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getaapologist · 23 days ago

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I Keep Falling, Maybe Half the Time

A/N: Well, here we are. We know next to nothing, this was gleaned from conversations with @prettycalla and a fun scenario that developed. This is a companion piece to the fic @prettycalla might be working on........ I've used the 8-20 seconds of Johnny from trailers, etc to come up with this version of him. I cannot pretend to know what he's going to be like in the movie, but I just hope you can appreciate this version of him. This'll be my Johnny, probably regardless, even after the movie comes out. Thank you for reading. It means a lot. If you feel like chatting with me about him, by all means, please do! Maybe more to come? We'll have to see.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader

Warnings: none? Slight fluff? It's still early days here. But as usual, blog is 18+ in general, so.

“You alright, Johnny?”

There was nothing but care and concern in your voice, but it still made him bristle up in defense of his sour mood. It had nothing to do with you, and yet everything to do with you. Not that he’d confess that.

“I’m fine, I just want to get to work.”

He was not fine.

And over what? The flowers? Those dumb flowers that he wanted nothing to do with? That were for his sister? They said ‘Storm,’ what was he supposed to think?

Of course that brief moment of embarrassment wasn’t still currently haunting him, hours later. Because that would be…

Crazy.

Maybe he was a little crazy. It’s not the end of the world. At least he was high-functioning. It had been a couple days since he last set himself on fire, maybe he was due a flight to blow off steam. Maybe then this wouldn’t bother him so much.

You offered him a small, if uncertain smile, and nodded, unfurling the schematics the two of you had been working on the day before. Some plans for a new spacesuit. Something more hardy. Something better suited to their new selves.

Johnny got stuck for a moment, stuck watching you, as if this wasn’t a daily phenomenon. As if he hadn’t noticed you before. Even if this happened yesterday, and the day before that, and each day since you were assigned this role.

No. Work. Distraction from a distraction.

The plans. Schematics. Drawn up just yesterday, but it was like any information about them had melted and poured out of his ears.

He tapped his lower lip with the pen, mind racing, desperate to catch hold of some relevant knowledge to save him from this spiral.

Because it wasn’t the flowers, was it? It was more, something he was too afraid to say out loud–

“Have you thought about materials?”

You interrupted his jumbled thoughts, saving him, as usual. Even if you didn’t know it.

“Materials. Right.” He scanned the schematic, his mind completely blank. A rare occurrence, but not one to celebrate. For as he tried to drum up compounds and fabrics, other thoughts filtered back in instead.

Nothing scares him. He’s seen enough in his work. But you?

Absolutely terrifying.

“Uh, this line here, we should use that hose, the black one, it’s… three-quarters.” He ducked down and scrawled in a tiny measurement beside the line in question.

“It’s five-eighths, actually,” you mumbled, worried the loose cannon was about to explode.

And explode, he did.

The pen clattered across the table and flew onto the floor, his hands spreading wide, threatening to scrunch up the plans laid out before you. Or set them on fire.

And when he looked up at you, you knew you were in for it. You steeled yourself for a rant about different hoses, or materials, or some other inane event that had clearly soured his day.

But nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his lips.

“Do you know no one’s ever bought me flowers? Ever?”

He looked at you like you held all the answers in the world. Like this was both your fault, and a problem he wished for you to solve, all at once.

“And, I know it’s more of a gift for a girl, but times are changing. Girls are asking guys out, surely that means it wouldn’t be weird for a guy to receive flowers–”

“Johnny?” you finally interrupted.

He looked up, pausing his rant.

“Are you asking me to buy you flowers?”

“What? No, of course not, that’s not what I…,” he trailed off, turning his back to you, arms crossed over his chest.

He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend like his heart hadn’t sped up minutely at the sight of the card sitting there waiting for him. It felt like a cruel joke, the way his hopes were so quickly tossed out, and having to own up to it to his own sister?

He wanted to leave. Itched to let loose and fly out of here.

But you. You were a problem he didn’t have an answer to. And maybe he never would.

“Just… don’t worry about it, okay? I need to… I have stuff I need to do.”

Before you could think of something to say that wouldn’t upset him more, he was out of the room, the door whirring shut gently.

As you knelt down to pick up the pen he’d thrown, you knew you’d have to make a stop on the way home.

The next morning, Johnny wandered into the kitchen, already making a beeline for the cabinet. He pulled out the box of bran flakes and dropped it on the counter.

Breakfast of champions. Even if it tasted like cardboard.

“That’s not breakfast,” Ben chided, nursing a pan of soft-scrambled eggs. “Take some of these.”

“I’m fine, Ben,” Johnny sighed, but he couldn’t deny a small part of him appreciated Ben looking out for him.

His eyes caught sight of the bright red petals, the arrangement sitting right where yesterday’s had.

Taunting. Gloating on behalf of Sue, surely.

The small spark of hope in his chest was ground up and shoved down as quickly as he could manage, a brief flash of the embarrassment from yesterday enough to tamp it down.

“Delivery for you,” Ben gestured with his chin to the flowers.

He scoffed, crossing the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge.

“They’re not for–”

“They’re for me,” Sue interrupted, earning an eye roll from her brother that she graciously chose to ignore.

Again? Once wasn’t enough? When would it stop? When their whole kitchen island was covered in the small flower arrangements? Who was this mysterious suitor after his sister?

“You hoping it’ll spontaneously combust?”

Johnny turned back around, sour at the sound of his sister’s amused voice. He poured out a slightly unreasonable amount of cereal before adding just a bit more, setting the open box on the counter.

Nothing like bland bran to start the day.

“Come on, I’m only teasing.”

Johnny could hear the smile in her voice, listened intently as the small envelope was opened, the card pulled out.

He could imagine the soft smile on her face. He couldn’t fault her for being so happy. He just…

He burned with envy.

The silence hung heavy, the only audible sound being the sliding of paper on paper as the card was placed back into the envelope.

He set the milk down and turned, risking a glance over his shoulder. The card was tucked neatly back in among the flowers.

Sue looked up at her brother for a moment, the look communicating everything. There was a flash of curiosity there too, but Johnny brushed it aside, abandoning his breakfast to walk cautiously around the island.

The flowers were big, layered densely with soft petals. They were vividly red. All he knew was that they weren’t roses.

Sue offered him a small smile before walking away. She was always the more graceful loser.

Finally, Johnny’s eyes fell to the card.

Storm.

But that handwriting was impossible to mistake as anyone else’s.

His spirit dampened. You’d bought him pity flowers.

That’s what this was, right? His insane rant the day before had spurred you into action. As if the mere gifting of flowers was what he was after, and not…

The intention behind them.

It was silly to ask that of you, and yet…

He really, really wanted it.

Because the city’s admiration of him paled in comparison to what it felt like to earn a laugh from you. And for a long time he resisted what that meant.

Johnny plucked the card from the arrangement and flipped it over, fingers sliding under the envelope flap, gripping the small card and tugging it free. He wanted to see what made Sue look at him like he was keeping secrets. Because he wasn’t, not that he knew of.

Was he stalling? Yes. He knew he was, and yet he couldn’t bring his eyes to scan the handwriting he’d seen scrawled into margins on his reports, penciled into drafts of schematics and written a bit larger on bright orange sticky notes pasted to his workstation in your absence. That he absolutely, definitely did not have a drawer full of.

Read the card, already.

Johnny let his eyes lower and scan over the small square of cardstock, the blue pen vivid against the cream colored paper.

I’m very happy to be your first, Johnny.

His fingers traced over your initials and he couldn’t get rid of the fluttery feeling in his stomach. He clutched his newest prized possession to his chest and darted off to his room.

“Who are they from?” Ben called out. When Johnny emerged from his room, now flower-less but tucking a dress shirt into his pants, Ben raised his eyebrows. He gestured to the sad, soggy bowl of bran flakes. “What about your breakfast?”

“Don’t want it!” Johnny answered, stepping into the elevator.

Johnny felt fired up, like he was going to burst into flames at any second, but that would be bad. He had no clue what he would say to you when he saw you. Nothing felt right. He might be good with numbers, but he was absolutely terrible with words.

As the door slid open, there you were, already hard at work. You were leaned over a worktable, fiddling with some circular steel fittings, wearing that yellow sweater he liked.

Be cool.

As if he could be cool.

“Hey, I got some samples of different fabrics from R&D downstairs.”

Your smile was warm, small, comfortable. It sent his heart fluttering, like it always did.

Johnny couldn’t care less about the space suit right now. He had other things on his mind. He moved without a second thought. Normally overthinking everything, in this he was free.

“Johnny?”

His hands were almost hot on your skin as he pulled you in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. It was simple, quite chaste, but it blew through silent barriers that had been maintained all this time.

He felt the tension under his hands, his worry immediately flaring up as his hands fell to your shoulders, down to bracket your upper arms. Craning his neck as if trying to inspect some damage he’d done.

Idiot. Fools rush in? Is that how it goes?

“So… you got the flowers?”

He looked up, his gaze catching on the corners of your lips as they rose.

What a smile.

His cold, stifling worry was replaced by nervous warmth, sparking up with each heartbeat.

“I got the flowers.”

#I really hope you liked it #johnny storm x reader #joseph quinn x reader #Fantastic 4: First Steps #I might have had a running contest with myself to see how many fire-related words I could squeeze in here #just for funsies #Did you notice?

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