pyronovas

[pyronovas]

SPIDER-MAN: BRAND NEW DAY - New Suit Reveal

[pyronovas]

blowing steam

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: You've learned a surefire way for Johnny to vent when he's upset.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, johnny venting, established relationship, unsubtle mention of those GODDAMN JEANS, blowjobs in the middle of dinner, dom!johnny if you squint, smut fairy at your service <3

Author's Note: to the sick individuals who enable all the johnny storm thoughts, i love you and you know exactly who you are

Johnny liked to make an entrance.

You always leave the sliding door on your balcony open for him, hit with the rush of familiar heat as he gracefully landed on his feet, diving for a kiss the moment he sees you. He's always smiling, always giddy when you were within reach, kissing you through your slowly burning dinner as time became meaningless.

Tonight wasn't anything like that.

Johnny still presses a kiss to your lips, checks over your shoulder to the simmering soup on the stove…and pouts, leaning back against your kitchen island as his fingers curl around the eclectic laminate.

"What's wrong?" you ask, pulling at the knot on the apron at your back and pulling the other knot of string over your head, simultaneously flipping off the burner as you approached Johnny.

You brush at his cropped blonde hair, smoothing down a tuft before your hands move to his denim jacket and tug, prepared to wipe the pout from his face as you lean forward and initiate your own kiss, just a gentle press that he returns wholeheartedly.

Curious to his silence, your gaze drags, examining the collar of his shirt and down, pinching the fabric between your fingers as you raise an eyebrow, "Pink?" you wonder with a light, teasing tone, "Are you testing out a new color pallette?"

"No," Johnny answers suspiciously quiet and you push his jacket from his shoulders and spot the shirt pocket before leaning forward to peek at the tag and quickly realize that it was the exact brand of shirt you had bought him last week as an offhand gift while you were out shopping for yourself and you knew it didn't come in pink.

"Johnny," he can already hear the lilt of humor in your tone, biting back a laugh.

"I ruined it," Johnny admits in defeat, arms thrown up before they slap to his side, "I'm a horrible boyfriend who ruined your gift because I thought I could do my own laundry,"

"Ben usually handles it all, doesn't he?"

"Well, yeah, but I've just been—" Johnny stops himself, shaking his head in annoyance as he cuts the sentence dead, "Ben warned me, too,"

"Oh, so we're dealing with a case of Johnny-know-it-all?"

Johnny rolls his eyes with a weak smile as your hands push up to rest at his shoulders and eventually slide to caress his neck, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Johnny's eyebrow raises in question.

"Clearly there's more bothering you than a pink shirt," you always saw right through him and fortunately, you had a surefire way to help him get the weight of whatever he's carrying off his mind, "drop 'em,"

He doesn't argue, of course.

His confident fingers work at his belt, the button of his jeans, shifting them down his hips as you pull at his underwear, a twinkle of mischief in your eyes as your knees follow the decent of his pants.

He always made up for the ache later, both in your knees and elsewhere.

The teasing was the most torturous, mouthing at his cock with a hands-free approach as you squeezed playfully at his thighs, his hand threading over the crown of your head like it always did, tangled loosely in your hair.

"Talk to me," you urge him, eyes flicking up at him as your bottom lip drags along the tip.

First comes a deep sigh, then his voice, grittier than usual.

"I dunno," Johnny begins, "ever since Mole Man said that stuff about my outfit—"

You nod, one hand wrapping around the base of him, tugging him gently as you swirl your tongue around the tip, pushing the saliva over the head to wet his cock.

"I like to look good, we're public figures, you know? There's always eyes on us," Johnny starts to explain further, "And I hate suits, baby,"

"I know," you assure him, "I think you look great,"

"It bothers me," Johnny admits, "and then today, my jeans—"

Oh, the jeans.

Johnny can't help but pause, though. A momentary stutter in his focus as you take him fully in your mouth, your hand working in tandem as your other pushed under his shirt and clawed at his stomach with gentle pressure and he whines, a sound so soft you barely here it.

"I—I asked them…if it—if I looked ridiculous," Johnny continues on a shaky exhale, "and all I got was smiles—smiles, that's worse than silence, right?"

This time he didn't need your prompting, your mouth working him over with a practiced ease, the tip of your tongue tracing alone the ridges and veins of his cock you had memorized so well, his hand shifting to your cheek as he feels the fullness of his cock fill your mouth and nudge at your throat, blue eyes darkening as he looked down at you with parted lips.

"I like my jeans," Johnny admits with a slight frown that dips into something more disgruntled as you pull away, your thumb rubbing over the weeping slit as you offer a sweet smile.

"I love your jeans," you assure him, "even as much as I like them off,"

It didn't matter how obscenely fitting they were, Johnny liked them.

And you weren't complaining either.

"Ben wouldn't shut up about the laundry this morning," Johnny beings to divert a little, "there was a lot, I wanted to help, but he does that thing where he talks….and lectures,"

Similar to someone you knew—you laugh quietly to yourself as your tongue follows the trace of your thumb before taking his cock in your mouth again, working away diligently to distract your poor, suffering boyfriend.

"Don't mix the dyes with the whites, you'll ruin them," He mockingly imitated Ben before sighing, "I love the guy but sometimes he's worse than Reed,"

It was rather amusing. They all bickered like brothers, like family.

But, you were increasingly more dedicated to the task at hand now.

"Alright, maybe…don't talk about Ben and Reed while I have your dick in my mouth," you tease him gently as you pull away from his cock and Johnny chuckles, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone,

"There's gotta be some science behind this," Johnny quips,

"You always get mouthy when I have your dick in my mouth,"

Johnny shrugs in defeat, a wide smile spreading across his face because, as usual, you were right.

You quickly switch gears though, full throttle as you roll your tongue around his balls and sucks until he's moaning out desperately and a hand returns to your hair, tugging harder this time.

It forces you to look at him while he helps feed his cock between your lips, staring at you with a reverence that always made the heat in your own belly coil, "I like hearing you too, but you sound so much better with your mouth full of me,"

The pressure of his cock at the back of your throat makes you tear up and moan, eyes fluttering as he holds you there before letting you go at just the point of discomfort, drool covering your chin as you stare up at him with a mix of amusement and adoration.

"Come on, pretty boy," you goad him, lips pressing flush against the head of his cock as you give it a gentle kiss, his strong and calloused fingers gripping himself tightly, "I'm hungry,"

Johnny doesn't need prompting, gripping tightly at your hair as he yanks your head back, the underside of his cock rubbing against your tongue as he brings himself to finish with an unabashed and loud groan, holding his gaze as the warmth of his seed spreads over your tongue.

It was always warmer, like his touch, something you noted earlier on but never really asked about, feeling his thumb guide your chin up to close your mouth as you swallowed the remained of his cum with a greedy smile before rising to your feet and pulling him into a kiss that was all tongue, allowing Johnny to taste the remained of himself in your mouth.

"I made enough dinner for both us, by the way," you tell him

"Baby, I love you," Johnny says, like it wasn't already a daily occurrence.

He was an absolute lover boy and you couldn't get enough.

[pyronovas]

I'm sorry you've not been well Ali, saw you mentioned your hormones being out of whack and I commiserate with you deeply as a person with PCOS who deals with hormone imbalances, they can really really fuck you up and exhaust you :( thinking of you and hope you're prioritizing rest and wellness, wishing you some healthier better days soon <3

i’m thinking of you! i have quite a few friends dealing with pcos and i know mine is more in part to growing another human but god, the shit we deal with 😭

[pyronovas]

Heyyy just read ace of hearts and I’m obsessed. It it a multi part series?

thank you!! and no it’s not, just a one shot

[pyronovas]

I deserve an em dash. As a little treat

[pyronovas]

JOSEPH QUINN & EBON MOSS-BACHRACH as JOHNNY STORM & BEN GRIMM Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025) dir. Matt Shakman

[pyronovas]

stress relief

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Clark needs a moment out of his head and your hands, fortunately, worked like magic.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established friendship, reader doesn't know, massages, grinding, sub clark, clark being ticklish, listen he comes in his pants, this is mostly smut

Author's Note: listen, i'm smitten. i started writing this the day after i saw the movie and have been attempting to work in small blips to finish. i'm testing the waters here and have been so obsessed with smallville and the new superman that i'm just trying to get the brain worms out and into a doc.

There’s a tension in Clark's brow that was begging to be eased.

These nights were nothing out of the ordinary anymore and had become increasingly regular after you landed your job at the Daily Planet. Clark had a unique way with his words, constantly managing to capture an audience and keep them tuned in. He always had the inside scoop, exclusive interviews that seemed impossible to score, laid the facts out as they were.

You, however, were terrible with words.

It was why you enjoyed expression through your photography, always willing to risk your safety for that picture.

The one that would ensure a front cover and eventually, a promotion. 

You had a while to go, you knew that, but Clark always made a point to compliment your work, even if it was just a short, clipped acknowledgement. He even introduced you to Superman, leading you to your first big front cover. 

Regardless, there was a comfort you found in each other’s presence that made focusing easier, chewing quietly away at your lukewarm takeout as you both buried yourselves in your laptops.

Clark kept rubbing his thumb and point finger against the bridge of his nose, huffing as he quickly smashed the backspace on his keyboard so hard you thought the keys might fly off.

“Headache?” you asked casually, clicking through your unedited set of photos, glancing up at him briefly.

“Something like that,” he agrees, fixing his glasses before he’s running his lengthy fingers through his unruly hair, messier curls spilling over his forehead.

“Just take them off,” you point at his glasses, watching as he gave up entirely, closing his laptop as his head slumped back against the chair, lips parted slightly as he stared up at the ceiling blankly. 

Clark laughs softly, a barely there sound that you wouldn’t have heard had you not been focusing on him. His fingers curl around the arm of the chair and squeeze, watching his chest expand under his wrinkled button-up, muscle stretching against the fabric.

He was mostly unnoticed at work outside his close group of friends that you were unintentionally being brought into. He was endearingly awkward far too often, stumbling over his words around you when you challenge him with a quip, taking the brunt of friendly teasing from others with a passive smile.

But, there was something so natural about the way he moved when it was just you and him, the way his demeanor seemed to switch, barely noticeable.

You weren’t sure if it was work that was bothering him and you were naturally curious, so, away your laptop went as you stood from your chair and walked until you were standing behind him, hands circling into the empty space of fabric beside his head, against the chair.

His eyes were shut when you approached, but one peeks open at the weight of your steps, socks sliding against the hardwood floor of your apartment.

Clark eased at the feeling of your fingers sliding into his hair, a comfort that reminded him of home for a brief moment, but he’d learned that this was your way of suggesting he take a break.

Often, it was you curled up on the couch as his large frame curled up in front of you on the floor as he hunched over your coffee table, letting his head lull back against your shins as your hands eventually kneaded into the tight muscle underneath his skin.

You don’t jump when one of his hands reach behind him to curl against your back, pulling you in closer until the top of his head hits your stomach and you finally speak.

“What is it?” 

Clark knows what you’re asking, but he doesn’t speak on it, rather he speaks more broadly and you can hear the sincerity in his voice.

“I wish I had a switch to shut it all off,” he answers and you smile softly, fingers running along the side of his neck, feeling the thrum of life beneath his skin, picking up only slightly as your touch descends to his collarbone.

“I think you need a hobby,” you offer lightly, “something outside of work, something easy…”

“Too busy,” he excuses, unknowingly nuzzling against your touch, “you’re…you help,” it takes a breath, but Clark admits it with the slightest waver in his tone, like he’s telling you a secret.

“Dinner and massages on the house,” you point out, “well I would hope so,” Clark chuckles at your cockiness, lifting his slightly to turn and look at you, exhausting behind the black frames of his glasses.

But, as he licks his lips, you see his mouth almost hesitate to speak, like he’s formulating a speech in his head and is too afraid of misspeaking. 

“What helps you?” He asks suddenly, catching you by surprise, fingers rubbing against the coffee stained collar of his shirt. 

You think to yourself for a moment, a few methods coming to mind and you find yourself biting back a smirk.

“What?” He asks again with a slight but cautiously concerned laugh, rising now to turn his body in the chair.

“I like baths,” you shrug, “but I don’t think you’d fit in my tub,”

Clark smiles slightly but nods in agreement.

“Wine helps, but you don’t drink so,” you raise your hand and gesture it toward him lazily, “and, I mean I could potentially help you with the last idea but you don’t get out much,”

“I get out,” he defends weakly, voice cracking pathetically.

“I’m not judging,” you quickly reply, hands held up in defense, “there’s also, handling things yourself…but that’s more of an…at your own place activity,”

Clark isn’t an idiot, but his face blushes all the same.

“It’s an amazing stress reliever,” you offer, “isn’t it?”

You’ve shared bad date stories before, the occasional sketchy hook-up, flirted in a way that was solely exclusive to the way you worked with each other—light teasing, intentional but it always left you two lingering with exchanged glances that became a challenge, daring one of you to break first. 

Like now, watching him swallow before offering a weak shrug and a quiet, “I mean, y—yeah, I guess?” he answers, feeling the weight of his finger as it settles into a singular belt loop, his hand curling against your hip.

“Is this you kicking me out?” Clark asks before you can speak again, looking like a kicked puppy, but something in his eyes narrows and you lose him for a moment.

You’ve seen it before, like he’s attempting to focus on something you weren’t aware of, lost in his own mind.

He doesn’t try to do it often, it feels like an overstep with you, an invasion of trust he’s built with you—that he cherished.

Your heart was thrumming wildly, similar to the way it had a few nights ago when you both awkwardly worked around each other in your tiny kitchen, his chest sliding against your own as he pushed past you, arms settling on your shoulders as he easily moved you aside. 

He tried to ignore it, but all he could hear was the hurried rush of your heart until he finally left that night.

It was only as he initiated touch, not you. You had a similar affect on him, but Clark had a couple advantages, obviously.

It was clear you cared enough about your working relationship to not compromise it with things that were much more complicated, but Clark had a crumbling resolve that weakens every time he’s with you, 

“No,” you tell him honestly, “maybe we should just go out for a bit, have some fun,”

Clark shakes his head, feeling the gentle tug of his heavy grip as you stumble impossibly closer, his lips unintentionally pressing into the fabric of your shirt.

“Work your magic,” he suggest with a soft laugh, “your hands fix everything,”

It shouldn’t sound as sensual as it does, but neither of you have half the mind to acknowledge how quickly things were building, bodies working instinctively against any rational thought.

You settle over his lap in the chair, knees pressing against his hips, ass stretched over his thighs and you feel his hands graze for a brief moment before he’s curling his hands into fists at the arms of the chair.

Silently, you unbutton his shirt a couple more inches and work your fingers over the expectantly knotted muscle.

Clark knows he’s misstepped when he groans through the achy pain you work out of his body, but he knows it isn’t the sole reason.

You seemed to sway with the way you worked, rocking your body forward as you really dug your fingers in, unintentionally pressing your weight against the unmistakable swell of his cock pressing against his slacks now.

You don’t say anything—he knows you wouldn’t, but part of him can’t help but apologize. 

The chance is snuffed though, as your lips press against the side of his jaw and his hands instinctively move toward your hips, pressing against the exposed skin where your shirt had rode up.

“Do you trust me?” you ask in a featherlight tone, quiet enough that you can barely even hear yourself.

“With my life,” Clark jokes halfheartedly, his eyes falling shut as he relinquished the tension in his body, feeling the path your fingers take as they map his body and dig into solid, steely muscle.

He’s strong, no doubt, but he’s undoubtedly soft, too.

You’ve always remained relatively safe when it came to touch like this, but with the soft groans escaping him, your fingers worked away at the end of his shirt until the last button was undone and his stomach was rising slowly underneath your palms.

Your fingers follow a gentle path down from his ribs to the waistband of his slacks, his chest shaking with an involuntary laugh that seems like more of a reaction than anything.

"Are you—Clark, are you ticklish?”

“No,” his voice cracks with the lie and you test with a gentle finger to the spot just below his ribs, barely pressing into the skin as you wiggle the digit and he squirms, chuckling weakly as his hands grip your hips instinctively, “okay—may—maybe,”

“Noted,” you nod with a smirk that hides an unending amount of mischief.

As time goes on, your touch breathes more like admiration than an effort to work away his aches and pains, thumbs dragging over the jut of his collarbones as your hands curl around his shoulders and his hands slip higher up your hips, settling in the dip of your waist, hot hands against plush skin.

When you look at him, his lips are parted slightly and his eyes are still closed, but the furrow in his brow has only deepened. You lean forward a few inches until your face is hovering near his own and you speak into his ear. It was like a jolt to his system, hot breath against his skin that made his cock twitch in delight.

“Don’t pass out on me, Clark,” you warn him,

He shakes his head minutely, giving you a small sign of life.

For a while, your hands settle at his neck and work their magic, soft noises that give you the satisfaction of a job well done, unbeknownst to how truly affected Clark was now.

His slacks confined his cock tight against the line of his zipper, the fabric rubbing against the head with every subtle shift of your hips, unintentional movement pulling him closer and closer to an inescapable edge, too blissed out to speak.

He releases a shaky breath and weakly attempts to clear his throat, his hands gliding down to rest against the top of your thighs, squeezing gently as your hands mirror his own, fingers digging into his quad muscles.

"Gosh," Clark speaks to nothing in particular, selfishly enjoying touch that he so often avoided from many—never you, though.

But, this evening felt different—lighter, maybe, but somehow much more intense.

He'd tell you if he could; about his day, how being slammed through concrete over and over wasn't great for his body, as indestructible as it was, or how the weight of his decisions constantly weighed him down. It was the weight of the world and then some that was trapped in those muscles, seeming to flow out as you kneaded his thighs.

You feel partially in a trance, your hips moving in time with the gentle rock against his persistent arousal by Clark's guidance, both of you moaning out into the quiet air of your apartment.

"Clark," you manage to sigh in feeble warning and he swallows, hard, shaking his head.

You quickly realize he's beyond forming words, mouth hung open as he lets out a soft groan.

With the quickly growing pace of your hips, rocking in time with his movement, your palm presses down against his abdomen, the ridges of muscles spasming under your touch as the flush in his chest spreads up his neck and to his cheeks.

"Oh, my—" His brow furrows, face pinched in an emotion you can't quite decipher.

But, it was when his eyes open that he knows there isn't any way to fight this.

Himself, the pleasure that has coiled in his gut despite his efforts.

You nod wordlessly, like silent permission as he leans forward to scoop you closer, face buried against your chest as he groans against the fabric, one hand pressed tight against your back as the other squeezes your hip, guiding you over his lap at a desperate pace.

Your hand curls around the back of his head, deep into his unruly dark curls as he moans unabashed, finally unhinging his restraint as his desperation peaks and slowly wanes, eventually stilling as he remained wordless.

Eventually, he speaks, "I'm sorry," he says with a sincerity so genuine you almost laugh.

Well, you do, but it was quiet. Clark feels the vibration and looks up at you with full shame.

"Clark, why are you apologizing?" you inquire, watching as he shifted uncomfortably, both of your eyes shifting down as you noticed the damp, darkened spot in his navy slacks.

"I got…carried away," Clark admits,

You offer a half smile, bringing your hand down to cradle his cheek as he leans into your touch.

"Be selfish once in a while," you tell him, "do you…feel better?"

He nods slowly, "I didn't—I don't have any spare clothes with me, though,"

"I'll wash them," you assure Clark, "you can shower and I'll order some dessert from that bakery down the street, we can watch any of the Star Wars movies you want. You know, make the most of it,"

"Well," Clark begins unsteadily, "I would…I wanna return the favor, if you'll let me,"

It was clear that any line you had set was beyond crossed, eviscerated the moment he came in his pants from your touch, and he was offering you a deal you couldn't pass up.

"Strip," you demand with a playful smile, "I'll start the wash and you can start the shower,"

"And then?" He watches with hopeful eyes as you stand,

"You can help me turn my brain off," you respond like it was obvious.

It was as you said the words that Clark had noticed the static in his mind had seemed to quiet, even if it was only temporary, entirely focused on you.

You giggle at how quickly he moves, something akin to the speed of light.

[pyronovas]

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

[pyronovas]

he's bewitched me lindsey, i'm sorry

overheat

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Reader

Summary: Johnny knows best—well, until he meets you.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, intern!reader, himbo!johnny, lots of bickering, uncle!johnny, explosions and fire alarms, awkward flirting, some humor but mostly smut, sub!johnny, edging, a smidge of humiliation, dry humping, make that man beg! — wc: 5.1k

Author's Note: a small break and i'm back with more smut, of course. the interests are shifting and i fear this man is pulling me back in

When you took the offer as Reed’s intern at the Baxter Building you had expected challenges. 

But, you hadn’t imagined them in the form of Johnny Storm.

Any feasible problem had been rectified. 

But Johnny, he was just…there. 

Lingering, watching.

When you first meet him, it was an impromptu introduction as he flew through the open glass doors, flames dissipating as he landed on his feet, eyes wide and curious of a new face.

You quickly realize that despite his role on the team when it came to saving Earth, always gaining the glory of a well-defeated enemy, he didn’t have much to do at home.

It was how he found himself in Reed’s lab most days, sometimes occupied, sometimes not.

“Don’t pay him much mind,” Reed had insisted, “he’ll get bored and leave eventually,”

And he always did. 

But, not without noticeable eyes set on you for an extended amount of time, like he was trying to examine you from afar, learn you.

He oozes confidence that has clearly never been tested, addressing Reed with a rather flippant tone when he tried to get a point across or make a suggestion that was quickly shut down.

He tried, bless his heart.

And you sensed the flash of embarrassment as your gazes collided when he sulked past but you didn’t poke the beast.

Even with the minimal words you’ve spoken, you feel the silent tug of interest despite any and all logical reasoning why you shouldn’t find him intriguing.

Your curiosity was a goddamn killer.

He did seem helpful, though.

He often tried to apply an extra set of hands wherever needed when he wasn’t bothering Reed about new schematics for suits or upgrades on the Fantasticar.

And he made a great sandwich when he was feeling generous enough to share his half without so much of a word your way, only sliding the plate down beside you quietly with a quick snap to toast the bread when you mentioned to him how you liked the crunch.

He liked to tinker and fiddle, always tapping away a beat against a surface when his body was restless. 

It was always an object you needed, too.

Your wrench had become a common makeshift drumstick to him when he was burying himself in his own work, headphones blaring over his ears as you approached him without warning.

You pluck it away wordlessly, watching as he shifted one side of his headphones away from his ear and peered up at you, “I was getting to the good part,” he offered defensively.

“Darn,” you deadpan, “how will I go on?”

Johnny huffs out a short laugh and shakes his head, “Your loss, baby,” he quips before he replaces the wrench with his fingers, entering a quiet drum solo.

You freeze at the slip of words, knowing he was being patronizing, but he smiles with his sickening confidence and adds even more annoying sound effects with his mouth.

You soon discover he found his peace came when he flamed up and fought the enemy, but it wasn’t a daily occurrence. You could tell when he was getting restless, always waiting for the go ahead from Reed to blow off some steam.

Most flinched at the change in form, but you had always found it interesting, eyes watching him intently. You think you’re being more sly about it than he’s ever been, but his eyes always catch you, sealing your fate with a wink.

Johnny had an unavoidable charm and even you had fallen under that spell.

-

Lately, he’d been stuck on Franklin watch. 

He adored his nephew, he did.

But, with his powers revealing themselves as time went on, you realized just how much that young boy liked to tease his uncle.

It was a late evening when Franklin unexpectedly teleported into Reed’s lab, sans your boss as he had taken out Sue on a much needed evening away.

You were tracking through notes, rewriting them in your own notes and committing them to memory, color coded equations and all.

Franklin had startled you with his toddler babble, hands slapping against the floor as he pushed to his feet and waddled toward you with a toothy grin.

You picked him up with glee as you adjusted him on your hip.

“Johnny hates when you play hide and seek,” you tell him with a soft but playful tone, “but I find it amusing,”

The doors split open a minute later and you spot Johnny jogging toward you, wide-eyed and worried before he spots the identical smiles and his face quickly sets to annoyance.

“Dude, you disappeared right out of my arms,” he scolds Franklin gently, ignoring you entirely as you wordlessly handed off the child, brushing a stray hair away from your mouth and behind your ear as he then unexpectedly acknowledges you, “You’re really good with him, you know. He likes you,”

You clear your throat and turn back toward your notes, slipping into your chair and organizing the papers out perfectly, waiting for Johnny’s departure.

But, it doesn’t come.

“He’s a sweet kid,” you shrug, looking over your shoulder slightly,

He turns, shoes squeaking against the floor as you watch two fingers pluck a paper from the table, then another, completely disorganizing your system as you turn to him, face set with a look of disdain.

“Colorful,” he notes with a smirk, “…cute,”

You snatch the paper from his grip and quickly readjust the order, “it helps my brain memorize things,” you snap.

Johnny makes a dismissive noise of acknowledgment, peering curiously over your shoulder at the array of colors with an ever-growing grin.

“You seem…unpashed by all of this,” Johnny adds, vagueness intentional but you understand his words, “any normal person would flinch at us and our powers, him,”

“Any normal person?” You reply, mincing the words and trying to decipher what he meant, “Are you calling me strange?”

“Oh, no,” he quickly corrects, “no, no—you’re…you’re just different,”

Johnny had an unbeatable case of foot in mouth around you and he wasn’t sure why.

Okay.

Rolling your eyes, you glance at your watch and snort, “They’ll be back in thirty minutes and his bedtime was an hour ago,”

Johnny, oblivious, glances down at his watch too.

“Shit,” he curses and your eyes widen in disbelief at the excessive expletive around Franklin, “er—shoot, uh—“

You realize that while Johnny watched him often, he’s never been bestowed the duty of his nighttime routine.

Luckily, Sue had found her intuition serving her well, seeking you out as backup in the off—but very possible—chance that Johnny lost his head, you could help.

“Bath, bottle, bed,” you tell him, “Ben would probably make the bottle while you do the first part,”

Johnny balks, “Sue clued me in—you know, in case you floundered, which…”

Your eyes drag from head to toe and back before humming with a subtle smirk, “you totally are,”

He looks embarrassed, cheeks reddening despite his efforts to hide it.

He doesn’t come around for at least a week after that.

His ego needed time to heal.

—

You begin to think you’ve irritated him enough that he would stay away, but he’s soon back with a vengeance.

Reed had opened the lab up to you on the weekends and you had eagerly accepted the offer, even if it was just to test out experiments while he and the others were busy with the super side of things.

This particular experiment was extremely tempermental, needing just the right environmental forces to keep it balanced and you were so quietly focused on griping about the level of heat that you hadn’t heard Johnny approach—or even expected him to be here— and flick his pointer finger out like a party trick.

“I can help with that,” he says with the innocence of a child, helplessly unaware as the flame shot from his finger and let the burner explode with a poof of fire.

You gasp, “Johnny, no!” 

But, it was too late.

The flame shot up and immediately set off the fire alarm, forcing the emergency sprinkles on as you slapped your hands against the surface of the table before turning to him.

He’d jumped at the sudden jolt of freezing water, looking a mix of surprise and confusion as you stepped toward him.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you snapped at him, “do you ever bother Reed when he’s working in the lab?”

“Yeah,” Johnny answers defensively, his mouth turning down as he nods, “It’s—you looked like you were struggling with the burner, I figured—“

“You figured?” you echo mockingly, “What is your deal?”

“My deal?” It was his turn to mimic.

“Why do you insist on messing with me?” you ask him candidly, “The first day I got here you spent two hours pretending like you had a reason to be in here just to watch me and for nearly a month after that, you found every possible opportunity to interrupt my work in the past couple months—believe it or not, this is my job. I’m getting paid, I have responsibilities, and I can’t waste my time looking over my shoulder wondering when Johnny is going to disrupt my day,”

“Well, you could’ve just said something,” Johnny offers, the sprinkles slowing shutting off but leaving you both dripping wet, “I just—“

Except you have, but he didn’t take you seriously. 

“You just what, Johnny?” you press him, chest rising with the quickness of your angered breath. 

“I thought I was helping,” he shrugs, “I really didn’t mean to—“

You sigh, pushing your soaked hair away from your face and setting your hands against your hips, “Well now I’m drowning and I don’t have a change of clothes,”

“I can fix that,” He offers innocently but with some hesitance under your heavy gaze, jutting his thumb toward the doors leading to the living quarters.

“Oh, can you?” you patronize him before finally relenting, following close behind as he led you through a room, down a hall, and up a flight of stairs before you reached a laundry room, “Genius plan, but I’m not going to stand here naked while my clothes dry,”

Johnny quickly assesses the area, finding a stack of fresh, clean white shirts that were neatly folded on the dryer. You slowly unfold the cotton to watch the shirt from to nearly knee level.

“You’re kidding me?” 

“I guess it was laundry day for Ben,” Johnny offers a warm smile that melts your cold exterior despite your qualms.

You clear your throat and silently order him to leave as you quickly discard your wet clothes into the dryer and switch into the shirt, feeling like Johnny was only doing this for pure amusement.

Eventually, the door creaks open and Johnny turns on his heels, his back having faced the door despite it also being closed. He was already shirtless, though.

It was only slightly startling, your eyes immediately tracking to his toned chest as he takes a moment to bite the laugh away that creeps up his throat.

He’s curbing himself, knowing he was skating on thin ice.

Good boy.

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind your eyes, finding that it was your time to stare as he stripped out of his jeans, leaving him in his still fairly dry boxer briefs that clung tight to toned thighs.

Johnny clears his throat to grab your attention, attempting to hide the smirk as he catches your gaze that lingers on the curve of his ass, your eyes quickly averting to the floor.

“It shouldn’t take long but you can wait in my room,” Johnny offers, “If…if Reed asks, I’ll tell him it was my fault.”

“Well, it was,” you correct him, following Johnny to his room.

“You’re just…different from the others,” Johnny offers randomly, turning to him curiously as the door clicks shut.

“Elaborate, maybe? Because it feels like you’re just calling me weird,” you retort, looking around curiously as Johnny takes a seat in the chair beside his record player.

“He’d gone through a handful of interns before you,” Johnny begins, “they all seem pretty freaked being around us, around Franklin, and they can’t really keep up with Reed the way you can. You—you don’t even seem phased…by any of it,”

“I didn’t take this job to fulfill my curiosity about the Fantastic Four,” you could care less about the fantastical aspect of their lives, “I admire Reed’s work, I’d like to learn from him, this job doesn’t just land on your desk on day, it chooses you,”

“My sister said she picked you out,” Johnny admits, “I think her judgement is a little better than Reed,”

“So, what’s your judgement then?” you ask with an enticing curiosity, watching the way Johnny’s eyes track the fabric of Ben’s massively oversized shirt as it bunches at your thigh when you sit in the chair across from him. 

“Confident,” he begins, though you find the word too strong for your own liking, “thoughtful, resourceful—uh, personable but shy. You’re great with Franklin, like Sue. Reed struggles just as much as Ben and I,”

It gets a soft laugh out of you and Johnny takes that as a win.

“What about me?” Johnny asks, leaning back in the chair as his arms cross, biceps flexing as his jaw sets tight.

His gaze is piercing even when he isn’t trying, the richness in his blue eyes like an unintentional truth serum.

“Stubborn,” you begin but it seems like Johnny expects that, “hot-headed, infuriating,”

“Don’t hold back,” he snorts, “anything else, babydoll?”

You roll your eyes at the patronizing term of endearment.

His legs are inching open, spreading until he’s comfortable and relaxed, his hands clasped loosely over his chest as his elbow settled against the arms of the chair.

“You’re enjoying this,” you scoff, “aren’t you?”

Johnny shrugs and offers a warm smile.

“I don’t think you’d have a clue what to do if someone put you in your place, Johnny,” you taunt him, watching his expression change slightly, head tilting, “I think you count on flirting your way out of shit and you know that won’t work with me and you’re helpless,”

“It wouldn’t?” Johnny asks curiously, his hands separating to spread out over his thick thighs, underwear creased at his groin and drawing your eyes in like a magnet, “Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking, too,”

You needed it out of your system, this pull. 

You tried to keep it dormant, blaming it on proximity and Johnny’s insisting presence. But here, in the silence that grew between you both, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug ass smile off his face. 

Johnny slowly leans forward, just enough that his finger can wrap around the leg of your chair and pull you toward him.

Your foot presses into the space between his legs, stopping the movement as you stand from the chair.

This had to be grounds for termination; hooking up with your boss's brother-in-law was a definite reason for firing.

Still, the heat Johnny emitted even without his trademark flames was addicting up close, like an unbreakable curse on your body.

Johnny stares with a curious expression but matches your movement, your own fingers slowly curling around his arm as the pull comes easy, his fingers threading through your hair like they belong there, cradling the back of your head as your lips pressed together in a soft but solid kiss, unsure of what to expect.

It shouldn’t feel this pleasant, as irritating as Johnny was.

He’s quick to commandeer, like second nature as your head tilts and moves to his whim, slow kisses turning increasingly sloppy as his other hand squeezes at your waist through the excessive fabric, pulling you close.

Your own hands had twisted up and around his neck, arms slung as you pulled him closer, the quietest mewl slipping from your lips as Johnny made the pivot toward his bed, your hand catching behind you on the way down as you pulled apart for a much needed breath of air.

“Not like this,” you explain to him gently, fingers curling under the band of his underwear as you pull him toward you and swiftly change positions, leaving him sprawled out as he topples to the mattress, elbows catching the blow as you settle over his legs, “this is better,”

The bed creaks with the movement and Johnny stares up at you—he’s curious, unoccupied hands curling into fists at his side.

“The thing about observing and staying quiet,” you explain with a breath, thighs spread out over his lap, shirt keeping your modest at bay for the moment, “is that I’m really good at reading people,”

“And you’ve found that I’m devilishly handsome,” Johnny offers with a teasing grin, “who knew?”

Johnny watches as your hands move from your own thighs toward the apex of his own, the noticeable tent in his underwear twitching as your fingers graze the fabric.

You shrug,”I don’t know, I’m more curious how easy it is to make you beg,” offering a gentle squeeze to his shaft, his stomach flexing at the touch but his face remaining unchanged as he tilts his head slightly.

“I can put on a show,” he answers cockily, moving from his elbows to the palm of his hands, leading him closer to you as he sits up, “if you’re interested,”

You laugh quietly to yourself, shaking your head as you look down, feeling the gentle touch of a hand shifting over your thigh and under the shirt you were wearing.

“No need,” you retort with a smile as you pull at the collar and slip the shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare before him as you work through the surge of adrenaline and quickly push his hand away and further behind his back.

Johnny can’t even compute what was happening until his hands are already bound in the knotted fabric, looking up at you with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t burn through it,” It was an extension of trust, hoping that he wouldn’t, but knowing that he could.

Luckily, Johnny was already distracted with other things.

Namely, the sight of your tits as you leaned back on his strong thighs and the glorious motion of them pushing together as you palmed him fully with both hands, his lips parting only slightly.

Clearly, he wasn’t bothered. 

Not good enough.

You stand, the plushness of your thighs pressing together as his eyes drag to point of divinity, catching the moment his eyes dilated and his tongue drags over his bottom lip.

“You’re out of luck, flame boy,” you tease him, kneeling down to the floor as your fingers curl around his underwear and tug.

He lifts his ass wordlessly, mesmerized by you.

His cock springs free without a single ounce of shame and rightfully so, knowing that if you had a list for prettiest cocks that he would be sitting at the top, no contest.

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth slightly, taking in all eight inches of him and watching where the head of his cock rests just above his belly button, weeping at the tip despite his efforts to remain unaffected. 

There’s a thick vein that runs from the base of his shaft to his head and you test it with a finger, tentatively, his skin like velvet under your touch as you circle the head, smearing the precum over your finger before bringing it to your mouth, pressing it flat against your tongue. 

Johnny lets out an involuntary huff of air as you hum, returning to his lap without a word, eyes unable to break away from you.

You teasingly roll your fingers around his balls, featherlight up the seam as he releases another shaky breath that doesn’t seem anything like the man who constantly sported a shit-eating grin and an annoying air of confidence, sealing his fate as your hand grips his cock with a kind of pressure that makes Johnny swallow, hard.

“You’ve done this before right, Johnny?”

He clears his throat, “Plenty,” he offers and you know he isn’t really lying, “if you’re trying to embarrass me, it won’t work,”

“That’s not the idea,” you quickly assure him, “I want you to enjoy this, really,”

You slowly move your hand up his shaft and down, jerking his cock at a pace that doesn’t quite satisfy.

“I don’t beg,” Johnny makes an effort to remind you.

You shrug, twisting your hand around his shaft as your pace gradually quickens, watching the rhythmic twitches in his stomach as he tries to maintain a steady breath.

“Is—is this like a control thing?” Johnny unexpectedly begins to ramble, his tone rather calm—last ditch effort?

“Control? No,” you answer truthfully, “a good way to fuck with you? Absolutely,”

Johnny scoffs in amusement and leans back more confidently into the weight of his hands, eyes raking over your exposed skin with a greediness that you’ve always expected he kept under lock and key until moments like this. 

“You know, it’s been three months,” he continues, “if you had a crush you could’ve just told me, I thought I was being pretty obvious how I felt,”

“Painfully,” you laugh softly, leaning back slightly as you bring your hand to your mouth and spit gently into your palm before your hand returns to his cock, hearing the slight quiver in his tone as he hums at the touch.

“What triggers it?” You ask curiously, “The flames,”

Johnny pauses for a moment, eyes fluttering slightly as your thumb rubbed over the slit and along the ridge beneath the head of his cock.

“I’ve always had it under control,” Johnny answers with his usual air of confidence, “Nothing has ever really—it’s not like an emotional thing, if that makes sense,”

“Really?” you were genuinely curious despite Johnny’s subtle skepticism.

“Really,” Johnny retorts, “are you trying to study me? Now? Like, right now? I’m not gonna flame up if you make me—“

You silence him with a teasing kiss, lips barely grazing his own but his argument falls dead in an instant, your hand grips into his short blonde hair and he grunts, teeth bared.

“Who said I planned on making you cum anyways?” you whisper against his mouth as he lips part with your suddenly intensifying pace, fingers squeezing over the head with each tug.

“Huh?” It sounds pathetic.

And with the way his shoulders flexed, fingers curling into the fabric of his bed, you can tell he’s growing close already.

He moans into your mouth as you hold his gaze this close, watching his sanity slowly drift away.

“Fuck,” he breathes softly, “see—I knew there was something about you,”

“Did you?” You tease him, “Does that line always work?”

Johnny shakes his head and groans, stubbornly avoiding a careful few words and you begin to switch between a slow and fast pace, teasing him to near delirium.

“Clothes are prob—probably dry,” Johnny interjects, trying to switch subjects.

You hum in acknowledgement, watching the tension in his shoulders build, his chest flushed as he breaths come out like pants, nearing the edge as you let him go without warning, “Shit, why did you—“

He peels his eyes open to look at you, watching you sport his trademark grin and serve him a proper dose of his own medicine. 

“Did you think I was lying?” you ponder his frustration, gently dragging the back of your finger along the underside of his cock and watching as it twitches involuntarily.

“Part—partly,” Johnny admits and clears his throat,

“I will,” you tell him, “just, you know, say the words,”

Johnny eyes you with a clueless expression.

“Please,” you whisper softly in a mock tone of desperation, tightening your grip around his dick again, “oh, please,”

Johnny can’t help the way his gut somersaults at the way you speak to him, the faux agony in your tone that he’d do nothing short of self-sacrifice to be on the other end of.

“I’m not,” Johnny challenges, “you know I’m not,”

“Mmm,” you contemplate quietly, “not even if I get on my knees and let you watch while I suck you off?”

“Nope,” his voice is pinched but you can feel the pulse of satisfaction at your words, giggling to yourself, “not a chance,”

“Too bad,” you pout slightly and offer your words as innocently and as truthful as you can, even though it was fairly easy, “I like the way you taste,”

Johnny jaw clamps down at your words paired with the unexpected introduction of your other hand as you work over his cock at a relentless pace, watching his expression carefully.

“What?” You ask him curiously, “Too much?”

Johnny shakes his head, “Just—didn’t expect this—from you,” he struggles to explain, “you’re always so quiet around everyone,”

“You only see the parts of me I want you to, Johnny,”

“I like this side, too,” he admits with a slight grin as you mirror his expression, “just to be clear,”

“If I untie your hands,” you begin, his attention pulling taut, “you still have to keep them to yourself,”

“Done deal, babydoll,” he appeases, “I’ll be good,”

You snort at his obvious enjoyment and lean forward to loosen the fabric and toss it away, but are less than obliging as you immediately push him back into the mattress.

“What’re you—“ the air is pushed from his lungs as you easily position your cunt over his messy cock, a mix of your own saliva and his slick,

“Desperate times,” you offer with a smile, bending down to meet his lips again, “remember, hands off,”

It was a little selfish, chasing your own pleasure at the expense of his torture, but the moment your folds fit snug over his shaft and he groans, full body, you knew it was the right choice to make.

Johnny can’t help but watch the warmth of your pussy sliding over his cock in a carefully timed rhythm as he watches the head disappear when your hips tilt forward.

He knows, for the foreseeable future, that he would find every reason, every way, to bury himself there.

Be it his face, fingers, or his cock—he was an absolute goner and he needed you in every way imaginable. 

“She fits perfectly, don’t you think?” Johnny teases, surely signing his death certificate with those words.

“You were on the verge of tears just a few seconds ago,” you remind him, watching the last bits of his sanity flee as you grinded down against him, “so shut up and be good,”

Johnny clears his throat and nods without thinking. His hands are resting loosely above his hand, curling into fists when the pace gets too overwhelming, helping you manage your movement as you feel yourself crawling closer to your own orgasm, the head of his cock catching against your clit with every drag of your hips.

All you had to do was drag this out long enough to break him, even just a little, but you were learning that he was indeed the most stubborn creature in existence.

He does eventually crack though, pulling him so close to the edge that he fears he might not have any control before he blows his load, but your careful timing leaves him unsatisfied and all he can manage is a pathetic moan and look of pleading that didn’t match up to the words you wanted to hear.

“It hurts,” he manages, but was far too blissed out on the overdose of pleasure to care, “come on, this isn’t fair,”

You drag your hips against him tantalizingly slow, almost to the point of no movement at all, hands pressed into the mattress beside his head.

You shrug, clueless, dragging your thumb against his abused bottom lip, indented with teeth marks from how hard he’d been biting it.

“Ask for it,” you coax him, “tell me how badly you want it,”

Johnny swallows sharply, feeling the faint adjustment of your hips, moving but barely.

“You can’t—can’t tease me for it,” Johnny retorts, groaning softly as you pick up your pace slightly.

“Never,” you promise him, “our secret,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, “baby—“

He’s right there, you can feel it.

Luckily, your patience had also worn thin and you’d be a mess just as soon as he, grinding your hips over him in time with his plea of words.

“Please,” he sighs, “please, just let me—“

“Yeah?” you nod, hips stuttering as you own pleasure coils in your gut.

“I’m begging, okay?” Johnny gives in, “Please just—just let me come,”

“Good boy,” you speak into the curve of his neck as his hands release from their invisible bindings and find you as he, squeezing tightly into your hips as he guides you over his cock, spurts of his thick cum painting his chest and your own, moaning brokenly against his skin as you come, pussy spasming against his cock as he chokes out a groan of your name.

As the silence bestows you, it’s met with tired laughter.

Delirious and sated, Johnny’s hand rubbing over his face as he attempts to catch his breath.

“You’re…evil,” Johnny admits, “I’m adding that one to the list, pure—pure evil,”

“Well, this just proves you can listen,” you grab the discarded shirt from the edge of the bed and wipe away the mess with a casualness that has Johnny’s gaze locked on you as you ball up the soiled fabric and shove it into his clean chest, “you should…probably burn that now,”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees with a short laugh, but tosses it aside for now.

He grunts softly moving to sit up, his hand coming up to rest at the center of your back and your hands naturally fall to his shoulders as his chin tilts up and presses between the valley of your breasts, puppy dog eyed and all smiles, “I’m sorry for bothering you so much,”

“I don’t…mind,” you admit to him, “but you should really listen when someone tells you something instead of brushing it off,”

“I think I just proved I can,” Johnny defends,

“You did touch me,” Johnny closes his eyes with a silent laugh, “couldn’t hold out on those last few seconds, could you?”

“I’ll be honest, I think I blacked out toward the end,” Johnny pleads with you,

“Oh?”

“Shut up,” he huffs lightheartedly, “I’ll grab our clothes, the others should be back soon,”

You nod, climbing off of his lap carefully as he plucks his underwear from the ground and slips them on as he heads toward the door.

“Have fun explaining the lab to Reed,” you tease him,

Johnny shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling helplessly, “Don’t remind me,”

[pyronovas]

omg i thought you deleted for a second i was going to scream into the void i mean of course you do you but I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND GIFS AND BLOG AND YOU <3

lmao sorry gjkfdk. yeah that would never happen. i just had to let the url go, may she rest in peace but i wanted something more neutral (for the most part) while i'm writing for different characters and stuff. also thank youuuuuu <3

[pyronovas]

its honestly bananas to me that so many on this website seem to assume that someone's tumblr output is an accurate reflection of their real life priorities and activism and all of their beliefs in order of how hard they believe them. like. idk about you guys but i'm reblogging things that i want to reblog not keeping a minute by minute record of my deepest held beliefs. for one thing my deepest held beliefs are mostly not about star wars

[pyronovas]

head not empty, head full of countless scenarios that will never happen

[pyronovas]

overheat

Pairing: Johnny Storm x Reader

Summary: Johnny knows best—well, until he meets you.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, intern!reader, himbo!johnny, lots of bickering, uncle!johnny, explosions and fire alarms, awkward flirting, some humor but mostly smut, sub!johnny, edging, a smidge of humiliation, dry humping, make that man beg! — wc: 5.1k

Author's Note: a small break and i'm back with more smut, of course. the interests are shifting and i fear this man is pulling me back in

When you took the offer as Reed’s intern at the Baxter Building you had expected challenges. 

But, you hadn’t imagined them in the form of Johnny Storm.

Any feasible problem had been rectified. 

But Johnny, he was just…there. 

Lingering, watching.

When you first meet him, it was an impromptu introduction as he flew through the open glass doors, flames dissipating as he landed on his feet, eyes wide and curious of a new face.

You quickly realize that despite his role on the team when it came to saving Earth, always gaining the glory of a well-defeated enemy, he didn’t have much to do at home.

It was how he found himself in Reed’s lab most days, sometimes occupied, sometimes not.

“Don’t pay him much mind,” Reed had insisted, “he’ll get bored and leave eventually,”

And he always did. 

But, not without noticeable eyes set on you for an extended amount of time, like he was trying to examine you from afar, learn you.

He oozes confidence that has clearly never been tested, addressing Reed with a rather flippant tone when he tried to get a point across or make a suggestion that was quickly shut down.

He tried, bless his heart.

And you sensed the flash of embarrassment as your gazes collided when he sulked past but you didn’t poke the beast.

Even with the minimal words you’ve spoken, you feel the silent tug of interest despite any and all logical reasoning why you shouldn’t find him intriguing.

Your curiosity was a goddamn killer.

He did seem helpful, though.

He often tried to apply an extra set of hands wherever needed when he wasn’t bothering Reed about new schematics for suits or upgrades on the Fantasticar.

And he made a great sandwich when he was feeling generous enough to share his half without so much of a word your way, only sliding the plate down beside you quietly with a quick snap to toast the bread when you mentioned to him how you liked the crunch.

He liked to tinker and fiddle, always tapping away a beat against a surface when his body was restless. 

It was always an object you needed, too.

Your wrench had become a common makeshift drumstick to him when he was burying himself in his own work, headphones blaring over his ears as you approached him without warning.

You pluck it away wordlessly, watching as he shifted one side of his headphones away from his ear and peered up at you, “I was getting to the good part,” he offered defensively.

“Darn,” you deadpan, “how will I go on?”

Johnny huffs out a short laugh and shakes his head, “Your loss, baby,” he quips before he replaces the wrench with his fingers, entering a quiet drum solo.

You freeze at the slip of words, knowing he was being patronizing, but he smiles with his sickening confidence and adds even more annoying sound effects with his mouth.

You soon discover he found his peace came when he flamed up and fought the enemy, but it wasn’t a daily occurrence. You could tell when he was getting restless, always waiting for the go ahead from Reed to blow off some steam.

Most flinched at the change in form, but you had always found it interesting, eyes watching him intently. You think you’re being more sly about it than he’s ever been, but his eyes always catch you, sealing your fate with a wink.

Johnny had an unavoidable charm and even you had fallen under that spell.

-

Lately, he’d been stuck on Franklin watch. 

He adored his nephew, he did.

But, with his powers revealing themselves as time went on, you realized just how much that young boy liked to tease his uncle.

It was a late evening when Franklin unexpectedly teleported into Reed’s lab, sans your boss as he had taken out Sue on a much needed evening away.

You were tracking through notes, rewriting them in your own notes and committing them to memory, color coded equations and all.

Franklin had startled you with his toddler babble, hands slapping against the floor as he pushed to his feet and waddled toward you with a toothy grin.

You picked him up with glee as you adjusted him on your hip.

“Johnny hates when you play hide and seek,” you tell him with a soft but playful tone, “but I find it amusing,”

The doors split open a minute later and you spot Johnny jogging toward you, wide-eyed and worried before he spots the identical smiles and his face quickly sets to annoyance.

“Dude, you disappeared right out of my arms,” he scolds Franklin gently, ignoring you entirely as you wordlessly handed off the child, brushing a stray hair away from your mouth and behind your ear as he then unexpectedly acknowledges you, “You’re really good with him, you know. He likes you,”

You clear your throat and turn back toward your notes, slipping into your chair and organizing the papers out perfectly, waiting for Johnny’s departure.

But, it doesn’t come.

“He’s a sweet kid,” you shrug, looking over your shoulder slightly,

He turns, shoes squeaking against the floor as you watch two fingers pluck a paper from the table, then another, completely disorganizing your system as you turn to him, face set with a look of disdain.

“Colorful,” he notes with a smirk, “…cute,”

You snatch the paper from his grip and quickly readjust the order, “it helps my brain memorize things,” you snap.

Johnny makes a dismissive noise of acknowledgment, peering curiously over your shoulder at the array of colors with an ever-growing grin.

“You seem…unpashed by all of this,” Johnny adds, vagueness intentional but you understand his words, “any normal person would flinch at us and our powers, him,”

“Any normal person?” You reply, mincing the words and trying to decipher what he meant, “Are you calling me strange?”

“Oh, no,” he quickly corrects, “no, no—you’re…you’re just different,”

Johnny had an unbeatable case of foot in mouth around you and he wasn’t sure why.

Okay.

Rolling your eyes, you glance at your watch and snort, “They’ll be back in thirty minutes and his bedtime was an hour ago,”

Johnny, oblivious, glances down at his watch too.

“Shit,” he curses and your eyes widen in disbelief at the excessive expletive around Franklin, “er—shoot, uh—“

You realize that while Johnny watched him often, he’s never been bestowed the duty of his nighttime routine.

Luckily, Sue had found her intuition serving her well, seeking you out as backup in the off—but very possible—chance that Johnny lost his head, you could help.

“Bath, bottle, bed,” you tell him, “Ben would probably make the bottle while you do the first part,”

Johnny balks, “Sue clued me in—you know, in case you floundered, which…”

Your eyes drag from head to toe and back before humming with a subtle smirk, “you totally are,”

He looks embarrassed, cheeks reddening despite his efforts to hide it.

He doesn’t come around for at least a week after that.

His ego needed time to heal.

—

You begin to think you’ve irritated him enough that he would stay away, but he’s soon back with a vengeance.

Reed had opened the lab up to you on the weekends and you had eagerly accepted the offer, even if it was just to test out experiments while he and the others were busy with the super side of things.

This particular experiment was extremely tempermental, needing just the right environmental forces to keep it balanced and you were so quietly focused on griping about the level of heat that you hadn’t heard Johnny approach—or even expected him to be here— and flick his pointer finger out like a party trick.

“I can help with that,” he says with the innocence of a child, helplessly unaware as the flame shot from his finger and let the burner explode with a poof of fire.

You gasp, “Johnny, no!” 

But, it was too late.

The flame shot up and immediately set off the fire alarm, forcing the emergency sprinkles on as you slapped your hands against the surface of the table before turning to him.

He’d jumped at the sudden jolt of freezing water, looking a mix of surprise and confusion as you stepped toward him.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you snapped at him, “do you ever bother Reed when he’s working in the lab?”

“Yeah,” Johnny answers defensively, his mouth turning down as he nods, “It’s—you looked like you were struggling with the burner, I figured—“

“You figured?” you echo mockingly, “What is your deal?”

“My deal?” It was his turn to mimic.

“Why do you insist on messing with me?” you ask him candidly, “The first day I got here you spent two hours pretending like you had a reason to be in here just to watch me and for nearly a month after that, you found every possible opportunity to interrupt my work in the past couple months—believe it or not, this is my job. I’m getting paid, I have responsibilities, and I can’t waste my time looking over my shoulder wondering when Johnny is going to disrupt my day,”

“Well, you could’ve just said something,” Johnny offers, the sprinkles slowing shutting off but leaving you both dripping wet, “I just—“

Except you have, but he didn’t take you seriously. 

“You just what, Johnny?” you press him, chest rising with the quickness of your angered breath. 

“I thought I was helping,” he shrugs, “I really didn’t mean to—“

You sigh, pushing your soaked hair away from your face and setting your hands against your hips, “Well now I’m drowning and I don’t have a change of clothes,”

“I can fix that,” He offers innocently but with some hesitance under your heavy gaze, jutting his thumb toward the doors leading to the living quarters.

“Oh, can you?” you patronize him before finally relenting, following close behind as he led you through a room, down a hall, and up a flight of stairs before you reached a laundry room, “Genius plan, but I’m not going to stand here naked while my clothes dry,”

Johnny quickly assesses the area, finding a stack of fresh, clean white shirts that were neatly folded on the dryer. You slowly unfold the cotton to watch the shirt from to nearly knee level.

“You’re kidding me?” 

“I guess it was laundry day for Ben,” Johnny offers a warm smile that melts your cold exterior despite your qualms.

You clear your throat and silently order him to leave as you quickly discard your wet clothes into the dryer and switch into the shirt, feeling like Johnny was only doing this for pure amusement.

Eventually, the door creaks open and Johnny turns on his heels, his back having faced the door despite it also being closed. He was already shirtless, though.

It was only slightly startling, your eyes immediately tracking to his toned chest as he takes a moment to bite the laugh away that creeps up his throat.

He’s curbing himself, knowing he was skating on thin ice.

Good boy.

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind your eyes, finding that it was your time to stare as he stripped out of his jeans, leaving him in his still fairly dry boxer briefs that clung tight to toned thighs.

Johnny clears his throat to grab your attention, attempting to hide the smirk as he catches your gaze that lingers on the curve of his ass, your eyes quickly averting to the floor.

“It shouldn’t take long but you can wait in my room,” Johnny offers, “If…if Reed asks, I’ll tell him it was my fault.”

“Well, it was,” you correct him, following Johnny to his room.

“You’re just…different from the others,” Johnny offers randomly, turning to him curiously as the door clicks shut.

“Elaborate, maybe? Because it feels like you’re just calling me weird,” you retort, looking around curiously as Johnny takes a seat in the chair beside his record player.

“He’d gone through a handful of interns before you,” Johnny begins, “they all seem pretty freaked being around us, around Franklin, and they can’t really keep up with Reed the way you can. You—you don’t even seem phased…by any of it,”

“I didn’t take this job to fulfill my curiosity about the Fantastic Four,” you could care less about the fantastical aspect of their lives, “I admire Reed’s work, I’d like to learn from him, this job doesn’t just land on your desk on day, it chooses you,”

“My sister said she picked you out,” Johnny admits, “I think her judgement is a little better than Reed,”

“So, what’s your judgement then?” you ask with an enticing curiosity, watching the way Johnny’s eyes track the fabric of Ben’s massively oversized shirt as it bunches at your thigh when you sit in the chair across from him. 

“Confident,” he begins, though you find the word too strong for your own liking, “thoughtful, resourceful—uh, personable but shy. You’re great with Franklin, like Sue. Reed struggles just as much as Ben and I,”

It gets a soft laugh out of you and Johnny takes that as a win.

“What about me?” Johnny asks, leaning back in the chair as his arms cross, biceps flexing as his jaw sets tight.

His gaze is piercing even when he isn’t trying, the richness in his blue eyes like an unintentional truth serum.

“Stubborn,” you begin but it seems like Johnny expects that, “hot-headed, infuriating,”

“Don’t hold back,” he snorts, “anything else, babydoll?”

You roll your eyes at the patronizing term of endearment.

His legs are inching open, spreading until he’s comfortable and relaxed, his hands clasped loosely over his chest as his elbow settled against the arms of the chair.

“You’re enjoying this,” you scoff, “aren’t you?”

Johnny shrugs and offers a warm smile.

“I don’t think you’d have a clue what to do if someone put you in your place, Johnny,” you taunt him, watching his expression change slightly, head tilting, “I think you count on flirting your way out of shit and you know that won’t work with me and you’re helpless,”

“It wouldn’t?” Johnny asks curiously, his hands separating to spread out over his thick thighs, underwear creased at his groin and drawing your eyes in like a magnet, “Don’t think I haven’t caught you looking, too,”

You needed it out of your system, this pull. 

You tried to keep it dormant, blaming it on proximity and Johnny’s insisting presence. But here, in the silence that grew between you both, you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug ass smile off his face. 

Johnny slowly leans forward, just enough that his finger can wrap around the leg of your chair and pull you toward him.

Your foot presses into the space between his legs, stopping the movement as you stand from the chair.

This had to be grounds for termination; hooking up with your boss's brother-in-law was a definite reason for firing.

Still, the heat Johnny emitted even without his trademark flames was addicting up close, like an unbreakable curse on your body.

Johnny stares with a curious expression but matches your movement, your own fingers slowly curling around his arm as the pull comes easy, his fingers threading through your hair like they belong there, cradling the back of your head as your lips pressed together in a soft but solid kiss, unsure of what to expect.

It shouldn’t feel this pleasant, as irritating as Johnny was.

He’s quick to commandeer, like second nature as your head tilts and moves to his whim, slow kisses turning increasingly sloppy as his other hand squeezes at your waist through the excessive fabric, pulling you close.

Your own hands had twisted up and around his neck, arms slung as you pulled him closer, the quietest mewl slipping from your lips as Johnny made the pivot toward his bed, your hand catching behind you on the way down as you pulled apart for a much needed breath of air.

“Not like this,” you explain to him gently, fingers curling under the band of his underwear as you pull him toward you and swiftly change positions, leaving him sprawled out as he topples to the mattress, elbows catching the blow as you settle over his legs, “this is better,”

The bed creaks with the movement and Johnny stares up at you—he’s curious, unoccupied hands curling into fists at his side.

“The thing about observing and staying quiet,” you explain with a breath, thighs spread out over his lap, shirt keeping your modest at bay for the moment, “is that I’m really good at reading people,”

“And you’ve found that I’m devilishly handsome,” Johnny offers with a teasing grin, “who knew?”

Johnny watches as your hands move from your own thighs toward the apex of his own, the noticeable tent in his underwear twitching as your fingers graze the fabric.

You shrug,”I don’t know, I’m more curious how easy it is to make you beg,” offering a gentle squeeze to his shaft, his stomach flexing at the touch but his face remaining unchanged as he tilts his head slightly.

“I can put on a show,” he answers cockily, moving from his elbows to the palm of his hands, leading him closer to you as he sits up, “if you’re interested,”

You laugh quietly to yourself, shaking your head as you look down, feeling the gentle touch of a hand shifting over your thigh and under the shirt you were wearing.

“No need,” you retort with a smile as you pull at the collar and slip the shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare before him as you work through the surge of adrenaline and quickly push his hand away and further behind his back.

Johnny can’t even compute what was happening until his hands are already bound in the knotted fabric, looking up at you with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t burn through it,” It was an extension of trust, hoping that he wouldn’t, but knowing that he could.

Luckily, Johnny was already distracted with other things.

Namely, the sight of your tits as you leaned back on his strong thighs and the glorious motion of them pushing together as you palmed him fully with both hands, his lips parting only slightly.

Clearly, he wasn’t bothered. 

Not good enough.

You stand, the plushness of your thighs pressing together as his eyes drag to point of divinity, catching the moment his eyes dilated and his tongue drags over his bottom lip.

“You’re out of luck, flame boy,” you tease him, kneeling down to the floor as your fingers curl around his underwear and tug.

He lifts his ass wordlessly, mesmerized by you.

His cock springs free without a single ounce of shame and rightfully so, knowing that if you had a list for prettiest cocks that he would be sitting at the top, no contest.

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth slightly, taking in all eight inches of him and watching where the head of his cock rests just above his belly button, weeping at the tip despite his efforts to remain unaffected. 

There’s a thick vein that runs from the base of his shaft to his head and you test it with a finger, tentatively, his skin like velvet under your touch as you circle the head, smearing the precum over your finger before bringing it to your mouth, pressing it flat against your tongue. 

Johnny lets out an involuntary huff of air as you hum, returning to his lap without a word, eyes unable to break away from you.

You teasingly roll your fingers around his balls, featherlight up the seam as he releases another shaky breath that doesn’t seem anything like the man who constantly sported a shit-eating grin and an annoying air of confidence, sealing his fate as your hand grips his cock with a kind of pressure that makes Johnny swallow, hard.

“You’ve done this before right, Johnny?”

He clears his throat, “Plenty,” he offers and you know he isn’t really lying, “if you’re trying to embarrass me, it won’t work,”

“That’s not the idea,” you quickly assure him, “I want you to enjoy this, really,”

You slowly move your hand up his shaft and down, jerking his cock at a pace that doesn’t quite satisfy.

“I don’t beg,” Johnny makes an effort to remind you.

You shrug, twisting your hand around his shaft as your pace gradually quickens, watching the rhythmic twitches in his stomach as he tries to maintain a steady breath.

“Is—is this like a control thing?” Johnny unexpectedly begins to ramble, his tone rather calm—last ditch effort?

“Control? No,” you answer truthfully, “a good way to fuck with you? Absolutely,”

Johnny scoffs in amusement and leans back more confidently into the weight of his hands, eyes raking over your exposed skin with a greediness that you’ve always expected he kept under lock and key until moments like this. 

“You know, it’s been three months,” he continues, “if you had a crush you could’ve just told me, I thought I was being pretty obvious how I felt,”

“Painfully,” you laugh softly, leaning back slightly as you bring your hand to your mouth and spit gently into your palm before your hand returns to his cock, hearing the slight quiver in his tone as he hums at the touch.

“What triggers it?” You ask curiously, “The flames,”

Johnny pauses for a moment, eyes fluttering slightly as your thumb rubbed over the slit and along the ridge beneath the head of his cock.

“I’ve always had it under control,” Johnny answers with his usual air of confidence, “Nothing has ever really—it’s not like an emotional thing, if that makes sense,”

“Really?” you were genuinely curious despite Johnny’s subtle skepticism.

“Really,” Johnny retorts, “are you trying to study me? Now? Like, right now? I’m not gonna flame up if you make me—“

You silence him with a teasing kiss, lips barely grazing his own but his argument falls dead in an instant, your hand grips into his short blonde hair and he grunts, teeth bared.

“Who said I planned on making you cum anyways?” you whisper against his mouth as he lips part with your suddenly intensifying pace, fingers squeezing over the head with each tug.

“Huh?” It sounds pathetic.

And with the way his shoulders flexed, fingers curling into the fabric of his bed, you can tell he’s growing close already.

He moans into your mouth as you hold his gaze this close, watching his sanity slowly drift away.

“Fuck,” he breathes softly, “see—I knew there was something about you,”

“Did you?” You tease him, “Does that line always work?”

Johnny shakes his head and groans, stubbornly avoiding a careful few words and you begin to switch between a slow and fast pace, teasing him to near delirium.

“Clothes are prob—probably dry,” Johnny interjects, trying to switch subjects.

You hum in acknowledgement, watching the tension in his shoulders build, his chest flushed as he breaths come out like pants, nearing the edge as you let him go without warning, “Shit, why did you—“

He peels his eyes open to look at you, watching you sport his trademark grin and serve him a proper dose of his own medicine. 

“Did you think I was lying?” you ponder his frustration, gently dragging the back of your finger along the underside of his cock and watching as it twitches involuntarily.

“Part—partly,” Johnny admits and clears his throat,

“I will,” you tell him, “just, you know, say the words,”

Johnny eyes you with a clueless expression.

“Please,” you whisper softly in a mock tone of desperation, tightening your grip around his dick again, “oh, please,”

Johnny can’t help the way his gut somersaults at the way you speak to him, the faux agony in your tone that he’d do nothing short of self-sacrifice to be on the other end of.

“I’m not,” Johnny challenges, “you know I’m not,”

“Mmm,” you contemplate quietly, “not even if I get on my knees and let you watch while I suck you off?”

“Nope,” his voice is pinched but you can feel the pulse of satisfaction at your words, giggling to yourself, “not a chance,”

“Too bad,” you pout slightly and offer your words as innocently and as truthful as you can, even though it was fairly easy, “I like the way you taste,”

Johnny jaw clamps down at your words paired with the unexpected introduction of your other hand as you work over his cock at a relentless pace, watching his expression carefully.

“What?” You ask him curiously, “Too much?”

Johnny shakes his head, “Just—didn’t expect this—from you,” he struggles to explain, “you’re always so quiet around everyone,”

“You only see the parts of me I want you to, Johnny,”

“I like this side, too,” he admits with a slight grin as you mirror his expression, “just to be clear,”

“If I untie your hands,” you begin, his attention pulling taut, “you still have to keep them to yourself,”

“Done deal, babydoll,” he appeases, “I’ll be good,”

You snort at his obvious enjoyment and lean forward to loosen the fabric and toss it away, but are less than obliging as you immediately push him back into the mattress.

“What’re you—“ the air is pushed from his lungs as you easily position your cunt over his messy cock, a mix of your own saliva and his slick,

“Desperate times,” you offer with a smile, bending down to meet his lips again, “remember, hands off,”

It was a little selfish, chasing your own pleasure at the expense of his torture, but the moment your folds fit snug over his shaft and he groans, full body, you knew it was the right choice to make.

Johnny can’t help but watch the warmth of your pussy sliding over his cock in a carefully timed rhythm as he watches the head disappear when your hips tilt forward.

He knows, for the foreseeable future, that he would find every reason, every way, to bury himself there.

Be it his face, fingers, or his cock—he was an absolute goner and he needed you in every way imaginable. 

“She fits perfectly, don’t you think?” Johnny teases, surely signing his death certificate with those words.

“You were on the verge of tears just a few seconds ago,” you remind him, watching the last bits of his sanity flee as you grinded down against him, “so shut up and be good,”

Johnny clears his throat and nods without thinking. His hands are resting loosely above his hand, curling into fists when the pace gets too overwhelming, helping you manage your movement as you feel yourself crawling closer to your own orgasm, the head of his cock catching against your clit with every drag of your hips.

All you had to do was drag this out long enough to break him, even just a little, but you were learning that he was indeed the most stubborn creature in existence.

He does eventually crack though, pulling him so close to the edge that he fears he might not have any control before he blows his load, but your careful timing leaves him unsatisfied and all he can manage is a pathetic moan and look of pleading that didn’t match up to the words you wanted to hear.

“It hurts,” he manages, but was far too blissed out on the overdose of pleasure to care, “come on, this isn’t fair,”

You drag your hips against him tantalizingly slow, almost to the point of no movement at all, hands pressed into the mattress beside his head.

You shrug, clueless, dragging your thumb against his abused bottom lip, indented with teeth marks from how hard he’d been biting it.

“Ask for it,” you coax him, “tell me how badly you want it,”

Johnny swallows sharply, feeling the faint adjustment of your hips, moving but barely.

“You can’t—can’t tease me for it,” Johnny retorts, groaning softly as you pick up your pace slightly.

“Never,” you promise him, “our secret,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, “baby—“

He’s right there, you can feel it.

Luckily, your patience had also worn thin and you’d be a mess just as soon as he, grinding your hips over him in time with his plea of words.

“Please,” he sighs, “please, just let me—“

“Yeah?” you nod, hips stuttering as you own pleasure coils in your gut.

“I’m begging, okay?” Johnny gives in, “Please just—just let me come,”

“Good boy,” you speak into the curve of his neck as his hands release from their invisible bindings and find you as he, squeezing tightly into your hips as he guides you over his cock, spurts of his thick cum painting his chest and your own, moaning brokenly against his skin as you come, pussy spasming against his cock as he chokes out a groan of your name.

As the silence bestows you, it’s met with tired laughter.

Delirious and sated, Johnny’s hand rubbing over his face as he attempts to catch his breath.

“You’re…evil,” Johnny admits, “I’m adding that one to the list, pure—pure evil,”

“Well, this just proves you can listen,” you grab the discarded shirt from the edge of the bed and wipe away the mess with a casualness that has Johnny’s gaze locked on you as you ball up the soiled fabric and shove it into his clean chest, “you should…probably burn that now,”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees with a short laugh, but tosses it aside for now.

He grunts softly moving to sit up, his hand coming up to rest at the center of your back and your hands naturally fall to his shoulders as his chin tilts up and presses between the valley of your breasts, puppy dog eyed and all smiles, “I’m sorry for bothering you so much,”

“I don’t…mind,” you admit to him, “but you should really listen when someone tells you something instead of brushing it off,”

“I think I just proved I can,” Johnny defends,

“You did touch me,” Johnny closes his eyes with a silent laugh, “couldn’t hold out on those last few seconds, could you?”

“I’ll be honest, I think I blacked out toward the end,” Johnny pleads with you,

“Oh?”

“Shut up,” he huffs lightheartedly, “I’ll grab our clothes, the others should be back soon,”

You nod, climbing off of his lap carefully as he plucks his underwear from the ground and slips them on as he heads toward the door.

“Have fun explaining the lab to Reed,” you tease him,

Johnny shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling helplessly, “Don’t remind me,”

[pyronovas]

i've been laughing for like five minutes straight over this scene

[pyronovas]

The way this scene made me feel is just not normal. I am losing my mind. I need help.

[pyronovas]

I've seen a lot of ff writers apologize for their fic being "self-indulgent" which baffles me cause like is that not the entire concept of fanfiction?????

SAY IT WITH ME FOLKS, "FANFICTION IS SUPPOSED TO BE SELF-INDULGENT"

[pyronovas]

NOPE (2022) dir. Jordan Peele