweatpants that left little room for imagination. Why did he have to be in a spacesuit right now? 

But whatever was happening between the two of you was interrupted by the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat. 

Johnny’s head whipped to the side, and you quickly jumped out of his hold. 

It was Ben. His analytic eyes had already taken note of the position Johnny had you in. 

“Meeting. Now.” Ben tried to scold. 

“It’s not what it looks like-” you rushed out. 

“-Oh it’s exactly what it looks like,”  Ben cut you off, his hard exterior cracking into a smug smile when your eyes sheepishly averted to the floor. 

And of course, Johnny couldn’t help but glare at him for killing the mood. Could one good thing happen to him this month? 

Trailing behind Johnny and Ben, you followed them to the workshop. A few times, Johnny looked back at you, and you couldn’t help but smile each time. 

The atmosphere was lighter than before now that you all were away from the public’s prying eyes. And when Sue saw you enter, she smiled warmly. 

With the baby boy in her arms, she approached you. He was cuddled in a blue blanket, with a tiny blue cap already warming his head. 

“Y/N,” she said your name soothingly. “Meet Franklin.” 

You gushed immediately, honored beyond measure when she gently handed you an already cooing, happy Franklin. What a cute name. 

“Hi honey…” you whispered, cradling him against your chest, pleased when he smiled up at you. You poked his cheek and he cooed in response, grasping onto your finger. 

Smiling, you glanced over at Reed. “He looks nothing like you,” you teased, and Reed only rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. 

And, well, Johnny couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were just so pretty, and seemed to glow when you held his nephew. 

“Isn’t he just the cutest?” Johnny said beside you, desperate to get closer. 

You gazed up at him and nodded, instinctively leaning into him as he set an arm around your shoulders. 

“You’re gonna be the best uncle ever.” 

“I know, right?” 

Unbeknownst to your and Johnny’s conversation, Ben, Sue, and Reed had all wandered off to the other side of the room. 

“What the heck is this about?” Sue asked, gesturing to you and Johnny preoccupied by Franklin’s adorable expressions, her brother’s arm still wrapped around you as if he always did that. 

“No idea,” Reed said with a shrug, not even bothering to look, seeming to be more interested in your unfinished notes scattered across his desk. He started to reach for the computer, ready to turn it on and start working to calm his brain before Sue stopped him. 

“Not right now,” she sighed. 

Ignoring their bickering, Ben continued to analyze your body language, which was definitely a lot more laxed than usual. He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I’m thinking Johnny finally made a move.” 

“No kidding.” Sue nodded in agreement, unable to conceal the upturn of her lips. She should have considered you and Johnny a possibility sooner. You were a brilliant, beautiful, and kind young woman. 

And Johnny, was Johnny. He was not blind, and he wasn’t a fool. He often complimented you when you came up in conversation, going on and on about how smart you were. Of course Sue noticed the way her brother’s eyes lit up when you walked in the room, how he always made sure to be the one to pull out your chair and serve you dinner. And when you were in the lab, Johnny would conveniently be the one to help you with any heavy lifting. The little things, the things that would matter to you. So why hadn’t he said anything to her? 

“Finally?” Reed finally focused in on the conversation, immediately sensing he’d been missing some signs for a very long time. 

His eyes went from you, then flickered back to the other side of the room where there had to be at least twenty boxes stacked up against the back corner. 

“What are all these boxes for, Y/N?” Reed asked. 

Hearing your name being called, Johnny let his hand fall to his side as you turned around. 

“Toys for this little guy!” you said in a baby voice, peering down at Franklin and making a funny face. “But also lots of baby supplies. I have four different car seat options.” 

“That’s quite an overkill,”  Ben teased once you crossed the room with Johnny in tow. 

“But of course we appreciate it,” Sue added, shaking her head with a laugh. 

“I didn’t have much else to do…” you confessed, your words dying in your throat at the memory of the last month. Turning your face away, you tried to hide the sadness that threatened to crack your expression. 

The chalkboard that still had your unfinished formula on it caught your eye, and you nodded to it. “I couldn’t finish until you all came back.” 

The way you said it made Johnny tilt his head as he gazed at you. It wasn’t just because of your lack of material to study, it was because you cared about them. Probably more than he’d realized. And unfortunately, in your line of work, where there were big problems, there were bigger distractions. 

Reed wanted to comfort you, but he didn’t know how. “Well, we brought enough back that you can look at,” he started, but he was unable to sugarcoat their journey, especially to you. “Though I’m not sure if what we were working on before will matter.” 

You appreciated the honesty, even if it could be earth-shattering. This would not be the first time, and you couldn’t help but feel it wouldn’t be the last. 

It took you a moment to respond, briefly distracted by Franklin shifting in your arms. Again, you failed to hide your smile when it came to the baby boy. This effort from all of you was for him. For all the children destined to be born on this planet, for the future and for your life. 

“It will,” you replied as if you no longer had doubts, carefully handing Franklin over to his father. “But tonight, I think you should all rest.” 

“We should start now,” Reed replied quickly, grimacing as the words left his mouth. But his anxiety seemed to subside as his eyes fell down to gaze at his son. 

“Your mind isn’t clear, and neither is mine,” you said, pointing out the obvious, but sometimes having to convince Reed was a challenge in itself. Even a genius struggled with the little things. 

“Still, we need every minute we can get-” 

“Which can start in the morning,” you interrupted, refusing to budge an inch. “No staying up in the lab and falling asleep, remember?” 

Everyone managed to laugh despite the severity of your situation. 

You took that as your sign to depart and began heading toward the elevator. “It’s already late, and I’ll be down here at seven am.” 

“The boss has spoken,” Ben chuckled, crossing his arms. 

“Hey!” Reed grumbled. “I’m the boss.” 

Pausing as the elevator doors binged open, you looked at each of them and mustered a smile, your hands folded bashfully in front of you. “I’m really happy you’re all safe. I was very lonely without you all.” 

None of them responded, only offering sincere smiles in return. That was how you preferred it, just the acknowledgment of your authenticity. 

As the elevator doors closed, you thought about saying more, but relented. If you trusted anyone to solve this, it would be them. Though you had no super-human abilities, you would attempt to assist them in any way you could, like you always had. 

For a moment, you met Johnny’s eyes. You had so much to say to him, a confession that would, yet again, have to wait until all of this was over. It wasn’t fair, you weren’t being fair—but it was the reality you lived in. What was the point of confessing if you would soon be dead? 

As you ascended to the top floor, your forehead came to rest against the elevator doors. A deep exhale escaped you, and it felt like forever until you took another breath. Johnny fucking Storm would not leave your mind. 

Meanwhile, Johnny’s gaze refused to break from the spot you had just been. He was tense, his arms crossed over his chest, wanting to follow his heart, wanting to follow you. 

It wasn’t until Reed cleared his throat that Johnny finally broke his trance. He found that Reed and Sue were sharing an all-knowing look. Sue was smirking while Reed looked annoyed. Oh, God. 

Ben spoke first, like he always did. “You got it bad, Johnny.” 

Trying to play it off cool, Johnny raised his eyebrow. “Got what?” 

“A crush on Y/N.”

Well, there it was. His not-so-secret cover was blown. 

“Saying it like that makes it sound so juvenile,” Johnny retorted, refusing to look Ben in the eyes. 

“Oh,” Sue quipped, egging him on further. “So, you’re in love with her then?” 

“Why is this turning into an interrogation?” Johnny asked, groaning in annoyance. 

“Because you’re not denying it!” Ben said loudly, laughing and pointing at him like he’d been caught with his pants down. 

Waving them off, Johnny shook his head and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. He knew what time it was, and there was no way for him to get out of it now that you weren’t in earshot. 

“Has anything happened between you two?” Reed asked, surprisingly with no antagonization. 

“No.” 

All three of them tiredly glanced at him, as if they didn’t believe it. Nobody said a word either, they just stared into his fucking soul. 

Tossing his head back, Johnny groaned. “I swear!” he paused, then pointed like Ben had. “On your firstborn!” 

Suddenly, Franklin burst into tears. 

“Fuck! I mean, uh—sorry,” Johnny sighed in defeat. Almost the second he did, Franklin stopped crying, which only made Johnny glare harder. That baby was way too damn smart and expressive for only being alive for a few weeks. 

Bringing his hands to his face, Johnny sighed again, his shoulders sagging. Maybe it would be good to talk about it. 

“We just had some moments over the months, that’s all,” he said. “I don’t even know if she likes me in that way, alright?” 

“She does,” Sue hummed. “I see the way she looks at you.” 

“I think if she didn’t like you, Johnny, she wouldn’t let you hold her like that, yeah?” Ben added. 

“What?” Reed sputtered. 

Johnny’s eyes widened and he smacked Ben’s arm to make him shut up, which only resulted in pain shooting through his knuckles. 

“Seriously dude?” he grumbled, flopping his limp hand in Ben’s face like it was snapped at the wrist. 

“Totally about to kiss-” Ben continued, his eyebrows grinding as they wiggled mockingly.  

“Shut up!” 

“Johnny,” Reed called his name firmly. 

Apprehensively, Johnny turned his attention to him. 

“Do you have feelings for her?” 

Johnny tried to muster up something, anything, but was completely blank. Years had been spent pining over you, hoping to get closer to you, wishing he could be the man who makes you smile in every situation. The one that could make you happy and give you the life you deserve. You deserved the world, and he wanted to give it to you, badly. 

Despite what could happen, he wanted to at least say it once. 

“Yes,” Johnny uttered softly, averting his attention to the floor. Yeah, he was a flirt. Yes he loved women. He was a lot of things. But when it came to you, he was another man entirely. 

“If you care for her in that way, why haven’t you told us?” Sue asked, taking this situation seriously and with the utmost care. It was her brother’s happiness, after all. And it was important, especially during the rare moments he was vulnerable like this. You made him vulnerable. 

He shrugged. “Felt like there was never enough time. It’s not like anything has happened. Wasn’t a reason to unless she wanted to. Again, we haven’t talked about it.” 

“Are you going to?” Sue asked gently. 

“I’ve been trying, but I don’t want to disrupt her flow.” 

Reed seemed to agree with that statement, as even he offered some reassurance. “I really don’t care what the two of you do, as long as she shows up for work.”

Sharply eyeing her husband, Sue continued. “She’s a dear friend to us all. We all love her, so just be careful. Not that you would, but don’t hurt her.” 

The one thing he was certain of was that he would never, ever intentionally hurt you, in any way, shape, or form. You were strong, smart, and beautiful. Hell, you could have any man you wanted, you could be anyone you wanted. He would never try to take that away from you, but his heart was screaming for you to be his, and he wanted to be yours. He wanted you to choose him. 

“I think Johnny’s already going at her pace,” Ben said, interrupting his spiralling train of thought by setting a firm, rocky hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks for the backup,” Johnny managed to chuckle. “But yeah, I'm letting her lead. Or at least I need a more solid clue before I attempt anything.” 

That’s what he kept telling himself as he made his way upstairs, mind racing over what his family had said. Honestly, he hadn’t expected them to approve, especially Reed. Now, there didn’t seem to be anything holding him back besides his cowardice. 

When he flipped the lights  in his room on, he was surprised to find his bed made. And tucked under his pillow was a note. 

_____________________________________________________________

It was far past midnight when you heard a knock on your door. You were still wide awake, just staring at the ceiling. Unable to sleep, unable to keep your mind from racing. You were a hypocrite, after all, forcing Reed to go to bed while you stayed up in your room, scanning over the datasheets from their journey to Galactus. 

How could you possibly sleep after learning everything that happened to them? The truth of the universe and your inevitable fate, watching their body camera footage to find alien technology, far more powerful than your own, and how godly beings were able to harness the ability to consume planets. How devastating, yet amazing. Possibilities that stretched far past your imagination, possibilities that you wanted to solve. 

Pausing the video on your laptop, you crawled out of bed and quietly opened the door to reveal Johnny, who seemed nervous. 

“Johnny?” you whispered, opening the door further and revealing that damn night gown he always hoped you would wear. 

“Don’t wash them next time.” That was all he said. 

“What?” you stammered, confused. 

“If you’re going to sleep in my bed, you don’t have to wash the sheets after.” 

It took you a moment to understand his implication. The note, fuck. You’d forgotten about the note you left in his room a week prior. What did you even say? Did you even want to remember? It was clear you’d stayed there anyway, and you thought it was right to be honest about it. 

And perhaps you were also spiralling, trying your best to make sense of the emotions bubbling in your chest. 

“I slept in there more than once, though,” you tried to conjure an excuse for why you did his laundry. But then you blushed so deeply you thought your cheeks would burn off. “Didn’t want it to smell like me.” 

Johnny noticed, and he could feel his cheeks flushing in turn, his stomach flipping into knots. God, he felt like a little kid attempting to confess to his high school crush. That’s how he felt around you, and he hated it. The man who could flirt with every other woman struggled to flirt with the one he wanted most. 

Biting down on his lip to refrain from saying more, from confessing his true feelings right then and there, Johnny stepped back from the door. He was so tired. Just having your scent on his sheets would have been healing. It would have been enough. 

“I do though,” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to explain his sudden appearance outside your door. “You can sleep in there whenever you want without worrying about it.” 

Glancing over his shoulder, you found nobody else in the hallway to witness whatever was going on, completely oblivious to the fact that the rest of his family now knew his intentions. 

“Would you like to come in?” you offered, opening the door wider. 

Johnny swallowed hard, his eyes falling to your attire again, which left little to the imagination. God, he should have taken you swimming to get a better look at those hidden curves and perky breasts, nipples that poked against the thin fabric of your nightgown. He wanted to tear it off. Craving for his hands to explore every inch of what he knew you could offer. 

He should have done so much more for you, with you. He’d always thought there was so much more time, and now there seemed like none. 

“I…I shouldn’t be in your room with you when you’re wearing that,” he managed to stammer out, completely in his own head and clearly enjoying the view. 

“How come?” You tilted your head into his line of vision, knowing exactly what he was staring at. When his eyes met yours again, there was a glint of a dare in your eyes… Were you enjoying this? 

“Because I…” he paused, taking a shaky breath. “Would be a distraction.” 

“Maybe when this is all over, then,” you whispered, gazing up at him tenderly through your long eyelashes, a light shade of pink dusting your cheeks. “I, for once, could use one.” 

Yeah, this was definitely part of your plan. Reed said he didn’t care about your relationship, but if Johnny decided right then to give in to all his desires, you would not make it to work in the morning. And that wouldn’t be good for anyone but him. Right now, you had to be a physicist, you had to use that pretty little head of yours to save them all.  

“Well, when you put it like that, I’ll be sure to save the world then,” he assured, not even trying to hide his stare, eyes that burned across your skin and tried to study every inch of you. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Then, he reached for your hand and softly kissed it. His lips seared across your coldness, causing a shiver of anticipation to rattle your body. 

“I know,” you tittered softly, wanting to say more but relenting, holding his gaze until he made the first move and took a step back. Your fingers brushed against his cheek as he pulled away, desperate for as much contact as he would give you. 

“Goodnight, Angel,” he whispered. “Try not to think of all the things you want me to do to you.” 

Impossible. You wanted to call after him, yet the heaviness of his words caused you to fall silent. 

After your door clicked shut, you were left back in the darkness, alone, and without him. Bringing your hand to your chest, you turned around and thumped your back against the door, sliding down until your knees met your chest. Heart racing, you tried to make sense of what that was. 

Every private interaction you had with Johnny Storm only confused your heart more.

Did he want you too? In the same way you wanted him? 

The tension between the two of you had lingered for too long that it was now comfortable, familiar. The both of you had been hesitating till now, worried that, at any moment, it could shatter easily.

It was in the way he spoke to you, with such tenderness and care, deciding to depart with only a sweet, chaste kiss on your hand, having to know it would leave you wanting more. It made your abdomen lurch with intense longing, and this time, you were desperate to satiate it. 

That night, you touched yourself to the thought of Johnny Storm. You gave in to your hidden, suppressed desires, wishing he was tangled up in the sheets beside you, wishing that everything else was a dream and that him being yours was the reality. 

Johnny’s heart was still pounding as he finally laid down in his bed. 

Your handwriting was messy, yet beautiful. This was probably the tenth time he read it over, thumb brushing over the heart by your name. You’d clearly been distressed, yet he couldn’t help but smile that it was on his behalf, and that you also found comfort in him. Finally, you’d revealed a part of yourself to him. Raw and vulnerable. 

Johnny, if you see this, please don’t tell anyone. But I want to apologize for sleeping in your bed. I washed and made everything so that's why your bed looks different. I just miss you, I miss everyone. I can only sleep if I’m in here. I don’t know if it's because of the lighting or the comfort of your bed. But yeah, your bed is really comfortable, and your cologne smells familiar. I didn’t think 3 weeks would feel this long, this lonely. I got used to the routine. I love the routine, because I've also factored you bothering me into my routine. I can't help but fear that you won't come back, which is why I think I’m writing this. So please come back so I can stop worrying. I’m not sure if my heart could take that. But I’m also sure you’ll come back. So if you’re reading this, no you’re not and please throw this away and don’t tease me. -Y/N<3

Johnny snorted to himself. There was no way in hell he would throw this note away. Not in a million years. Instead, he tucked it under his pillow as a good luck charm. Hell, he might even frame it if you all didn’t die in the coming weeks. 

That had to be enough. 

And as the days trudged on, it seemed to be enough for the both of you. A promise, a motivation, a newfound hope. 

The two of you delved into your separate work, just like the rest of the world. Everyone was counting on you, and there was no time for romance or distractions despite your yearning heart. 

Like before, most of your interactions with Johnny were only in passing or at the dinner table. 

But after an especially long and tiresome day, you trudged into your bathroom to find a Post-it note stuck to your bathroom mirror. 

Can I respond to your note? Well I am anyway. I'm not sure how to express how much I missed you. I'm better with my actions and not my words like you are. But don’t worry, Angel, I don’t plan on going anywhere. -JS

P.S. Is Angel better? Do you like it? You didn’t say anything about it last time

The next morning, as you passed him in the hallway, you grasped his hand and briefly intertwined your fingers with his until he felt the stick of the Post-it note. Far too quickly, your touch slipped away as you continued on. 

As Johnny unraveled it, your large, glistening eyes met his with a longing he hadn’t understood before. Your hand rested against the hallway’s corner, waiting. 

Smirking in response, Johnny winked at you before you disappeared around the hallway corner to join the others for breakfast. On the back of his original note, you responded simply. 

Much better. What do you want to be called, my flame boy?? 

It wasn’t until both of you almost died that you realized what it was. 

Working with Reed…was something else entirely. It was a learning curve, understanding just how the man’s brain worked. Even to this day, you weren’t sure you understood it. Even when things went perfectly, when test runs on prototypes worked out better than you could’ve ever imagined, Reed was never satisfied. Something could always be better, be improved, as if his brain was factoring in the hundreds of thousands of possibilities that could occur and alter your data. You made it work, though–with patience and understanding–you managed to find the best way to work around Reed’s faults and work with him, to support him.

What was supposed to be just a job in the Baxter Building became so much more. Through it, you gained a family you never thought quite possible.

Reed’s wife, Susan Storm, was another one of the brightest minds that you had ever encountered. Kind, compassionate, but fiercely loyal and unafraid to step up to the plate when a challenge arrived, when the people she loved were threatened. You admired her and everything she stood for, the way she carried herself day in and day out. And since the day you had arrived at the Baxter Building, she welcomed you with open arms, as if you had always been part of the family.

Ben Grimm was the most talented pilot you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. The perfect counter to Reed and his panicky mind at times, having known the man long enough to understand his quirks in a way you could only hope to. Ben was always kind, always open, always ready to lend a hand or be a shoulder for anyone that needed to listen.

Johnny Storm…was the bane of your existence, in the best way.

“Wrong address, sweetheart. The modeling agency is two blocks down. I could escort you over there, if you’d like?”

Those were the first words the hot-headed younger brother of Sue Storm had said to you, passing by you in the lobby of the building on your first day, a wink thrown in for good measure when he’d spoken.

Having followed Dr. Richards' work long enough, which meant knowing bits about his personal life, you were well aware of the reputation that Johnny Storm carried. The papers and magazines, talk shows and gossip blogs, all called him a playboy simply because he’d never been in a long-term relationship but was still a ladies man. You never saw him like that, though. All you saw was a brilliant guy, a lover of space, even if that passion of his was sometimes overlooked because of his ‘love for women’.

And, oh, how you wished his empty, blatant flirting with you didn’t bring a blush to your cheeks every time, or make your heart skip a beat, but it did. Every single time, it did. You weren’t blind: Johnny Storm was objectively handsome and much too charming for his own good, and you decided right then and there that you would use every ounce of your willpower to ignore his empty flirts. You didn’t need to become another girl hopelessly in love with the heartthrob of the Fantastic Four, even if your heart ached when you saw him with anyone else.

Those four had become important to you in ways that you would never be able to describe, but Sue always described it best: a family. 

That’s why when four of the closest people to you in life went up into space for Reed’s exploration mission, and came back cosmically changed forever, you never left their sides. They were your family, and family stuck together, no matter what.

“Reed,” your comment was cautious, hands stilling at your work station in the lab of the Baxter Building. Glancing over your shoulder, Reed was hunched over the machine he’d built in just a day, specifically to monitor the health of the baby growing inside of Sue’s stomach, as Herbie rocked back and forth beside him. “You’ve scanned Sue a thousand times at this point-”

“That’s an exaggeration. I’ve scanned her 123 times-”

“That’s not the point,” he glanced over at you then, looking away the second he saw the pointed look you were throwing at him. With a sigh, you abandoned your work, leaning back against the table behind you to watch him fret over the device. “We have run every test possible, scanned for every data point that links back to the fluctuations in your DNA from the cosmic rays we noted years ago, and we’ve gotten nothing. Your baby is okay.”

“There are still more tests to run,”

Another sigh escaped past your lips, and you allowed yourself to hang your head with a shake.

Since the moment Sue had announced her pregnancy, he’d been like this: even more on edge than usual. Baby-proofing the kitchen, smoke detectors in every single room and hallway, baby gates around every corner, it was getting insufferable. A sweet gesture, overall, and a testament to how much he loved and adored Sue, but exhausting to everyone else that had to be in his presence.

“Fine, but I’m not breaking the news to Sue that you want to scan her…again,”

“I already told her to meet me down here before dinner for another scan. We can adjust the parameters tomorrow. I want another data set from today’s scan at the current parameters to compare the changes with,” Reed never looked in your direction, still fiddling with the machine in front of him. “You’re staying for dinner, yes?”

“I’m making it,” was the response you shot back to him, powering down your workstation in the lab and rising from your chair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Apparently Sue has been craving spaghetti, and requested my family recipe.”

“You can’t argue with a pregnant woman,” Reed muttered, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still never looked up. “I’ll see you up there for dinner, then. There’s a few more tests that I want to run.”

“You also have a meeting at 5:45 and one at 6:15,” you shot back to him as you turned to leave the lab, checking the desk calendar lying beside your work station. There was a hum from the man, the smallest acknowledgement you were going to get, so you set your sights on Herbie and waved him forward. “Come on, Herb. An extra hand in the kitchen is always nice.”

As much as you thought of the Fantastic Four as your family, you never stayed for dinner often. You always tried your hardest to uphold the lines between your work life and personal life, not wanting to blur them completely (though, you were sure you had already blurred them enough for it to be too late). There had been plenty of times over the years where you’d stayed for dinner, usually once a month at this rate.

Sue always invited you, and you never wanted to disappoint her, and you gave in often. Ben had a way of wrangling you into saying yes before you were ever given the chance to speak at all. Reed had only asked once, asking you to stay back for the dinner months ago in which they announced to you that Sue was pregnant.

Johnny asked every day. You said no, most of the time, but when you did stay for dinner it was usually because those captivating, bright blue eyes were staring into your soul and pleading with you to stay.

Speak of the devil: there he sat at the dining room table. Clad in a white t-shirt with their logo resting over the pocket and the blue pants of his suit, a weird sight given that you had been in the lab with Reed all day and didn’t think any of them had left to attend to any ‘hero’ work.

You didn’t say a word as you strolled past him into the kitchen with Herbie on your heels, simply plucking the box of Lucky Charms from his hands as you swooped past. It was impossible not to smile to yourself at the scoff of indignation he let out at your actions.

“Hey-!”

“You’re going to spoil your appetite,” you shot back at him, throwing him a smirk over your shoulder before slotting the now closed cereal box into the cupboard where it usually sat.

Herbie beeped out a set of beeps that, over the years, you had come to understand. This time, he was agreeing with you, pointing out some facts about how eating out of the box lacked moderation, and would in turn actually spoil his appetite. You gave the little robot a fist bump for that, something that Johnny shot the little helper a glare for.

“Come on, Herbert, you’re supposed to take my side on these things!” There was no real malice in his words as he got up from the dining room table, rounding into the kitchen as you took the pots and pans that Herbie had gathered for you, setting them out along the counter where you needed them. “Baby, you didn’t tell me you were staying for dinner.”

When you told yourself that you weren’t going to fall into the trap that was the charming and charismatic Johnny Storm, you weren’t prepared for two things.

One: when he got comfortable around someone, he could be an even bigger flirt. Pet names were constant. Baby, sweetheart, honey, doll, love…you name it, Johnny called you it. Constantly. So constantly you were sure the blush on your cheeks was a permanent staple. He’d even once called you his little flame–that had been met with the tip of your heel being dug into his foot.

The second thing you weren’t prepared for: touch. Johnny Storm didn’t understand personal space, not when he was comfortable around you. If you were in the room with him, he was standing less than a foot from you, and you always knew because you could feel the warmth that radiated off his unusually hot skin. His hands would always rest on your arm, your elbow, right at the bottom of your lower back.

Moments like this in the kitchen were normal, and yet they still fried your brain. That simply little pet name, and Johnny’s warm hand ghosting over your lower back, before coming to rest on your hip. Clearing your throat, you gently pried his hand from your body, shooting him a look as you moved around to get the ingredients for dinner, hoping your flushed cheeks didn’t give you away.

“When your pregnant sister has cravings for my personal family recipe spaghetti, I’m required to oblige her,”

“I asked you to make this for me two weeks ago and you refused,”

Johnny followed close behind you, like a little puppy following its owner. You tried, and failed, to contain your smile at his actions. The media might paint him as some sex god (you weren’t going to lie…if he wanted to be, he could be) but you saw him for what he was: the epitome of a little golden retriever at times.

“Well you aren’t a hormonal pregnant woman with super powers,” you shot back at him, taking the opened jar of spaghetti sauce from Herbie’s hand and dumping it into the pot on the stove top, turning up the heat on the boiling pot of water for the noodles Herbie had laid out for you.

“No, but Johnny is a hormonal guy with super powers, who adores your cooking,” bumping his hip with yours, Johnny stole the wooden spoon from your hand with ease, dipping it into the simmering sauce to stir. With that same ease, he leaned down just slightly, leaving a kiss to your bare shoulder that felt as if it had left a brand into your skin. “Johnny also happens to just adore you, and loves when you stay for dinner.”

You had given up on the blush by now. He’d surely seen it enough over the years with his incessant flirting, there was no use in hiding it. Bumping your hip back with him, biting into your bottom lip in a failed attempt to conceal the smile spreading across your lips, you stole the wooden spoon back from him.

“Johnny also talks in the third person too much, and is an insufferable flirt half the time,” he dipped his hand into the sauce, coating his fingers in red as you whacked lightly at his hand, forcing him to withdraw as quickly as he’d dipped in. “What have I told you about doing that!”

He’d laughed, one of your favorite sounds, as you glanced over at him with a bright smile, unable to truly stay mad at him…ever.

That was, until he dipped his sauce-covered ring finger and middle finger into his mouth to lick the sauce clean off, eyes never leaving yours and a smirk curling up on his lips. It forced you to swallow the lump that had formed in your throat and look away as quickly as you could, feeling a different kind of heat swelling in your body: yeah, Johnny knew exactly what he was doing.

“Not sure, baby, that look you’re giving me right now doesn’t scream that I’m insufferable-”

“Oh, that’s exactly what it’s screaming,” you shot back, even with the ghost of a smile pulling at your lips as Herbie readied the garlic bread on the counter behind you. “If you’re not going to help, you can leave this kitchen. I don’t care if you live here.”

Johnny rolled his eyes in response, hopping up onto the counter next to the stove where you worked. You caught the box of noodles he knocked over before they could fall to the ground, shooting him a look as he held his hands up innocently, dumping them into the boiling water pot.

“You basically live here, too,”

“I don’t-”

“Yeah, because you keep refusing the room that Sue prepared for you,”

He…wasn’t wrong. Two years ago, Sue had transformed what was previously the guest room into a room that looked like it had been built just for you. Your favorite color on the walls, a matching quilt set on the bed, and she’d offered it to you. A place to stay, to live, given that Reed sometimes had you in the Baxter Building until the oddest hours of the morning.

You declined, still desperate to keep that line between your work life and your personal life separate, as tempting of an offer as it was. Sue wasn’t slighted by your decision at all, instead offering it to you to use whenever you needed to. There had been times in which you had taken up that offer, a few changes of clothes tucked away in the room on the odd chance that you’d need them.

“This place is your home, not mine,” you didn’t look at Johnny as you spoke, simply shaking your head as you stirred both the sauce and the noodles in their respective pots. “I’m Reed’s assistant, I’m not family-”

“Stop it,”

Even with the heat that rolled off Johnny Storm, every time his bare skin touched your own it sent a shiver straight down the length of your spine. His hand curled around your jawline, thumb and index finger pinching at your chin to force you to look up at him, to gaze into those intense blue eyes and the look on his face that had morphed so quickly from playful to serious.

“Johnny-”

“You are family, whether you like it or not,” the statement didn’t surprise you, it wasn’t the first time in your four years of knowing him that Johnny had said something like this to you, or anyone on the team for that matter. It always made you feel warm inside, though, to hear him say it, to see that loyalty and love for the people he cared about shine through in his words, such a stark contrast to the way the media sometimes portrayed him. “There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you.”

That was new. He hadn’t made a declaration like that to you before.

It was something about the look in his eyes as he said it–so genuine, so soft–that had you melting into his touch. His hand curled back up to your cheek, thumb just barely caressing the apple of your cheek, leaving a trail of heat with every swipe of his finger against your skin. Your heart betrayed you, fluttering in that moment like it always did.

These moments used to be few and far between. You didn’t know how else to describe them besides just calling them moments. Over the first few years of knowing Johnny Storm, there were small moments where that empty flirts verged on the edge of something different, something raw and real. But in the last year, they happened more often than they didn’t. Johnny wasn’t pictured out with as many women anymore, wasn’t brazenly caught flirting with anyone with legs and a pulse at events. And in moments like this, even in front of his family, he’d touch you, caress you, speak to you in a way that felt so genuine, that felt like it was real. Like the flirting was no longer just empty, meaningless fun.

That line between your work and personal life might have been a muddled mess, but the line between being Johnny Storm’s friend and something entirely more was practically non-existent now.

“You say that to all your women?” you quipped back, trying to hold your own, even as you were melting inside and your voice came out as a whisper. The playful look on Johnny’s face returned in a second, his fingers instead pinching the cheek he’d just been so softly caressing.

“Never, honey. Those words are reserved for my brother-in-law’s pretty little assistant,”

In typical Johnny fashion, he was able to dissolve and ruin whatever the moment was in an instant with his usual ‘charm’. Swatting his hand away, you returned your attention to the food on the stove in front of you, smiling to yourself as Herbie beeped out a popular song you’d heard on the radio behind you.

“You always have a line, don’t you?”

“Hey, you know what you signed up for, being friends with all this,” he jokingly motioned to his body, and you caught sight of the smile lighting up his face again as you laughed incredulously at his actions. “As part of the package deal, being friends with me, you are legally required to attend movie night in the living room with me after dinner.”

You hummed in response, even if you were smiling the entire time just from listening to him talk.

“This sounds like an impromptu movie night-”

“All of our movie nights are impromptu, babe-”

“I saw earlier that channel 2 is playing The Sound of Music tonight,” you shot back at him, finally looking up at him with an expectant look on your face. “That’s what I want to watch.”

Johnny groaned, throwing his head back and knocking it against the cupboards with a wince on his face. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his overdramatic antics, as usual.

“But channel 3 is showing Psycho!”

“And you dipped your hand–which, god knows where that thing might have been–into my sauce for dinner,”

Johnny opened his mouth to speak, before mulling over your words, and effectively shutting it with a nod.

“You know what, if it gets you to have a movie night with me, then I’ll take it,”

God, you adored this man, more than you should. More than you wanted to. In his presence, especially now, you were pretty sure the smile on your face was a constant, that it would never leave, as you laughed at him once more. 

Finishing off the special blend of additions to your sauce, giving it another swirl with the wooden spoon, you brought it up to your lips for a quick taste. Satisfied, you held one hand under the spoon to keep it from dripping, holding it up toward Johnny.

“Alright, give it a taste,”

His eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar intensity and warmth in them keeping you locked in place, holding your breath, as he took a quick slurp from the spoon. Smacking his lips together, running his tongue out along his lips, he gave a definitive nod.

“As always…perfection. Though, I expect nothing less from you,”

Before you could retort to his cheesy comment, his hand reached out, eyes still locked on yours, as he cupped your chin once more and ran his finger over your lips. With the slightest of glances down, you saw the small spot of red on his finger, the remnants of the sauce he’d so gently just wiped from your lips.

Glancing back up to those blue eyes you loved more than you cared to admit, you caught the way they finally glanced down at your lips, before looking away as if to not get caught.

“...am I interrupting something?”

As if Johnny had burst into flames and burned you, you jumped away from him immediately the second you heard the voice of Sue Storm across the room. You never even looked back up at Johnny, or turned around to look at the woman by the dining room table, just stared down into the sauce pot as you continued to stir it and the noodles.

“Actually, sis, you very much are interrupting something here,” Johnny called out across the room, and you could see him gesturing with his hands between you both from the corners of your vision.

“Johnny,” you rolled your eyes, glancing over at him with flushed red cheeks from what had just transpired. “Sue isn’t interrupting anything.”

“She kind of is. We were kind of having a moment here-”

“Johnny, we were not having a moment,”

You very much were having a moment, but you weren’t admitting that to him. His ego burned hot enough, no need to stroke the fire.

Sue laughed, rounding into the kitchen as she stopped by Herbie, thanking him and taking the garlic bread tray from him to pop into the oven he had preheated.

“Johnny, why don’t you go get cleaned up for dinner and stop bothering the poor girl. Bad enough I’m making her cook for me, she doesn’t need you hovering,”

The man let out a sigh, muttering something mocking toward his sister, as he threw himself off the counter with dramatic flair. He wasn’t done making your heart race, though, his hand curling around the back of your head as he planted a kiss directly to your hairline, before he disappeared from the kitchen with a pat to Herbie’s head.

The pots on the stove were forgotten as you turned around, simply watching him disappear with an incredulous look on your face. Quickly, your eyes shot to Sue, who was watching you with a smirk as she leaned against the island counter.

“There was nothing happening there,”

“I didn’t say there was,”

“But you’re giving me that look,”

“I’m not giving you any kind of look,” the blonde laughed, stepping up beside you to take the wooden spoon from your hand, tasting the sauce herself with a happy little sigh. “Just…enjoying watching the show from the sidelines, waiting for one of you to make a move.”

“Sue, there’s no move to make. He’s just…he’s Johnny,”

“And Johnny is my brother,” she shot back with a grin. “And Johnny has never been like that with someone, just with you.”

You didn’t get to respond, before Herbie cut in with another series of beeps. Your eyes shot wide as you listened to what he was saying, cheeks flaring an even brighter shade of red as Sue choked on air, laughing to herself at your side.

“HERBIE! THAT’S SO INAPPROPRIATE!”

❤︎

It had been two weeks, and Reed had somehow managed to scan Sue a total of 142 times, now. Sometimes, you wondered how she was able to put up with his hovering, the hovering that had gotten exponentially worse since she announced she was pregnant.

“I’m not getting clear imaging,” Reed called out from the other side of the lab, the only sound in the room being the incessant beeping of the machine he’d built to monitor the baby, and the solder iron in your hand as it worked away on the small device in front of you. You shook your head at his comments once more, adjusting the eye protectors resting on the bridge of your nose as little sparks jumped up as the last piece of the triangular device was finally attached. “I’m going to have Herbie recalibrate this, I don’t like the data output I’m getting, I want a clear image on the next scan. Is the second bridge device ready?”

“Just finished fixing the soldering on the stand, so it should be good to go,” you shot back, tossing your eye protectors down at your workstation, lifting the device carefully and carrying it over to Reed’s station, setting it down with the matching device. “And, once again, you really don’t need to scan the baby again.”

You were met with silence, unsurprisingly. Until, the workstation down the room set off its alarm bell, a familiar tone that had you stand up straighter where you stood.

“New deep space transmission,” there was a hint of elation in Reed’s tone as he said it, quickening his pace across the room with Herbie hot on his trail. “Let’s identify the origin, then record it for further analysis.”

Quickly walking back over to your workstation, your eyes drifted to that desk calendar sitting next to you, and to today’s date: a poorly drawn flame, and the time “2:15” scribbled in a barely legible handwriting that you recognized instantly. Even if you hadn’t, the terribly drawn heart with your initials in it scribbled in the corner would’ve given it away.

“Your analysis is going to have to wait, Reed,” you called out with a sigh, knowing you weren’t the one who put this meeting on the calendar, but you sure knew who had. “You have a 2:15 incoming.”

“2:15? What 2:15?” Reed never even looked in your direction, focused on the new transmission. “You didn’t tell me there was anything on my calendar.”

“Well, I didn’t put this one on the calendar myself, but you must have cleared it at some point…”

Just then, the elevator doors to the lab popped open with a familiar ding sound.

“Ah–Reed!”

Good god, Johnny Storm was trying to kill you. You weren’t even sure if that was an exaggeration at this point, because you wouldn’t put it past him.

Blue looked good on him, it always had, but the navy blue button up he was wearing was doing nothing for your mind that was screaming at you to “keep it professional.” It didn’t help that the first few buttons were already undone, giving a slight peak to his chest. The white chinos–those were the nail in your metaphorical coffin. They had no right to be that tight, and he had no right to look so damn good in them.

“Ah…that 2:15,” you tried your best to conceal your laugh at Reed’s comment across the lab. “Johnny, do we have to today?”

“Johnny, do we have to today? As if I didn’t ask to put it on the schedule,” the blonde man in question mumbled mockingly to himself as he slid up to your side at your workstation as you laughed at his antics. One of his hands grabbed the back of your neck, tugging you closer before you could even think about it, pressing another kiss to your hairline. Suddenly, you felt like you were back in the kitchen weeks ago. “Darling, have I ever told you how breathtaking you look in your lab coat?”

“It’s a white coat, Johnny, it’s nothing special,” you deflected, taking just a short glance up at him before you had to look away, already knowing you were as red as the table beneath your hands.

“But the girl wearing it is-”

“Johnny, do you want to have this meeting or do you want to flirt with my assistant?”

You hung your head with a groan, even as Johnny laughed at the comment from his brother-in-law. His arm slung around your waist, hand settling on your hip as the heat that rolled off his body enveloped you for a moment, letting yourself lean into the side hug he gave you and the squeeze to your hip, before he was gone.

“There’s enough time in the day to do both! No, I had some thoughts about the new suit designs,”

“There are no new space suit designs-”

You glanced over at the pair as they met face-to-face in the middle of the lab, Johnny holding up the sheet he was concealing behind his back.

“You finished them years ago…they have dust on them,” Johnny deadpanned, letting out a sigh as Reed took the design sheet from him. “Look, I get it. You’re going to be a father soon, you’re scared-”

“I’m not-I’m not scared,” Reed cut in immediately, and you could hear the anxious undertone that overtook him immediately at Johnny’s words. Without even having to be summoned, knowing how his brain worked after all this time, you simply shrugged off your lab coat and stalked over to the pair, taking the design sheet from Reed’s hands without a word and placing it on his chalkboard full of equations. “I’m-I’m busy, Johnny. I’m busy. I’m busy, there’s a difference.”

“He means busy on his pace to scan Sue at least 200 times before she gives birth,” you shot back, sending Reed a bright smile that he frowned at, clearly seeing that you were siding with Johnny here. “Not terrified of becoming a father at all, those two things definitely don’t correlate.”

Johnny laughed, smile bright, and it only brightened the one on your face, a tug somewhere deep in your chest pulling on you when he locked eyes with you. Reed snapped your attention back to him in an instant, running a hand down his face as he gestured in Herbie’s direction.

“Just handle the new deep space transmission, please, instead of ganging up on me with Johnny,”

You laughed, heels clicking against the floors of the lab as you joined Herbie’s side as he waited for the transmission to be scratched into the record. There was a woosh of air, the air beside you heating up instantly as a hand found its way to rest on your lower back.

“Have you listened to it yet?”

The smile on your face softened as you glanced over at Johnny, who was staring down at the record in front of you both with pure excitement in his eyes. Beyond the physical moments, his flirtatious moments, these were the moments that had your plan to not fall for Johnny Storm splitting at the seams, if it hadn’t already.

“Seems to be a lot more of the same, just another complex signal,” Johnny left your side, the heat going with him, as he leaned against the blue table behind him. Herbie took the record from its place, rolling over to Johnny to hand it directly to him. “You’re more than welcome to take it with you, give it a listen.”

He twirled the record in his hands with a grin, absentmindedly reaching out to scratch the top of Herbie’s head. That simple little action elicited a giggle, hand coming up to cover your mouth as Johnny glanced up at you with a smirk.

“What’s so funny?”

“Herbie isn’t a dog, and yet you treat him like one,” you explained, stepping up just in front of him and grabbing his hand lightly, stopping the twirling of the record in his hands. “Also, you do know you aren’t supposed to get your fingerprints all over these, right?”

It was Johnny’s turn to laugh as he spun his hand, catching it in his palm and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a scorching hot, but gentle, kiss to your knuckles, sending a shiver straight through your bones. He didn’t even have a retort to your comment, just simply held your hand in his, thumb stroking along your skin, while your entire body flushed with a feeling you wanted to ignore.

“Johnny, what have I told you about flirting in my lab? I need my assistant, we’re trying to run a test,”

The moment was gone in seconds, your hand dropped from Johnny’s as he raced to the other side of the lab, following closely behind Reed and tossing the record onto the closest table.

You could only shake your head with a laugh, walking beside Herbie to join them, knowing Reed would be mumbling to himself the rest of the week about this moment and how much Johnny liked pissing him off.

“Cool! I got time,”

Reed didn’t roll his eyes as you and Herbie joined them back at your workstations, but you could see how much he wanted to. Holding the device you’d just finished off in his hand, you watched in the same awe you had for four years as his arm stretched across the length of the lab, placing it right back beside your own workstation.

“Bridge teleportation test one,” grabbing the notebook lying beside the device that contained your notes on the project, you flipped to a new page, prepared to note down any disparities that occurred during the test, as Reed placed an egg on the newly soldered stand. “Movement of organic matter six meters.”

Johnny grabbed the protective glasses beside the work desk, about to slip them on, before Reed took them with no hesitation and slipped them on himself. The blonde turned to you with an incredulous look that simply drew a laugh from you.

“Those are his pair, you can’t touch his pair,” you teased the man, who simply shot you a wink in return, as you both took the pairs that Herbie was holding out to you both. Johnny gave the little robot a quick fist bump.

Such a simple action that still had you grinning in childlike adoration at the side of his face.

Reed gave you a simple look, confirming you were ready. You gave him a nod, as he took hold of the switch to activate the device.

“Let’s run it,”

The whirring of the machine sounded, three silver beams of energy emitting from the device and encasing the egg within a sphere of energy. There was a shift in the room as that energy grew, as the hum of the machine filled the air, before there was a simple POP–and the egg was gone.

One glance from each of you over your shoulders was enough to confirm that the egg was, in fact, sitting on the opposite platform. Completely untouched and intact.

“It worked!” Johnny exclaimed, gesturing toward the egg.

That’s when the power to the building cut out.

It wasn’t surprising, given the notes you both had taken. The amount of energy that needed to be funneled through the device in order to channel enough energy to actually move organic matter without hurting it was sure to be beyond the energy limits of the Baxter Building. A full power outage…not what you were expecting. Not that you could write that note down in the pitch black of the room.

“Johnny,” Reed’s voice called out in the dark, steady with no hint of any emotion you could decipher in it. The man in question came to life beside you, body engulfed in flames, the flame resistant fabric of his specially tailored clothing working overtime to keep him from being stark naked. He stood with his hands on his hips, and even from the side you could see the smirk curling up on his lips. “Could you reset the breaker?”

You’d known Johnny long enough now, been his friend for enough years, to know him. Know him better than a colleague should. The instant dip in his smirk to a frown was clear, the tension in his broad shoulders, as he tossed his glasses down onto the table. He didn’t spare either of you another look, crossing the room to grab the record.

“Other way-”

“I know,” Johnny snapped, beside his flame engulfed body was on the other side of the lab, flipping the breaker as the electricity of the building roared to life again. The second it did, he was in the elevator, doors shutting without another word.

Neither you nor Reed spoke for a moment, simply looking down at the bridge teleportation device on the table in front of him.

“I’ve upset him,”

Reed didn’t phrase it like a question, he said it like a statement. Both were true, though. Reed always knew when he had upset Johnny, but never how he had really upset him.

You took a deep breath, nodding, as you scribbled a note in your notebook before turning on your heels, stalking back to your own workstation.

“Well, he went out of his way to put time on your calendar just to talk to you about the suits, and you did dismiss him…” you trailed off as you reached your station, eyes flickering back down to that desk calendar beside you. You couldn’t help it, letting your fingers lightly trail over that little heart with your initials, smiling to yourself, wishing it meant more than what it did mean: nothing. “Johnny loves space, he only got to go up once before…this all happened. You can’t blame him for wanting to go back.”

It was quiet for another moment in the lab, before Reed spoke up again.

“You know him well…better than I think I do,”

The flush in your cheeks was inevitable at that, embarrassment flooding you as it was easy for you to read between the lines of what Reed was trying to insinuate.

“I-I just listen to him. I always listen,”

It was quiet again.

“Go check on him,” was all Reed said. “If there’s anyone he’d want to talk to right now, it’s you.”

You wanted to argue, to save the crumbling bits of that wall between work and personal, but even you knew it was too late for that.

Johnny’s bedroom door was just two down from the guest room Sue had offered you years ago, a bathroom being the only thing that separated them. Ben’s room was at the other end of the hallway, along with the nursery where the soon to be baby Richards would sleep.

You may not have stayed in that guest room often, but you’d been in these hallways enough to know it like the back of your hand. To know it like it was your own home. 

There were countless nights, before you’d make the short walk back to your apartment, where Johnny had coerced you into movie nights in his room. He’d never try anything, never push you into something, always leaving the door open to make sure you knew he wasn’t bringing you upstairs for some alternative reason. His room was just quieter, and felt more private. It gave you the chance to see the side of Johnny that the world didn’t get to see.

The space lover, who spent his life dreaming of being an astronaut, of going into space and seeing the stars. He was a thrill-seeker, always wanting to live his life on the edge, to find joy in those rushes of adrenaline. But beyond it all, just a good man. A man who had an entire collection of records lining one wall of his room, organized from his favorite records to his least favorite, even though he claimed there wasn’t really a least favorite. The world got to know the Human Torch, but in  the confines of those four walls, you got to know Johnny Storm. The second you did, you knew your heart was fucked.

You found him in a spot you’d found him in before: leaning against the floor to ceiling windows of his room, staring out at the spaceship he hadn’t stepped foot in for four years. Your heart broke slightly from where you stood in the doorway, able to see the longing that was woven into his frown, that shone through his eyes that never strayed far from the Excelsior.

“You know,” with a few steps into the room, standing beside the record player, you lifted the needle to stop the replay of the foreign language from the deep space transmission that played on a loop. Johnny looked over, a soft smile overtaking his frown at the sight of you, as you kept your own voice soft and light. “I don’t think deep space transmissions are the right background music if you’re going to stare longingly out your window.”

Johnny laughed in a huff, turning on his heel to flick through his record collection.

“And suggestions then for a melancholic moment such as this?”

“Elvis typically has some hits that can set that mood,”

You watched him, the slight shake in his body that hinted he was laughing again, before he plucked a record from the shelves and rose back to his feed. Standing beside the record player with you, he slid it into your hands without another word and plopped into the chair just across from the player.

With care, like you’d done it a hundred times before (you had, right here in this room), you slipped the record onto the player, dropping the needle down as it coasted along the grooves etched into the record.

When no-one else can understand me, when everything I do is wrong…you give me hope and consolation. You give me strength to carry on.

The lyrics settled in you heavily, but it made your body feel lighter. It was impossible not to read into them, to not think too hard about the deliberate music choice that Johnny had made. You couldn’t help that, somewhere deep in your heart where you had buried your feelings for the flaming man years ago, you were hoping these lyrics were a personal message to you.

“Reed send you to check on me?” Johnny asked after a moment, leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest as he watched you. Composing yourself for a moment, shoving the flurry of butterflies beating against your chest down, you turned to face him and his blue eyes with a shrug.

“Technically, but I would’ve come on my own,” Johnny hummed, the ghost of a smile on his lips, as his gaze found its way back to the spaceship taunting him just beyond the window. “Come on, matchstick, talk to me.”

He huffed out another laugh, stretching his arms above his head as you tried your best to keep your eyes trained on his face and not drift down his torso. Eventually, his arms settled back across his chest, his gaze still stuck out the window.

“I don’t know…it’s stupid. Last time we went up, we came back with superpowers, trust me, I get that. Now, he’s got a kid on the way. But I know–I know–that he knows how much space means to me. So, when he just dismisses me like that-”

“It makes you feel inadequate? Like you’re a child?” Johnny’s gaze found you again as you shrugged with a light smile. “I’ve worked in an enclosed space with him almost every day for four years, Johnny. He used to make me feel that way all the time, until I realized that Reed’s never trying to make me feel like that.”

“I know he’s not doing it on purpose…doesn’t mean I’m not going to shit talk him in the confines of these walls,” he gestured around the room as you laughed, coming to stand beside his chair, looking down on him as he sighed once more. His hands fell, gripping his knees, as he rubbed them back and forth against the fabric of his pants. “I love space. Simple as that.”

You hummed, bending down beside the chair Johnny sat in so that you were essentially squatting before him, having to look up at him. Hesitation caught you for just a second, your brain actively fighting a war with your heart as you raised your hands, but you ultimately took his hands in yours. 

All it took was a second for your eyes to drift over to the table beside him. One lamp, a stack of books, and the flash of a polaroid photo leaning against those books: a photo of you. Taken at some point in the lab, laughter written across your face, your hand almost blocking a portion of the lens as you tried to stop him from taking the photo. You didn’t even remember it being taken in the first place.

Good god, he was really going to be the death of you.

Eyes quickly back on him, with a little squeeze to his hands, you gave Johnny the most comforting smile you could, even as your heart did somersaults in your chest.

“I know you do. You’ll go back to space, Johnny, I promise,”

His eyes watched your hands, and you could see it on his face: that hint of adoration, that hint of something genuine that suggested it wasn’t all just a game, that you weren’t imaging moments for more than they were.

“What if I don’t?”

“You’re Johnny Storm, I’ve never seen you not get something you wanted before. Especially not something you want this bad,”

His mouth parted just slightly as he hesitated. You watched as his tongue darted out, just barely grazing over the edge of his bottom lip, before you flicked your eyes back to his.

“You’re wrong…I think there’s something I want more. Been trying to get it for awhile, but…she just keeps slipping through my fingers somehow,”

That tug on your heart was back. Your heart was surely beating so fast that it could be heard, hammering against your ribcage, as his thumbs glided back and forth across your skin. You could barely think of a response, too stuck on his words: the closest thing to a confession of any kind you’d heard in four years. Raw, real, genuine.

Johnny stood quickly, barely giving you a chance to potentially think of a response as he tugged you back to your feet. His arm enveloped your waist, your hand falling to his bicep as he still held your other hand in the air beside you both. You weren’t sure now if the flush crawling up your neck into your cheeks was from the moment, or from the heat radiating off of him.

“W-What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he said it as if it was the most casual thing in the world, that usual smirk of his back on his face. Whatever had happened moments before, whatever confession may or may not have been said, was brushed away in an instant, that charming, flirty personality of his back in full force. “Can’t turn on Elvis and not dance, I think that’s a literal crime.”

“I didn’t know you even knew how to dance,”

“Oh, I don’t, Sue’s been telling me for years that I have two left feet,” Johnny shot back, shooting a wink down at you as his hand readjusted its grip along your waist. “Can’t be that hard with the prettiest girl in the building in my arms, right?”

Swaying back and forth, wrapped up in the heat of his body, in the faint smell of the cologne that coated his clothing, you were very certain that Johnny Storm was going to be the death of you.

And when you smile the world is brighter. You touch my hand and I'm a king. Your kiss to me is worth a fortune, your love for me is everything.

Johnny tilted his head back from you by just a hair, and you followed suit. Deep blue eyes, as captivating to you as they were the first time you ever saw them, shone with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. If you could, you weren’t sure you would survive knowing. 

Faces just an inch away, the closest and most intimate moment you’d ever shared with the man you knew in your heart was never going to be just your friend, your colleague, you were verging on the edge of making a terrible choice. Of opening the floodgates, of unlocking the feelings you’d buried away so long ago and letting them flow.

“This is an interesting little relationship you and I have, you know,”

Johnny always found a way to ruin these moments, and this was just another example. Lips tugged up into a smirk, mischief swarming his eyes as he teased you, that fleeting moment of raw vulnerability was gone.

Hand slipped from his, body pulled back from his and a roll of your eyes, you turned on your heel within seconds.

“So typical of you, Storm,”

“What-? What did I do!”

You huffed out a laugh, a smile creeping onto your lips even as you tried to keep it at bay, as you threw your comment over your shoulder as you walked toward the door.

“You went and killed the moment, Johnny, as per usual,”

“...so you admit it, we WERE having a moment!”

You barked out a laugh, shaking your head as you crossed through the doorframe. You could never stay mad at him, not when your heart yearned for him in a way you wish it didn’t.

“Come on! At least let me make it up to you. Will you stay for dinner?”

With a final glance cast over your shoulder toward him, you shot him a bright smile.

“If you’re lucky, flame boy!”

❤︎

Yeah, you really couldn’t say no to Johnny Storm.

Not when he’d spoken so sweetly to you, held you so tenderly, and all around just invaded every part of your brain and your heart. To be fair, he barely had to try honestly to do that.

It wasn’t shocking to see Ben in the kitchen, it seemed to be one of his happy places. You weren’t complaining: on the nights you did stay for dinner, and Ben was cooking, you knew you were going home with the best leftovers the city of New York had ever seen.

“Decided to stay for dinner again?” Sue called out toward you with a smile, giving Herbie a pat on the head as he worked away at carving a pumpkin. You shot her a smile in return, pouring yourself a quick glass of water before making your way toward Ben.

“Johnny asked…and I decided to be nice and oblige him,” you didn’t miss the teasing hum that Ben let out, lightly whacking him on his rocky shoulder. Not that it did you any good, hurting your hand more than it would ever hurt him. His laughter was ignored as your eyes lit up, catching sight of the familiar black and white cookies he was dumping onto a plate. “Oh my god, did you go grab these from Maisie’s?”

“Yes,” Ben waved your hand away when you went to reach for the cookies, producing another paper bag and sliding it your way. “These ones are yours.”

The smell that wafted from the bag was enough to have you almost moaning in the middle of the kitchen, eagerly digging one of the cookies out. Maisie’s famous snickerdoodle cookies, the perfect blend of cinnamon and sugar that you had adored since you were a little girl. One bite of the cookie had you in absolute heaven.

“Oh my god, I haven’t had these in ages!” Ben and Sue both laughed at your excitement as you took another bite of the warm cookie in your hand. “How did you know these were my favorites?”

Ben’s smirk wasn’t hard to miss at all.

“Oh, I didn’t. Johnny asked me to pick those up for you,”

It was probably time to accept that blushing around this family was the only thing you were capable of.

Sue’s laughter rang loudest as she rounded the island counter, high fiving Ben as she shot you a pointed look.

“You really have my brother wrapped around your finger without even trying, huh? You know, before I went to get scanned–again–in the lab, I stopped by the nursery to check out the crib progress. Heard a little The Wonder of You from down the hall, thought I’d peek in…”

The groan you emitted could probably be heard from the other side of the country, leaning down to barely bang your head against the countertop. Ben and Sue’s laughter rang through the air again as you looked up, desperately waving your hands.

“I swear, it wasn’t what it looked like-”

“What wasn’t what it looked like?”

Of course, Johnny chose to make his grand entrance at that moment. Thankfully for you, he’d changed out of that ridiculously hot button up. Unfortunately for you, he was still wearing those god forsaken white chinos.

“Your little dance Sue was telling me about earlier,” Ben teased, easily catching your hand as it came up to whack him again in his rough, oversized one. “What’s with the long face?”

“Oh that dance was exactly what it looked like. Thanks for coming to dinner though, sweetheart, glad you like the cookies,” Johnny tacked on a wink in your direction, one you affectionately rolled your eyes over, before his smile was back to a frown. “And what of it, Ben?”

“Sounds like your 2:15 with Reed didn’t go well. I’m sorry, pal,”

From across the room, you could see Johnny’s shoulders move in a huff of laughter as he clapped, bringing down the cabinet shelf that held the same box of cereal you had taken from him two weeks ago. You moved around the island counter, filming your cup with more water before standing opposite of Ben while Johnny made his way back over.

“Hey, I’m fine,” he spoke, though the edge in his words was clear as he did, coming to stand directly at your side. “I don’t mind or anything, it’s just, uh-”

“I hear you, pal. We’ll go to space again,”

“That’s what I was trying to tell him earlier,” you tacked on, bumping your hip with Johnny’s, who quickly did the same back to you.

That smile you adored was back in moments, though, as he dug his hand into the box and produced the action figure waiting inside: a miniature Johnny Storm. His bright grin was turned in your direction as he waved the toy toward you, his signature catchphrase from the cartoon–flame on–ringing through the air as Reed entered the room, greeting his wife by the dining room table.

“They captured my likeness so perfectly, don’t you think?” he quipped, activating the catchphrase once again as you rolled your eyes. “Do you still have the one I gave you a few months ago?”

“Yeah, buried in the junk drawer of my kitchen,”

Johnny feigned shock, pinching your side quickly as you squirmed away with a laugh.

“At least upgrade me to your bedside table so I can be with you while you sleep,” that stupid line was accented with another wink before Johnny thrust the toy in Ben’s face. “Come on, admit it’s cool.”

That catchphrase just kept repeating.

I’m Johnny Storm! Flame On!

Flame On!

Flame On!

Ben grabbed the toy from Johnny’s hand in seconds, crushing it to nothing but dust and blowing it back in Johnny’s face with a smirk. You tried everything to conceal your laughter, but it was inevitable.

“Flame off!”

Sirens rang outside the balcony of the building’s living room. The flying cars of the police force raced past, bathing the room in red and blue lights. The second they disappeared, another squadron flew past in the other direction, the sirens all intermixing in the air.

These were the moments you never got to see often, when the team sprung into action. It was clear in Johnny and Ben alone, how their silly little moment was forgotten as they thrust into action, prepared to go running out of the building into danger. Reed simply held up a hand, shaking his head at the group.

“No, no, it’s alright. This is me,”

Ben and Sue followed Reed out onto the balcony, but Johnny hung back, his gaze stuck on you as you hadn’t moved from the kitchen. He simply tilted his head toward his family, holding his hand out for you. Such a simple move that shouldn’t have kickstarted your heart into what was surely an irregular rhythm, but it did.

The second you were at his side, Johnny’s hand rested at the small of your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt just so to tug you slightly closer to his side. Together, you stepped out onto the balcony of the Baxter Building beside Ben, overlooking New York as it was bathed in every corner in red and blue.

“For the past few months, I’ve been tracking a small number of criminal organizations throughout the city,”

You shot a look down at your boss, eyebrow raised.

“That’s what you’ve been doing in that notebook by your desk?” Reed simply waved your comment off, pointing just down the block, fairly close to the area in which your apartment resided.

“47 of them, to be exact. Including the Puppet Master in the Bowery, the Wizard in Gramercy Park, and Diablo in Washington Heights,”

Everyone on the balcony went quiet for a moment.

“You…baby-proofed the world,” Ben finally spoke. Sue’s sigh could be heard from the other end of the balcony as she tried to defend her husband.

“It’s a sweet gesture,”

“It’s a little insane,” you mumbled to yourself, just loud enough for you and Johnny to hear. The blonde at your side simply shrugged, glancing down at you and catching your gaze.

“It’s not totally crazy. He’s trying to protect the things he loves, what’s most precious to him…” Johnny’s lips quirked up just slightly. “I’d do it too…I’d do it for you.”

He said it so…so earnestly. With so much conviction in his tone, as if this was a certainty to him. That protecting not just his family, but you, was something he needed to do. That if it came down to it, he’d do it without a second thought.

“You…you have to stop saying things like that to me, Johnny,” you hated how breathless your voice came out, how wrecked you sounded as you whispered your response back to him, the conversation still droning on in the background between the other three.

The smile on Johnny’s face only widened, his hand slipping around from your lower back to your waist, as he gave you a light squeeze.

“Stop saying what, the truth?”

No, you need to stop saying things that are making me fall in love with you.

Love. That was a word that had only crossed your mind once when it came to Johnny Storm. 

It was two years ago, a week to the day that you had lost your mother, your biggest supporter in life. You stood at that funeral, surrounded by estranged family members you hadn’t spoken to in years, and family friends who wept for your loss. Reed, Sue, Ben and Johnny had come, offered their condolences, paid their respects.

When the others left, Johnny stayed. He stood by your side through the first viewing, never left it during the second viewing, and stood with you in the pouring rain an hour after they’d put her in the ground. You had cried, he held you, and he’d simply never left you alone that day. The colleague that had quickly become a friend, who flirted with you every chance he got, never uttered a single flirtatious comment that day. He’d simply been there, been the shoulder you needed.

That was the day you realized you may have fallen in love with the one man you told yourself not to fall in love with, and you buried those feelings in your heart for what you thought would be forever.

“Stuck in your head over there? Come on, it’s dinner time,”

Ben’s voice broke you from your stupor. The team had all started to make their way inside while you were left at the balcony railing, hands white knuckled on top of the rail. 

Johnny’s hand was held out toward you, and you ignored every part of your brain that told you not to and slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you back in toward the living room.

That’s what their watches all went off, alerts blaring in sync with one another.

It was like a firework went off, a boom shattering the night air of the city. The clouds, the sky, were painted in gold, streaks of meteors and debris crossing the sky as they fell to the earth. The sound that emitted from the golden cloud that stretched across the sky, bathing the city in its light, felt…otherwordly. Like a scream, like a warning.

A warm hand enveloped your face, turning your wide eyes away from the scene.

There were very few times you saw Johnny as serious as he was now. Jaw locked, eyes narrowed but still soft as they looked at you, the cascades of gold shone over his face, highlighting his features as another boom sounded off in the distance.

“Go inside, don’t come out,”

Words were caught in your throat. All you could manage was a nod, his thumb doing a single swipe over your cheek, before he patted Reed on the shoulder and launched himself over the railing and into the air, igniting himself as he went.

If not for the moment, you would have stopped to admire him as he flew, bathed in the reds and oranges of his fire. You were awestruck every time you got to witness those cosmic powers firsthand.

Reed, Sue, and Ben had followed not long after, as you could hear the familiar whirled of their car through the air, chasing after Johnny through the city, following whatever had just appeared from the sky.

You? You sat on the living room couch, wringing your hands together to keep them from shaking. You’d been there as they had dealt with Red Ghost, or even Moleman, but this? 

This was different. This was otherworldly. This was terrifying. And when Herbie flipped the switch of the television, rolling to your side, you were greeted with the sight of the silver alien woman hovering in Times Square for the first time.

“Your planet is now marked for death. Your world will be consumed by the devourer,” 

Her voice sent a single chill down the column of your spine. Herbie’s robotic hand reached out for yours, ceasing the endless wringing of your hands together. You took it without hesitation, though you wished in your heart it was someone else’s hand holding yours in this moment.

“Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak. Use this time to rejoice, and celebrate, for your time is short. I herald his beginning…I herald your end…I herald, Galactus.”

And thus began the longest night of your life since the day your colleagues went into space and came back forever changed.

Sending the team into space was the only option, to confront this mystery at its source. Reed had given you the basics in passing: the threat was real, there was documentation of plants across the universe disappearing entirely, the chrome woman’s signature left on each of them. He’d tasked you to the launch team, to prepare Excelsior for launch in T-16 hours.

Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak.

Those words rattled around your brain the entire night, into the wee hours of the morning. Even as you helped Lynn set up the press conference, as you conferred with the launch team to ensure that the Excelsior was prepared in every conceivable way, as you checked and double-checked every data point throughout the entire ship, her words never left you.

Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak.

The anxiety was clawing at you, even as you threw yourself into work. The notion of what her words meant, of what could happen, of how close the end could be.

The clock read sometime around 2 a.m. when you had finally stepped foot in that guest room made for you. There was no way you were walking home tonight. Besides, come morning, there would still be too much to do, too many data points that needed to be checked, too many scenarios that would need to be run through to make sure your team came back to you.

You knew sleep wasn’t coming to you, though, not when that metallic voice was rattling around your head. Not when an alien threat was upending your life. Not when, two doors away, there was a man that you did, in fact, want to hold close…in case you never got the chance to again.

You loved him. All it took was the end of the world to admit it.

Clad in nothing but an old t-shirt with the 4 logo on the front, one you were sure was Johnny’s, and a pair of shorts, you didn’t care what you looked like as you tore out of the room and into the hallway. Not now, not when your world was being threatened, not when your entire life could be ripped from you in a matter of seconds.

Johnny was awake, just as you knew he would be. White shirt, plaid blue pants you’d seen him sleep in so many times, he stood in his dark room by the windows once more, watching the crews rush around on the ground as they prepared the ship for launch in just a few hours. That same record from earlier in the day was still playing.

I guess I'll never know the reason why you love me as you do. That's the wonder, the wonder of you.

With a step into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking on the lamp just beside the door, Johnny finally met your eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” was the only thing you could manage to say. Johnny tilted his head, studying you silently, before he held out his hand just as he had done hours before.

“Come here,”

Crossing the room in a matter of moments, you all but fell into his arms. His outstretched hand ignored, he was frozen in place for just a moment as you curled your arms around his neck, throwing yourself into his arms. The faint smell of his cologne lingered, as did his bodywash, and the sigh you let out the second the smell hit you was in comfort.

It didn’t take Johnny long to unfreeze, his arms finding their place around your waist. One hand rested on your upper back, one pressing into your lower back. A faint kiss was placed to the side of your head, heat lingering for a second. Heat lingered in your entire body, radiating off of him in waves.

“You have to talk to me, baby,”

Talk? The truth was, you didn’t know where to start. How were you supposed to explain that, since the moment you had met Johnny Storm, your heart was already his. That in all your moments over the years, you’d fallen for the man you told yourself not to fall for. And as the threat from the metallic woman loomed over the world, as he prepared to try and save life as you knew it, the only thing you wanted was to be held by him. To know he was here, that he was okay, that he was with you.

“I-I’m scared,”

Those were the only words you could settle on. Johnny pulled back, his hands sliding gently around the fabric of the shirt hanging loosely from your body until they reached your face. He cradled you, so softly and gently in his hands, it was almost involuntary the way you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, his warmth, chasing the feeling of security it brought you.

“It’s okay to be,” the gentle tone in his voice washed over you, covering you like a blanket. It’s exactly how he had spoken to you that day, standing in the rain when you refused to leave your mother’s side, reassuring you he was there. “I don’t care what the herald said, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

Of course you knew that. If there was anything you knew for certain in this world, it was that when Johnny Storm said he’d protect you, he meant it. He’d spent long enough proving that to you.

There was no hesitation on your part when you laid your own hands overtop of his. Fingers curling around them, tugging his right hand just barely from your cheek, you turned and pressed the lightest of kisses to the palm of his hand.

Johnny froze. You could feel it. The slight tilt of his head, the questioning look that flickered across his face in the moonlight that shone through the windows. It was all fair. You were never the one to cross the boundary like this, to make a move such as this.

“I can’t stop thinking about what she said,” was how you tried to explain yourself, stopping and starting your sentence over and over as you tried to find the right way to explain yourself, the walls crumbling and the floodgates bursting wide open. “Hold your loved ones close, and speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak…it’s why I came to you.”

A single emotion crossed Johnny’s face in seconds: understanding.

That signature smirk of his was back in moments, even if it was twinged with a softness reserved only for you. The heat left your cheeks, but found your hands as Johnny’s fingers intertwined with yours, hanging your joined hands down between you both. There was a bright light that passed over the window for just a moment, bathing the two of you in bright light, before you were plunged back into the darkness of his room yet again.

“You did come to me…why’s that?”

“You know why-”

“I do,” he said it so matter-of-factly, that smirk growing just a tad as he leaned into your personal bubble by just a hair. “This push and pull, four years of ‘will they’ or ‘won’t they.’ I want to hear you say it, baby.”

“It’s not that easy,” you immediately shook your head, teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as Johnny simply watched you. “Saying it…makes it real.”

He scoffed, the sound mixed with laughter, as his head cocked slightly more to the side.

“You came into my bedroom at 2 in the morning–wearing my shirt, might I add–is that not real enough?”

“When you’ve spent years trying to ignore how you feel and refusing to say it, it’s not that easy to say,” you desperately tried to explain. “If I say it…then everything changes.”

Johnny took barely another step forward, and you almost wanted to step back, to bring back the space between you and preserve the small, crumbling wall that still stood between you both.

“A sexy, naked alien woman came to earth and basically prophesied our demise, darling. If there was ever a time to ‘change everything’ and lay it all on the line, I think it’s now,”

Your heart wanted to hang onto the word darling, but your brain was too stuck on the ‘sexy, naked alien woman’ part of his sentence. The sigh that escaped you was instantaneous, as well as the frown, as you shot the blonde man a pointed look.

“Sexy, naked alien woman, Johnny? Seriously?”

“Come on! She was–objectively–attractive. You can’t deny that!”

It was your turn to scoff, tearing your hands from his in a heartbeat, before spinning on your heel. You felt like an idiot–on the precipice of finally confessing your deepest, darkest secret you’d kept locked away for years, and this is what you got.

“I try to be serious with you, Johnny, and you turn it into a joke once again-”

You didn’t get far from him. A hand enveloped your upper arm mid sentence, tugging and spinning your back around. A gasp fell from your lips as you collided with the chest of the man before you.

Whatever you were going to say never saw the light of day. Not when Johnny Storm gripped at your hips, tugged you as impossibly close as he could, and finally–finally–kissed you.

The kiss you’d dreamed about for four years, finally yours.

Johnny’s lips were soft as they slanted against your own, enveloping you in his warmth. They moved against you in a steady rhythm, passionate but still gentle, still testing the waters of the line you had never crossed before. 

His hands curled into the fabric of the t-shirt clinging to your body, pushing it up just enough so that his hands could dip underneath. Your breath caught, even as his lips continued to move against yours, as his heated skin made contact with yours, and any part of your brain begging you to stop this was silenced as you melted into him.

Hands landed on his broad chest, gripping the fabric as you let him mold your body to his, the scent of his bodywash enveloping you as your body almost became one with him. In the pits of your stomach, as those heated hands trailed up your waist and ghosted over your ribcage, another flurry of butterflies erupted as a moan slipped past your lips, swallowed by his mouth.

A moan left Johnny’s lips at the sound of your own, one hand leaving your waist to curl around the back of your neck. Those slender fingers buried themselves into your hair, gripping just enough to have another groan of pleasure tumbling from your lips, as he guided your mouth against his own.

“You can’t keep making little noises like that,” his mouth barely left yours as he spoke, lips moving against yours, as he dove back in for another kiss the second he was done speaking.

“Your fault,” was all you could manage out, trying to back away just enough to speak, but Johnny never let your lips go far. Your hands glided up his chest, his neck, curling into his short hair as your thumb crested the ridge of his ear. “I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Be mad at me later,” was his immediate response, his lips leaving yours just to find their place along your jawline and slide down into the hollow of your neck. His tongue danced its way across your skin, leaving tingles of electricity everywhere he touched you, his words murmured into your neck as he buried himself there. “I’m trying to kiss you.”

There was some part of you that wanted to protest him–over what, you weren’t even sure at this point–but you couldn’t. Not when his teeth dug just so into the side of your neck, leaving his mark on your skin as if he was claiming you as his.

You were always his.

“You c-called–oh god–you called the alien sexy while I was trying to confess,” you just barely managed to get the words out through your moans. Johnny was slowly walking you backward, straight in the direction of his bed while his lips never left the side of your neck, leaving his mark on every inch of skin he could see.

Your foot caught on the raised edge of the platform his seating area sat on, your feet stumbling backward. Johnny was there–he was always there–and tugged you back into him. And god, if you loved those blue eyes before, you loved them even more now: pupils blown wide, Johnny Storm looked about as wrecked as you felt.

“Your confession was four years late, and I’m impatient,” he stole another kiss from you, his teeth sinking just barely into your bottom lip, tugging gently. He let go, pressing a messy kiss to your lips to soothe the pain of his bite, words fanning out over your lips. “I’ve been trying to tell you I’m in love with you for four years now, so please just shut up and let me show you instead. Now–jump.”

At this point, you’d do just about anything he asked of you.

Johnny caught you with ease, both of his hands splayed out across the bare skin of your thighs, locking your legs around his hips. A choked moan fell from your lips the second your core was dragged against the painfully hard length bulging against his own pants, hands curling into his hair as you, this time, desperately pulled him into a kiss.

I’m in love with you. Those words repeated like a mantra in your head. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, the world’s fire boy and hero that they painted like a sex symbol. The ‘playboy’ with a new girl all the time, never able to hold down a girl…was in love with you.

Your back hit the bed, body bouncing just slightly before settling. His eyes never left you as you crawled back just slightly, propping yourself up on your elbows to look up at him in the dark of the room, lit only by sky and the lamp by the door. The music played faintly in the background, but at this moment, it meant nothing to you.

Johnny’s hands gently touched your knees from where they dangled off the edge of the bed, parting them just so in order to step between them. You watched, entranced by every move he made, body flushed from the heat that coursed through your bare skin at the slightest of touches from him. With a practiced ease, his hand took hold of the back of his shirt, yanking it over his head without hesitation. It found a place to lay somewhere across the room, discarded until the following morning.

It was impossible not to stare. His broad chest, those biceps that always threatened to bulge out of every shirt he wore. His toned abdomen and the trail of hair that led straight to the waistband of his pants, the outline of him still prevalent and straining against the fabric.

“I need to know that you’re sure…about this,” you weren’t used to it, the vulnerability in Johnny’s tone. He leaned over you now, hands splayed across the bed on either side of you, barely a few inches from your face. Those blue eyes flickered down to your lips time and time again. “Because if I kiss you again, I’m not stopping until you’re mine.”

There was no hesitation on your part. Just a single movement of your arms, tossing the old shirt hanging from your upper body across the room to join his. As simple as that, you sat bare before him, chest heaving with every deep breath you took in.

“I was already yours. I always have been,” there was only certainty in your tone as you held his gaze. “Speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak…that’s why I came to you. Because if this is the end of the world, I needed you to know that I love-”

He didn’t let you finish your words. His next kiss was anything but gentle.

Messy, spit coating your lips as Johnny’s tongue seemed to invade your mouth and every one of your senses, his lips devoured yours as if you were his first meal in decades. He kissed with the hunger of a starved man, his hands grasping at every part of your skin they could–your waist, your hip, before finally your ass. The squeeze he gave to your skin, the uptick in heat you felt as if he was burning himself just slightly hotter on purpose, had another moan tumbling from your lips and into his mouth.

The hand still gripping your ass tugged you upward on the bed until your head fell against the silk pillows at the headboard. Your hands never left Johnny’s hair, carding through the strands as you frantically kissed him back, addicted to the feeling, as his hips ground into yours. That bulge in his pants pressed heavenly into your core, the friction rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you let your head fall to the pillows with a moan.

Johnny’s lips were everywhere. From your jawline, to your neck, until they finally reached your collarbone. He lavished you with his lips, tongue running over your skin as his hands trailed up the sides of your lower abdomen, stopping just as they reached the swell of your breasts.

“Since the day you walked in, I’ve thought about this,” his voice was raspy, the words barely understood as they were spoken against your skin. “Since the moment Reed introduced you to us.”

“I-I was wearing a lab coat,” you choked on your words as Johnny’s lips reached your sternum, trailing kissing down your chest, but never where you wanted him. “Hardly sexy, I’d argue.”

“It is when I’m picturing you in that coat and your heels, and nothing else,” he tacked on, before his lips wrapped around your nipple without warning.

You mewled at the sudden contact, one hand returning to his hair on instinct as your back arched off the bed and into him. Johnny’s hand on your abdomen was quick to push you back down, holding you down against the bedding beneath you.

God, with the fire that felt like it was burning through your body, you could’ve sworn that Johnny had caught you on fire. His teeth just barely grazed the sensitive bud in his mouth, a sharp intake of breath leaving your lips on instinct. He was quick to soothe you, tongue swirling around the erect and sensitive bud with rapt attention. A moan slipped through him, felt through your entire body, as your other hand tore into the bedding. Desperate for something to hold onto. Something to ground you in your pleasure.

“I’ve dreamed about you under me. Kissing you, tasting you, loving you,” his practically purred out every single word, tongue flicking back and forth over your sensitive nipple. He moved to the other one easily, delivering the same rapt attention to it.

“I’ve thought about you, too,” you relented, divulging every secret you held dear to the man who lavished every inch of you in love and adoration. “In the kitchen, the lab, in that stupid button up from earlier-”

“I knew you liked that shirt. Wore it just for you,” his husky tone sent another shot of pleasure through you, heat curling through every inch of your body.

The tips of his fingers trailed lightly down your stomach. When Johnny’s head lifted for just a moment to lock his eyes with yours, that familiar smirk on his face, you weren’t given a second to react before heat poured through his touch.

Gasps mixed with moans of pleasure fell from your lips on instinct, that unnatural heat of his pouring through his touch and into your skin. Every movement of his fingers over your ribcage and down your abdomen felt as if it was leaving your skin on fire, branding his touch into your skin so that you would never forget the feeling. Burning him into your memory so that you would always feel the phantom sensations of his touch on your skin.

“You’re absolute perfection, you always have been,” Johnny moaned into your skin, lips trailing over the mounds of your breasts with another series of a thousand kisses. Those heated fingers dipped past the waistband of your shorts, pressing directly against your clothed clit without a warning. The moan you let escape mixed in the air with the moan that tumbled from Johnny’s lips against your skin. “Jesus Christ, baby, you’re so soaked.”

The heat was still there in his fingers, setting off every little nerve ending in you even through the soaked fabric of your panties that you desperately wanted gone. Your hips ground up into his hand, whimpers falling from your lips as you chased after the feeling of him, desperate for friction.

“All for you,” even this hint of pleasure had you stumbling toward the edge, babbling almost incoherently. With a tug to his hair, you were quick to bring Johnny’s lips back to yours, arms wound around his neck. He gave into your needs immediately, devouring you in a kiss as heated as his touch was, fingers rubbing slow circles over where you needed him so desperately. “Please–Johnny, please! Please, I need you. Need you–need you so bad.”

“I got you, baby. I got you. Keep moaning my name like that, and I’ll give you the world”

Those whispered words stayed on your lips, lingering, as Johnny left you. His touch wasn’t gone long. Fingers curling into your shorts, they were discarded across the room in a flash, panties gone with them as well.

For the first time, you laid completely bare in front of the man you loved–the man you denied loving for so long. And Johnny Storm was a mess. His hair stuck up in multiple directions, skin flushed, but he was still beautiful. The most beautiful man you’d ever met, inside and out.

Johnny didn’t give you a second to truly breathe once he was done admiring you. He sprawled out along the end of the bed, head dipping between your thighs, as he licked a single stripe with his flattened tongue directly up your center.

“Fucking beautiful, and all mine,” his words were growled into your core, two fingers lazily moving between your folds and spreading every ounce of wetness around, holding you open so he could see every inch of you. “Sweeter than I ever dreamed you could be.”

He dove into you like you were the only thing that mattered. Fingers spreading you open, giving him access to every square inch, his mouth devoured you. A cool drink of water for a starving man in the middle of the desert. Johnny moved his tongue with precise expertise, as if he knew exactly what your body craved.

Delving into you, flicking back and forth as he drank in every secretion of arousal that dripped from you. That same tongue dragged its way up to your clit, swirling around in figure eights, flicking back and forth.

Cries fell from your lips wantonly, hands digging into his hair. Eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back to the ceiling, there was only one word you could repeat over and over again: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. 

His name was all you knew anymore, too lost in your own bliss and pleasure.

In one fell swoop, your thighs were settled over his shoulders, before his head was back where you wanted it more than anything. His lips and tongue focused on your clit, still swirling back and forth, as his fingers dipped slightly lower, dancing right across your opening.

It started with one long, slender finger sliding into you. One of your hands was forced to leave Johnny’s hair, falling over your own mouth to try and conceal the cry that threatened to burst from you, afraid that the others would hear you.

“Let me hear you, baby,” he laughed against your core, his finger curling just perfectly against your walls as they clenched around him every time he dragged his finger back and forth. “Want to hear you.”

“Don’t want to–fucking hell, Johnny–let the others hear,” 

“Let them. Let them hear me love you,”

Fuck Johnny Storm and his stupid lines. His stupid dirty talk that had your walls clenching around him again and again.

Another finger joined the first, followed by another, before you were stretched as wide as you could be around Johnny. The squelch of your juices rung through the air with every move of his fingers–dragging so deliciously into you, curling up, before dragging out just to the edge of your opening. His mouth–god, his mouth–never let up, lapping away at your core like it was his job, what he was meant to do.

That coil of pleasure deep within your lower body came out of nowhere, sneaking up on you just like your love for this man had.

“Johnny–baby–I can’t. I can’t–I’m gonna-”

“Let go, darling,” came that growl in his voice again, the speed of his fingers increasing. “I got you baby, let go.”

That coil snapped in seconds after he spoke. The precipice of your orgasm was earth-shattering, like you’d never felt before. Like trails of fire through your veins, the pleasure coursing through you had your head buried into the pillow behind your head, desperately trying to conceal the wails of pleasure that tumbled from your lips. Your thighs snapped shut around Johnny’s head, but his ministrations never let up as he eagerly drank up every bit of your arousal that leaked from you.

The come down was slow, like waking up. Your breath was uneven, heart beating erratically when you finally pulled your head from the pillow. Eyes bleary, it took a moment to blink them back to life.

Johnny stood at the edge of the bed, discarding his pants and boxers to the pile of clothing littering the other side of the room. And even in your fucked-out, blissful state, one look at him for the first time had that burning desire coursing back through your veins.

He was big. There was no way around it, no denying it, no other way to put it. Flushed, hanging with that beautiful reddened tip, one large and prominent vein throbbing along the edge of it. Beads of precum collected at the tip, his hand smearing it down along his length as he gave himself one single pump before he was crawling back onto the bed.

Johnny knelt between your legs again. Even with limbs that felt like Jell-O, you met him halfway, dragging yourself into a seated position. It was the smile on his face right now, the one erupting those butterflies once more, that you decided was your favorite: soft, adoring, loving.

It was your hands that cupped his cheeks, bringing him into a soft kiss. The taste of you lingered on his lips, sweet just like he said. You poured every ounce of emotion into your kiss, trying to convey to him the years you’d spent loving him so quietly that you couldn’t admit it.

“I might be addicted to you, Johnny Storm,” your words were mumbled into his lips. He laughed so gently, stealing another peck.

“Glad you finally caught up with me, princess, I’ve been addicted since day one,”

Pressed to him, his lips stealing a thousand pecks from yours, the lust in your bones was back in full force. All you could do was hum in response, one of your hands trailing down his chest, nails dragging slowly over his abdomen, before you finally took his throbbing cock in your hand.

He felt even bigger than he looked, which didn’t even make sense in your mind. But he was hot, the skin searing into your hand in the best way. You gave him one squeeze, one tug, and you smiled at the hitch in his breath. The twitch of his cock in your hold.

Johnny’s hand quickly grabbed yours, though, unlatching it from him. All you could do was shake your head, practically whining as you tried to take your hand back.

“Johnny-”

“God, it’s so hot how eager you are to touch me,” he laughed again, tilting his head to leave a single kiss to the column of your throat. “This is about you, doll. Save that for next time. It can be a ‘welcome home from space’ gift for me. A ‘thanks for saving the world’ gift, if you will.”

Space. 

That word was enough to have your next words caught in your throat as the weight of everything came crashing back down on you. The threat, the herald, the space launch commencing in a matter of hours now, the events that brought you here in the first place.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, when a single tear slipped down your cheek, but Johnny caught it. Eyes full of concern, but understanding, he simply wiped the tears from your cheek, laying a kiss to the wet splotch of your skin.

“No crying, none of that. Just lay back, baby,”

You listened, letting his hands guide you gently to rest back against the pillows once more. Parting your legs, Johnny placed himself between them, holding himself up over your body on his forearms. Right where he belonged.

Your hands rested on his chest, sliding up so gently to his neck. His eyes never left yours, his length sitting right against your soaked and sensitive core, gliding back and forth with each gentle twitch of his hips.

“You didn’t let me say it earlier. So let me say it, for the first time outloud,” you gave him a watery smile, lips quivering as you looked up at him. “I love you, Johnny Storm. I’ve loved you for so long. I’m sorry it took the world maybe ending for this, that I didn’t let myself be yours sooner.

He smiled, that same charming smile he always did, as he rolled his hips once more. His cock caught just along the edge of your opening as Johnny dipped down, breath fanning over your lips.

“Like you said: you’ve always been mine,”

The first press of his length into your core stung. As wet as you were, as prepared as you were for him, it had been so long. He stretched your walls little by little, taking his time as your body adjusted to him. Then, inch by inch, he sunk within your walls that clung to him tightly.

His cock bottomed out, sunk fully within you, bare hips pressed to bare hips as you both let out shaky breaths. Your nails dug into the hair at the nape of his neck while his hands trailed up your ribcage, squeezing every moment or so as choked out moans fell from his lips.

“God–so tight for me, baby–you feel like heaven,”

His name was the only thing you could manage to choke out between your moans as he dragged himself back to the tip, before burying himself again to the hilt. Your moans, your cries and the way your hands threaded into his hair only spurred him on more, Johnny’s hips snapping into yours again and again and again.

His lips found yours amidst every snap of his hips, every drag of his cock against your walls. Every moan that slipped through your lips was drowned out by him, by the feverish movements of his lips against yours. They trailed away, back to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva connecting you together as he bit another love bite into the side of your neck. It didn’t matter to you how this would look to others, how scandalous you might look in the light of day to others.

All that mattered was Johnny Storm.

“Oh god, Johnny!” your head fell to his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin as his hips snapped against yours over and over, driving him deeper with every thrust into you. “Holy fuck, w-why weren’t we doing this for years?”

“Because you’ve been a stubborn–fuck–little tease all these years,” his tongue dragged up the column of your throat, peppering kissing up and down your skin as his cock dragged against your walls. “Bent over your workstation in the lab–oh god–you don’t know how many times I’ve thought about it. Thought about walking in and taking you right there, making a mess right at your desk.”

“R-Reed would walk in and you’d scar him for life,”

“Sounds like a win-win to me,” there was shared laughter, punctuated with a shared moan as his cock dragged right against that spot nestled within you. “And try not to talk about my brother-in-law when I’m fucking you.”

There was no time to reply as Johnny scooped up your wrists in his hand in a single motion, pinning them down above your head. He adjusted your waist, suddenly driving into you at a new angle that had you mewling his name all over again.

Johnny whispered your name into your skin with every kiss, timed just so with every snap of his hips against yours. That coil of heat was burning, wounding itself tighter and tighter for the second time that night. All you could feel was him, was Johnny.

His warmth, the heat that burned off of him. It warmed your skin, it had beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. It was uncomfortable in the best way. His one hand still trailed up and down your ribcage, every so often tweaking your sensitive nipple between his thumb and index finger and coaxing another moan of pleasure from you.

He worshiped you, every inch of you, like you were the greatest thing to ever grace the earth. To him, you might have been

“Fucking perfect, baby. Fucking made for me,” his lips found yours again, slick with spit as his tongue dipped into your mouth to taste every inch of you possible.

His stroke faltered, the rhythm uneven, and you knew he was close. That coil of heat in your stomach was threatening to snap any second every time his cock pulsed and throbbed within your walls. His grip on your wrists was tight, even as you struggled against him, desperate to just hold him.

“Johnny–baby–please I-I’m so close-”

You choked on your words once more, the hand still trailing across your stomach heating up again, leaving a burning trail of heat in your skin. Those heated fingers found your clit like it was second nature, a cry of pure pleasure leaving your lips as they circle that bundle of a thousand nerves over and over again, hips still snapping into you as quickly and desperately as they can.

“Let go,” his voice was husky, eyes blown wide as he looked down at you. Your wrists were finally let go, your hands immediately finding their place in the strands of his hair again as his free hand cups the back of your neck, smashing your lips into his in a flurry of moans. “Let go, baby, let go.”

Your second climax burned hotter than the first.

The pleasure burned so hot, so bright, you were practically sobbing, every cry and moan of pure bliss muffled by his kiss. Your legs locked around Johnny’s waist–tightly–so tight he could barely move away from you. It was overwhelming, the shockwaves of bliss that ran through your veins, the shaking of your thighs as you held onto his hair like it’s a lifeline.

He ground himself into you over and over, rhythm so far gone he was struggling. But all it took was your lips lazily finding his neck, teeth sinking in to leave your matching mark to his, for his hips to still as he spilt into you.

Johnny breathed out every moan into the side of your head, your name tumbling from his lips along with a flurry of swears. The grip he had on your hip was bruising, so tight you think he could snap the damn bone if he held any tighter. And his cock? Seated so deeply inside of you it’s as if you are one, heat pooled within your lower abdomen with every wave of cum that filled you to the brim.

On the other side of the room, the record was still playing softly. Bright lights still flashed by the windows every so often, crews still at work on the spaceship set for launch by mid-morning.

None of it mattered in the silence of the bed.

You aren’t sure how long either of you laid there. Your heartbeat, eventually, returned to normal, even as your chest still heaved to take in every breath that it could. Johnny still laid half on top of you, pressing repeated kisses to the side of your head, but said nothing. Your hand stayed in his hair, carding through it, as your core pulsed. It would ache come morning–hell, it already did–but it was worth it. It was so worth it.

Neither of you were quite sure when he pulled out of you, or how long you simply laid there and basked in the afterglow of a moment that should’ve happened years ago.

Eventually, Johnny shifted down. His lips trailed down your body in worship, like they’d done already that night. From your cheek, to your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and down your lower abdomen.

“Careful…not sure I’d survive a round three,” your voice was hoarse, mouth dry. Johnny laughed against your skin, still kissing every inch he could see.

“I don’t think I would, either,”

His hands were heated once more, but not for the same purpose as moments before. Now, his touch was gentle, massaging every piece of you that he could get his hands on. His thumbs rubbed into your wrists, your waist, and your hips, digging into the muscles. A sigh escaped you at the comforting feeling, taut muscles loosening at the feeling of the heat and the movement of his hands.

With every kiss pressed to your skin, you could feel it: Johnny was humming. It didn’t take long to know which song he was humming, which lyrics: that same song once again.

I guess I'll never know the reason why, you love me as you do. That's the wonder, the wonder of you.

“Is that our song now?” you laughed, even if your heart was clenching at the mere thought. The mere idea of that song belonging to the two of you–the idea that Johnny Storm belonged to you.

You could feel his smile against your abdomen as he spoke. “It should be. It’s accurate. Because I don’t ever think I’ll get over the miracle that is you…loving me.”

It’s not a miracle. What you really want to tell him is that falling in love with him was so easy, you barely realized you had done it. It might be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Johnny crawled back up your body, slotting himself onto the bed beside you, before tugging you in. There’s no hesitation on your part, simply curling into his side with your head over his chest and arm slung around his waist. Words aren’t needed in the silence, not when you’ve both clearly laid everything out on the table now. Instead, you just listened to the beat of his heart, the natural rhythm that lulls you into a state of peacefulness.

He’s yours. Johnny Storm is yours. He’s always been yours, you just didn’t know it.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, hand cradling the back of your head as he said his next words confidently.

“We’re going to go up there tomorrow, and we’re going to stop this guy. We’re going to protect this Earth, like we’ve sworn to do. But me? I’m going to do it so I can come home to you, and love you for the rest of my life. I promise,”

He can’t promise that, you knew he couldn’t. There was no telling what might happen when that ship took off tomorrow, what they might encounter, or who this Galactus really was.

1.

You were in the middle of tidying up your apartment when Joaquín walks through the door like he lives there. Though you do always tell him you’ll leave the door unlocked for him, so you can’t really blame him too much for that. Before he even has two feet in the door, he begins spouting off random facts about his day or how many times Sam said something nice to him or how cool the stuff he had gotten to do was. You stop mid-dust to turn on your heels, watching as he shrugs his jacket off and steps out of his shoes. A small smile toys on your lips after you discard the duster on the side table and make your way towards him.

“And then he sa—,” He freezes, eyes zeroing in on the flower vase placed in the center of your small dining room table, “What are you doing with those? Those are lilies.”

“Yes, they are,” You curtly nod, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as you resist the urge to rub your irritated eyes.

You watch as something flickers in Joaquín’s eyes, something you can’t quite place, before he squints at you in disbelief. He drops his jaw to say something, but cuts himself off with a shake of the head. You can tell that he’s censoring himself, that he’s fighting off the urge to say what he truly wants to say. It seems to be a recurring theme in recent days. 

“You’re allergic to lilies,” He deadpans as he crosses his arms against his chest, “And so is Steve.”

“Tyler bought them for me,” You weakly sigh, casting your eyes to the ground in slight embarrassment, “He said he forgot I was allergic. I can’t throw them away, I’ll feel bad.”

Joaquín’s quiet scoff makes your face heat up because you knew ‘forgetting’ wasn’t a real excuse, but it was all you had. You tell yourself that it’s an honest mistake, and you believe him when he tells you he will remember next time. You give him grace and hope for improvement despite the subtle comments from all of your friends telling you that he wasn’t worth it and how you deserved so much better. However, when it was Joaquín on the other side of the conversation, it felt different. It felt worse, and you couldn’t quite figure out why. 

“Right,” He purses his lips and kisses his teeth, “If you say so.”

Silence fills the space around you, sticking to you as you chew on your bottom lip and attempt to segway the conversation into something less strenuous. The sound of soft thuds bounding near you breaks your concentration, your cat rounding the corner before he‘s gearing back to jump on the table. You were about to call out and stop him, but you were stopped by a tickle in your nose and, before you knew it, you were thrown into a burst of sneezes. You fold your elbow around your nose to keep yourself from sneezing all over the place before the palm of your other hand is rubbing at your eyes for relief. 

“Okay,” Joaquín calls out over your sniffling, and you can hear him gently shoving Steve off the table, followed by the glass scraping against the wood, “That’s it. I’m throwing these away, and you can tell him it was me who did it. If he even notices it.” 

You were blinking away the stars dotting your vision while he yanks the flowers out of the vase, throws them into the trash bag, ties it up, and places it right outside your door for him to take when he leaves. The entire time, you can hear him incoherently mumbling under his breath, but you don’t ask him what he was saying. The bits and pieces you think you’re able to make out were enough to tell you that he was far from impressed with your new boyfriend, and the last thing you wanted to face was his blatant disapproval head on.

However, little did you know, there was a much more prominent thought running amok in his mind. One that would change everything if you found out.

2.

The cafe was calm. A gentle hum of conversation filtering through the air, soft light decorating the space, comely art scattered on the walls. It had always brought you a sense of serenity you couldn’t find anywhere else. Well, almost anywhere else. Joaquín had a knack for bringing out the same tranquil feeling whenever he was around, but you didn’t dare admit that out loud. Not to yourself, and most certainly not to him.

“So, what did he get you for the big six months,” He asks, adjusting in the seat across from you as his knee almost brushes the inside of your thigh. 

It was innocent. A fleeting rush of air against the skin, but it makes your breathing falter. It makes a wave of heat rush to your cheeks, and a cloud of fog roll over your thoughts, but you shake it off like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t the exact feeling you’d been waiting for the aforementioned He to give you since you’d met. You distract yourself by grabbing at the cup in front of you, twisting it on the table as you nip at the skin of your bottom lip and force the words to come out of your mouth. 

“Concert tickets,” You mumble without meeting his stare.

“What concert,” He presses with a quirk of his brow, mentally going over the list of all the artists he knew would be visiting D.C. soon. He couldn’t think of any you were interested in.

You sheepishly tell him the name of the rapper Tyler liked, and you have to busy yourself with aimlessly searching through your bag to spare yourself from the look that had undoubtedly twisted on his face. You’d already heard a long enough speech from your best friend and neighbor about how selfish the gift was, and you were praying that Joaquín was kind enough to spare you from his own. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to handle it from him. A few beats of silence pass, and you know you wouldn’t be able to avoid his gaze for too long, so, with your tube of lip balm between your fingers, you straighten your back and find his eyes.

“But you don’t like that kind of music,” He finally speaks up, voice strained with something terse and wired.

“I know,” You shrug, dragging the chapstick across your lips, “But he does.”

Joaquín’s focus briefly shifts to your mouth, but he’s quick to bring them back to your eyes so you don’t notice, his own lips pressed into a thin line before a deep breath passes through them, “Don’t you think an anniversary gift should be something you like? Or something you both like?”

Your body tenses as his words settle in your chest. He’s right, and you know he’s right, but you had already convinced yourself that it didn’t matter. That part of being in a relationship came with the obligatory notion of doing something for your partner that you didn’t necessarily like. Even if you had yet to do something with him that was just for you. It would happen eventually, right?

“It’s not a big deal,” You brush him off with a forced chuckle, “I’m sure it’ll still be fun.”

Joaquín doesn’t say anything else on the matter, choosing to let it drop because your words were painfully unconvincing, even to yourself, but there was nothing he could do. He knew the lingering comments he had been leaving were starting to irritate you, and he didn’t want to overstep in fear that all it would do was drive you away, because that was the last thing he wanted to do. All he can do is hope that you’ll see it yourself one day.

3.

When Joaquín had texted you and asked if you were free to come over to his place so that he could give you your birthday present, you were more than happy to agree. Mostly because it’s been a few weeks since you had last seen him, and you missed being around him, but also because you were curious to see what he had gotten you. He had always been a phenomenal gift-giver, and the fact that he knew you better than you knew yourself at times left you clueless as to what it could even be. 

“Who are you,” Joaquín forces his face to fall flat when he pulls the door open, “You look like someone I used to know, but I haven’t seen her in a year.”

“Okay,” You draw out with a feigned eye roll, “Tone down the dramatics, Torres. It’s been less than a month, and that’s no way to treat the birthday girl.”

“Your birthday was two weeks ago,” He playfully shouts as you push past him and into his apartment. 

“Semantics,” You wave him off, eyes darting around the kitchen and living room to see if he’d

left the box or bag lying around.

“Calm down,” He chuckles, letting the door fall shut behind him before he strides to you, knocking his shoulder against yours,  “It’s in my room. I’ll go get it before you pop a blood vessel.”

He shouts at you to get comfortable while he retreats down the hall, and you do just that. You had already kicked your shoes off by the door, which made it easy to fall onto the couch and pull one of your feet under your thigh as you wait for him to come back. Your gaze flutters around, taking everything in as if you hadn’t seen it a hundred times before. Pictures of his family littered the walls along with pictures of the two of you, and you can’t help but smile at that. Some of them are your most cherished memories, and the fact that Joaquín values them enough to display them makes something inside your chest swell.

Your peek into his choice of home decor comes to a stop when his voice echoes from his bedroom, shouting about how you need to close your eyes before he comes out. You do as he says, but not without a little complaining first, and wait for him to find his way into the living room. You can hear his footsteps slow when he nears the end of the hall, and you know he’s peeking around the corner to make sure your eyes are actually closed.

“Don’t open your eyes yet,” His voice is closer now, only a few feet away.

You feel the dip of the cushion next to you, followed by the soft crinkle of paper as he sets the bag on the coffee table. His shaky breath was so quiet you almost miss it, but you don’t say anything about it. You were growing impatient, the curiosity of the gift gnawing at you, and you were ready to see what he had gotten you. The teasing could always come later.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Your eyes fly open, immediately finding the light purple bag that was stuffed to the brim with white tissue paper. Joaquín lets out a light laugh as he gestures for you to open it before he goes on a spiel about how hard it was to find. As you grab the bag, you realize it’s got some weight to it, which surprises you a little, though you don’t dwell on it for too long. You’re making sure to place the excessive amount of stuffing to the side, but you freeze when you catch a glimpse of what was underneath it all. 

“Joaquín, what the fuck,” You gasp, fingers tracing the stitching of the bag, “How much was this?”

“We both know I’m not going to tell you that,” He flatly says, his hands grasping the edge of the cushion as he leans forward to drag his eyes across your face, “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it,” You murmur, pulling the bag out so you can look at it in its entirety, “I’ve been looking at this for months, but haven’t been able to find one anywhere.”

“I know,” His voice is gentle and hesitant, “I remember you talked about it a while ago, so I pulled a few strings and managed to find one.”

You toss the bag to the side, instantly throwing your arms around Joaquín and pulling him into your hold. Without missing a beat, he winds his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. The warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest wasn’t uncommon when you found yourself in his embrace, but this time it felt like there was something more. Something that someone in a relationship shouldn’t be feeling with someone else, and it made your stomach twist with guilt.

You hastily pull away, giving him a sheepish smile before Joaquín’s gaze locks onto the chain around your neck, his eyes quickly narrowing into a glare. You already know what he’s looking at, so you don’t ask. You let him find the words he wants to say as you uncomfortably sink into your seat, waiting for the unavoidable to come. 

“That’s a gold necklace,” He states, finally dragging his eyes away from your chest, "You don’t wear gold.”

“No, but it’s cute,” You pipe up, though the squeak in your voice gives way to the cracks in your facade, “Tyler got it for my birthday.”

The silence that follows makes you want to vomit.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I’m about to say,” He straightens in his seat, his chest tightening when your face visibly twists in discomfort, “But the two of you have been dating for almost a year and he doesn’t know all your jewelry is silver? He still seems to “forget” you’re allergic to lilies and that you hate rap music? He cancels on you last minute to hang out with his friends, which is really shitty. He’s shitty and you deserve so much better than that.”

Someone like me, he wants to say. Someone who knows you inside and out. Someone who would get rid of all the lilies in the world if it meant you could walk around without sneezing. Someone who would shamelessly ask Sam to pull any strings necessary to find a purse that had been sold out for over a year. Someone who wouldn’t even look at gold jewelry when shopping for you. Someone who saw you. 

“I—,” You cut yourself off, jaw going slack and shoulders falling as his words settle in your chest.

Any words you were going to say die in your throat as you nervously wring your hands together and chew on the inside of your cheek. The tension that fills the room around you doesn’t bother you all that much because you know that he’s right, and there’s nothing left for you to say.

4.

When you woke up with a scratchy throat and a runny nose, you told yourself that it would go away. That if you took enough allergy medicine and drank enough tea, you would be able to drug yourself up enough to be fine, but you were wrong. Two o’clock came, and you felt considerably worse than you had when you woke up. Now, you’re toying with your phone as you try to find the right way to tell Tyler that you can’t make it to the concert. A few rehearsed conversations later, you’re clicking the call button under his name.

“Sup,” He mumbles into the receiver, making you outwardly cringe.

Who greets their girlfriend they haven’t talked to all day with ‘sup’? 

“Hey,” You harshly rasp, “I don’t think I’m going to make it tonight. I’ve been feeling pretty bad all day, and I don’t want to get anyone sick.”

“Damn, babe, that sucks,” He plainly groans, and you can practically see his head being thrown back, “I think Garrett wants to come, so I’ll ask him right now.”

Before you even get the chance to open your mouth, the line disconnects. Slowly blinking, you pull the phone away from your ear, stunned and in disbelief. 

What the fuck?

Sure, you were going to tell him to find someone to go in your place anyway, but he didn’t even ask if you were okay. If you needed anything. He just hung up like nothing else except his stupid concert mattered, but the worst part is, is that you’re not even upset about that. You’re mad.

Mad that you’ve been wasting so much time on him. Mad that you haven’t been paying attention to the dozens of red flags being waved in your face. Mad that you’ve been making excuses for a man who considered swimming in a pool a replacement for a shower. Everything you’ve been brushing off as ‘not a big deal’ came rushing to the surface at once, and it made your head throb.

You knew that you wanted to break up with him, which was something you should have done a long time ago, but you also knew couldn’t do it yet. You were civilized enough not to do it over a text, and had enough human decency not to do it before a concert he was excited for. Not that he would care either way, but unfortunately, you still had morals. Instead, you decided to call the one person you knew you could always count on, no matter what.

“What’s up stranger,” Joaquín brightly greets, a quiet buzz of people in the background.

“Whatcha doin’,” You cooly ask, clearing the obnoxious tickle in your throat.

“I’m not doing anything,” You can hear a familiar deep voice protest in the background, “Are you feeling okay? You sound sick.”

“It’s nothing bad,” You try and play it off despite knowing he would be able to see right through you, “Just a sore throat and a headache. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll let you get back to your date with Sam.”

“No,” He rushes out, still ignoring Sam’s teasing comments beside him, “No, it’s okay. We were just finishing up. I actually have some sopita left in the fridge, so I’ll bring that to you, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

While you wait for Joaquín, you get comfortable on the couch and let your mind wander. You begin asking yourself the question you’ve been trying to ignore: Why stay with Tyler for so long? When you really thought about everything you looked for in a partner, he lacked almost every single one of those attributes. He wasn’t necessarily your type on paper, either. What he was, was close and low maintenance, and you thought if you were able to convince yourself that it was working, that maybe one day it would.

You couldn’t have been more wrong about something if you tried. 

By the time Joaquín was walking through the door, you had rolled yourself up in your blanket and dozed off into a short nap. You only roused when he was delicately shaking your shoulder, his small smile and soft eyes being the first things you see when you flutter your eyes open. He gently guides your body into a more upright position before turning to the coffee table, and as he pulls everything you’ve ever asked for when you were sick out of the bag, you realize that maybe everything you had been looking for had been in front of you the whole time.

+1.

A few months have passed since you broke up with Tyler, who took it a lot harder than you expected, and things in your life seemed to fall back into place afterwards Work seemed to be going smoother, you seemed to be in an overall better mood, the stubborn acne on your forehead, seemed to disappear, and you were back to spending all of your spare time with Joaquín. You felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, yet there was one constant thought nagging at the back of your mind. 

Maybe you felt something more for Joaquín than you had ever let on. Scratch that, you know you do. 

The more time you spent with him, the harder your feelings got to ignore, which, in turn, meant that your loose lips and uncontrollable facial expressions got the best of you every once in a while. You would leave passing comments that made his brow quirk in curiosity, you would sit a little closer to him than necessary, which didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, you would uncomfortably grimace when girls made obvious passes at him right in front of you. Not that you had a right to feel any sort of way about that, which you knew, but it served as a consistent reminder that even though he was right in front of you, he was still out of reach. 

Well, you thought so, at least.

When Joaquín got back home from some sort of mission with Sam, the first thing he did when he landed was call you and ask if you wanted to go to the state fair that was in town for the week. The speed at which you had said yes was slightly embarrassing, but he didn’t seem to mind it one bit. In fact, he matched your eagerness with his own and began spouting off a list of plans he had for the evening. All of which made it sound like a date, but you didn’t dare point that out. 

The two of you have only been there for an hour, and Joaquín has already managed to beat six of the seven rigged games he wanted to try. After the last prize he asked you to pick out for him, you playfully ask him to slow it down a tiny bit because you weren’t going to be able to carry that many cheap stuffed animals all night. Through feigned reluctance, he agrees to give them a break and guides you through the crowd in search of something else to do that wasn’t the ferris wheel. He wants to wait until the sun sets to do that. 

“C’mon,” He gently urges, palm splayed against your lower back as he applies the slightest bit of pressure, “Let’s go to the photobooth.”

You wordlessly nod, letting him usher you towards the empty booth with a small sign that said ‘Picture this!’ above it and was tucked in a quieter part of the lot. He doesn’t move his hand away, and it was taking everything in you to concentrate on what was in front of you rather than the way his touch made your skin burn even through the material of your shirt. It was a simple touch, something he’s done a thousand times before, but this time it was making your head spin and your heart race. It was making it harder to focus, harder to act like you aren’t about to run headfirst into the wall of feelings you’d been trying to dodge. 

Joaquín pulls the curtain back, head slightly jerking towards the inside before he’s gently shoving you in before him. You place the bag he had conned one of the workers into giving you for the prizes between your feet and move over in an attempt to give him as much room as possible, but the space was small. Even with your body at an angle and a shoulder pressed against the wall, there was still virtually no space between you. You weren’t sure where you ended and he began. Without a second thought, he throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you even closer to his side while he clicks through the various backdrops. 

“What are we thinking,” His fingers brush against your collarbone, making your breath catch in your throat and a shiver run down your spine. Thankfully, he doesn’t notice, or he’s just really good at hiding it. “Old school Captain America layout, some weird safari one, or…”

His voice trails off while he shifts his gaze to you, dark brown eyes finding your own as his brow twitches. The subtle tilt of the head lets you know that he can tell something is off, but he can’t quite figure out what it is. The way he’s looking at you, like he was peering into the deepest parts of your soul, was making you breathless. It was making you forget how to speak. How to think. You force yourself to look away, instead leaning forward to select the ‘random’ button in the corner of the screen. You can hear Joaquín’s amused chuckle behind you, but you ignore it as you settle back into the seat and watch the numbers count down from ten.

“Smiles first,” You firmly nod, adjusting under his arm and focusing on the screen in front of you.

With a nod of his head, Joaquín tightens his grip on your shoulder and his lips tug into a bright smile that outshines your own. After the first one, he suggests that the two of you take a less serious picture, so you poke your tongue out of the corner of your mouth and wait for the second shutter click to go off. However, just as the number two rolls across the screen, he reaches over his torso and begins prodding your side, bringing out a round of involuntary giggles and shouts of mangled protests.

“I hate you,” You breathlessly call out, lightly slapping his chest while you attempt to squirm away from him despite there being nowhere for you to go.

“No you don’t,” His voice lowly rumbles, making warmth spread from your chest to your stomach until your entire body is on fire. 

When your nervous, yet curious gaze begins to slide up to his, everything that follows seemingly happens in slow motion. You meet his piercing stare. Your eyes flicker all across his face. He’s mirroring your every movement, but he lingers on your lips for a beat longer than you did. You swallow hard. The flash of the camera goes off. He brings his hand to cradle your jaw and his thumb caresses the apex of your check. Slowly, agonizingly so, the space between you becomes nonexistent. His lips are on yours. 

It wasn’t rushed, desperate, or hungry. It was soft, tentative, and quietly needy in a way that made it feel like you were being kissed for the first time all over again. He’s kissing you like you were anchoring him to earth, keeping him grounded and tethered to something that was raw and real. He slides his other hand down your spine, goosebumps forming in the wake of its path, until he reaches your lower back, and he’s pulling you closer into him than you thought possible. The loud hum of fair goers fade into nothing as your lips mold against his like you were made for each other. Though if you ask Joaquín, he would say that the two of you were made for one another. 

Neither of you register the last flash of the camera, both too lost in the feeling of each other, and it wasn’t until you hear a faint knocking on the outside that you reluctantly pull away. Your lips are parted as you try to catch your breath, blood pounding in your ears and your mind hazy from the feeling of his lips. Joaquín’s palm remains cradling your cheek, the skin underneath tingling from the touch alone, and he’s peering down at you with a look you’d seen on his face far too many times to count, but this time you aren’t afraid to face what it truly meant. 

“Told you you didn’t hate me,” He cheekily mumbles, thumb ghosting over your lips. 

“I guess not,” You bashfully hum, averting your gaze away from him before you weren’t able to resist the aching desire to kiss him again, “We should probably get out before the people in line hate both of us.” 

With an amused shake of the head, Joaquín places a quick and delicate kiss to your lips before he reaches to grab the bag from the floor and pulls the curtain back. You ignore the knowing looks the small group of people outside are tossing your way, choosing to quickly grab the printed pictures and tug him away from the photobooth. You don’t bother to drop his hand when you feel you’re a safe distance from the crowd, not that he would’ve let you if you tried, and it makes a certain feeling blossom in your chest. A feeling you’d been wasting your time trying to replicate with others for so long when it had been right in front of you all along.

“Let me see the pictures,” Joaquín softly demands, pulling you to a quick stop at one of the benches. 

You hand him one of the strips while you keep the other, eyes scanning each picture like you wanted to commit them to memory. They were all in black and white with various shaped green hearts decorating the edges. The first one is simple and cute. Smiles on both your faces, gentle twinkle in your eyes. The second one makes you playfully roll your eyes. Joaquín was poking at your side and your hands were pushing at his forearm, faces scrunched up with laughter. 

The third one might be your favorite of the four. You're both looking at each other with the same look in your eyes, the look of two people who are totally and entirely entranced with one another. It was the kind of look you would see couples give each other when they thought no one was looking. The fourth one makes you blush. Joaquín’s hand was cradling your face and his lips were pressed against yours, your visible hand clinging to his shirt like you were afraid he might disappear. It was a kiss straight out of a movie.

“We look hot,” He speaks up, nudging you with his shoulder, “I like them all, but the second one is my favorite.”

“That’s the worst one of me,” You throw your head back with a groan, “I look crazy.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my girl like that,” He mockingly protests, hand clutching at his chest, “I happen to like that crazy look, and think it’s the most beautiful sight in the world.”

You falter for a moment, two of his words ringing in your ears as you try to compose yourself. “Your girl, huh,” You quirk one of your brows, fighting off the urge to smile.

Joaquín’s entire body freezes before he sputters, “I mean, only if you want to be. Obviously if you don’t that’s okay. It is totally fine if you’re not into that. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.” 

You’ve seen him get flustered before, but this was a whole different level. His eyes are cast to the ground, his entire face to his ears are flushing a deep crimson color, garbled words are  tumbling from his lips and he’s shifting his weight on his feet. You curl your fingers around his bicep, forcing his attention back to you and you can visibly see him relax once he notices the teasing glint in your eyes.

“Obviously I’m totally into that,” You lightheartedly retort, “But you’ve got to take me on a proper date.”

His entire face lights up at your admission before he’s surging forward and peppering your mouth, cheeks, forehead, and nose with small kisses. “I’m going,” Kiss, “To take you,” Kiss, “On all the dates,” Kiss, “I’ll never stop taking you on dates.”

He kissed you a little longer this last time, not bothered by the blur of people crossing by you or the random comments from people who think they might recognize him. When he pulls away, it was only just enough for your lips to not be touching. He places his forehead against yours and pulls you into his warm embrace by your hips, your arms winding around his torso as you try and stifle a nervous giggle from being so close to him.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this,” He mumbles, his breath fanning across your face, “How long I’ve wanted you.”

You let your head fall to the side as you pretend to think about it. “I’m guessing since you almost hit me with your oversized backpack three years ago.”

“Close,” He chuckles at the memory of your first meeting, his hands squeezing at your hips, “It was a few days before that, actually. I was leaving the sandwich shop and I saw you trying to shoo these pigeons off the sidewalk because a group of cyclists were coming. The second I saw you, I swear it was like everyone else disappeared except for you.”

His confession catches you a little off guard. You have a vague memory of that day, but you can’t recall seeing Joaquín anywhere near there. Although, you didn’t know him yet so you weren’t exactly looking for him then. Even then, you never would have assumed Joaquín saw you like that this whole time. 

“You want to fake date me for Thanksgiving?”

“I mean, why not?” Joaquin said, casual. Too casual. “I know the drill.”

“Do you plan to make out with me in front of my grandma?”

“Is that on the table?”

You threw a pillow at him, laughing so hard you nearly spilled your drink. You didn’t say yes then. Not out loud. But, by the time you were texting your family that you were finally bringing someone, you knew exactly what you were doing.

Joaquin is late. You’re standing in your parents’ driveway in the coat your mom still calls ‘that city thing’, like you live in Gotham instead of Brooklyn, when his car finally pulls in. He hops out wearing jeans that are just tight enough to make your brain short-circuit and a navy peacoat that probably belongs in a rom-com. You try not to stare at his stupidly warm smile.

“Hey,” Joaquin says, like you didn’t just spend the last two days texting each other elaborate backstories for your fake relationship.

You wave, heart beating faster than it should. “Took you long enough. My mom’s already threatened to carve the turkey.”

“Threatened? That’s festive,” he mutters, grabbing your bag before you can argue.

Your family loves Joaquin. Of course they do. He’s charming in that effortless, infuriating way. He’s remembering names, asking questions, laughing at every dad joke like it’s fresh off a stand-up set. Your younger cousin crushes on him instantly. Your aunt whispers something that sounds suspiciously like he’s a keeper into your ear as she pours you more to drink.

Joaquin plays along flawlessly. He holds your hand under the table. Drops sweet, ridiculous anecdotes like, ‘We met at a dog park even though neither of us owns a dog’. He kisses your cheek when your uncle says, ‘You two look real cozy.’

The thing is, it doesn’t feel fake. That’s the part that trips you up. You’ve known Joaquin for years. You’ve seen him in every possible mood. You’ve seen him exhausted after missions, cranky before coffee, thrilled over finding a new bodega sandwich. You’ve crashed on his couch and watched him fall asleep during movies. He’s your best friend.

The way Joaquin looks at you tonight, hand settled low on your back, smile soft, gaze steady? It makes your stomach twist.

You start to wonder if maybe this isn’t just a game of pretend to him, either.

The problem is that one holiday becomes two. Then three.

After Thanksgiving, your mom insists you have to bring Joaquín for Christmas. You warn him it’ll be extra. He can’t escape matching pyjamas and cookie baking. He just grins and says, “I look amazing in red and green flannel.”

So, you go. Together. Again.

You’re not sure when it stops being pretending. Maybe it’s when he gives you a thoughtful, hand-picked gift. It’s a necklace shaped like a compass, with your initials etched small on the back. You’d joked once that you always get lost. He remembered.

Maybe it’s when your niece climbs into his lap without hesitation and he reads her the same story three times because she asked with sleepy eyes and sticky fingers.

Maybe it’s just the way he looks at you when you’re not even paying attention, like you’re the sun, the moon, and the star on top of the Christmas tree all rolled into one.

“You know,” you say one night after a New Year’s party, walking through snowy streets with Joaquin by your side, “we could stop now.”

Joaquin looks over, breath visible in the cold air. “Stop what?”

“This whole fake dating thing. We’ve done Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s. We’re out of holidays, I think.”

Joaquin’s smile falters for the first time all night. “Right.”

You mean to laugh it off, but something about the way he looks at you, half-hurt, like he had just unwrapped a gift and hated it, stops you.

You clear your throat. “I mean, unless it’s still working for you.”

Joaquin shrugs, trying to seem

unbothered as his eyes stay focused ahead. “Sure. Whatever you need.”

You want to ask what he needs. You don’t.

Valentine’s Day sneaks up on you. It’s not part of the original plan, but your building throws a couples-themed rooftop party, and your neighbours, the ones who have been ogling Joaquin for weeks, ask if you two will be there.

You expect him to laugh it off, use the excuse of Falcon obligations or fake food poisoning.

Instead, Joaquin shows up in a suit. He brings real flowers. He dances with you like the city isn't spinning around you.

At one point, you rest your head on his shoulder and whisper, “You’re really going above and beyond, huh?”

And Joaquin just says, “You deserve someone who does.”

It’s a joke. It has to be. Against all odds, it doesn’t feel like one.

It happens in April.

You’re at a friend’s wedding, another one of those dates you bring him to now without even pretending it’s about your family. Everyone assumes you’re a couple. No one questions it. Neither do you. Not anymore.

The night’s winding down. The band’s playing a slow song. You’re both happier than ever and full of cake, tucked in the corner of the dance floor when Joaquin says, “Can I ask you something?”

You nod. “Of course.”

His voice is quiet. “If this wasn’t fake, would it have been so bad?”

Your chest tightens. “What do you mean?”

He swallows. “If I’d asked for real. If I was for real.”

You look at him, really look, and see it all there, waiting. The thing you’ve been ignoring. The thing he’s been quietly offering for months.

“No,” you say softly. “It wouldn’t have been bad at all.”

You don’t kiss him yet. You wait for the next song. The one where the lights dim and the crowd thins and his thumb brushes your cheek like it’s muscle memory. Like he’s been waiting for you to catch up. At last, you do.

Later, after the wedding and the slow walk back to the hotel and the half-laughed, half-breathed ‘Finally’ Joaquin murmurs against your lips, you curl into his chest and say, “So… what do we tell my mom?”

He grins against your hair. “We tell her we lied.”

You pull back, mock-gasping. “You’re gonna snitch on us?”

“No,” he says, kissing your temple. “We tell her we lied, that we said it was fake. But, it never was.”

Just like that, it all makes sense. You’d been faking it for everyone but yourselves.