( riya! or riri )˚* ੈ✩‧₊ 21. she/her. romcom lover. marvel. top gun. devoted to lewis pullman. johnny storm supremacy. corenswet! clark kent. the bear. bucky barnes they could never make me hate you <33 ⋆｡°✩🚕✨🤞🏻⋆｡°✩
⛅️🌸💘 requests are currently closed (just until i catch up on existing ones)!
dcu:
superman/clark kent: baby, its you!!! where do we go now? you and i, we're in this for life. you are in love. one minute left to live. you didn't kiss me goodbye. now that we don't talk. put you in a bodybag or in my bed. and i asked for my boyfriend!
mcu:
johnny storm/human torch: put me to work, dollface. waited all night for you, i'll wait forever. mine next, please. my heart races for you, doc. daddy, flame on!! love isn't earned it's given. your number one fan.
tgm:
bradley 'rooster' bradshaw: merry christmas, please don't call. (pt.1) (pt.2) but it's warmer in your arms.
robert 'bob' floyd: what happens in vegas stays in vegas. untouchable.
lewis pullmanverse:
rhett abott - outer range: say yes to heaven.
calvin evans - lessons in chemistry: coming soon!
the bear:
chef luca: packing it up.
fourth wing, the empyrean:
bodhi durran: twilight zone. i've got my eye on you. mini me. put a little love on me. exceptional. the look of love (pt.1) clean cut. first look into forever. secrets at sunrise. i care you still and i will, forever.
garrick tavis: my favourite version of you. that's an order. run for the hills.
hiya! hello! hey! it's been a minute since i've been on here and just wanted to say life has been incredibly busy for me this past month- i've been travelling, becoming best friends with my sister surprisingly and switching to a post grad full time at the hospital which has been so exciting that i havent hardly had time to write?? to even exist online?? there's the drafts and requests collecting dust and i'm not putting a promised deadline on anything soon but just wanted to say thank you a bunch for everything! hopefully will post soon when i have a bit of free time (and do not pick up extra shifts) but sending my love and well wishes to you all! <3
god, barely- i'm working and commuting a lottt more than before anon it feels like i've been working every single day send help ‼️‼️‼️ but next week i have three whole days off !!! super excited for that, i'll probs have time to post a few johnny requests then but yeah, still alive and kicking, missing everyone lots! sending my love! <3
Good luck with your new job🥹🥹 Show them what a badass you are!
G !!! MY EVERYTHING !!!!
oh my god, ive just finished up my first day and it was just so weird omg, i'm the youngest in the radiology department and everybody speaks to me like a baby 😭😭🙏🙏 but seeing this just gave me the confidence to go back again tomorrow, i love you !!! how are you !!!! <3333
As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you and Johnny Storm met in New York on the 17th of April, 1968, at your album launch show. Not quite correct. Your history with the Human Torch runs back far further than the Fantastic Four - right back to your first love, and first heartbreak. Neither of you can seem to let the other go, not entirely.
Through partners, tours, and space missions, you always find a way back into each other's beds.
And yes. All the songs are about him.
warnings: 18+, mdni! a little thigh-riding, fingering, unprotected pinv
HUMAN TORCH IN LOVE? FANTASTIC FOUR PLAYBOY SPOTTED WITH CALIFORNIA SINGER AFTER NYC GIG.
You're hiding behind your sunglasses as you stroll down Sunset Boulevard, the LA sun beating down on your back. Headlines litter the street corners, each one more ridiculous than the last.
According to The Washington Post, you and Johnny are just friends. The LA times and Rolling Stone insinuated you slept together. Other claimed that you've been sleeping together for quite some time, and are finally ready to go public.
Some of the more inventive publications even seem to imply that this is true love, and Johnny's halfway to buying a ring.
If only they knew the truth.
Somehow, you and Johnny have been all of the above. You've been nothing at all to each other, and everything, before landing in the murky middle ground of friends. Friends who fuck almost every time they see each other, sure. But friends nonetheless.
Really, the multitudes are almost impressive.
It would be too hard to maintain anything else. Johnny's so busy, barely even on the planet half the time. And with the constant touring, you barely know what day it is.
Long distance relationships are hard, and neither of you are built for it.
What you've got going now works. Clandestine meetups, dinners at restaurants where the waiters are sworn to absolute secrecy of the clientele, and stolen nights in each other's arms.
Until he showed up at your gig.
He was the last person you'd been expecting to see. Fraternising in public was an unspoken line. Hell, you don't even see Sue outside of controlled environments, for fear of people drawing a connection between the two of you, despite the fact that you've known her since you were sixteen.
But there he had stood.
Not at the front. Johnny Storm didn't need to be front and centre to be seen. You had spotted him during the encore, arms crossed as he leaned against the bar, nursing a beer.
At first you thought you must have been mistaken - your eyes playing tricks on you. Then you locked eyes with him, and his signature smirk gave him away immediately.
It had taken everything in you just to remember the rest of the song.
He'd appeared in your dressing room after the show.
Without an invitation, of course. He's not the kind of guy who needs permission. He'll do what he wants, and explain himself later.
You hadn't done a whole lot of talking.
Brief pleasantries, before he fucked you against the makeup table.
Leaving the venue, you'd had to steal his leather jacket in an attempt to cover the various marks that now littered your skin. Thankfully, nobody seems to have caught onto that part yet.
Dinner that night had revealed a little more. He'd been away on a mission, and things were looking quiet for the foreseeable. Reed had recommended they all take the time to enjoy themselves, settle down a little, before the next inevitable alien popped up.
So here he was.
You chatted until the early hours, giggling and reminiscing until you finally had to draw back, citing your early flight. He had walked you back to your hotel, under the privacy of the night sky, entirely unaware of the photographer who had captured your entire dinner.
Word sure travels fast around here. It had been quite the shock to wake up in your Laurel Canyon home to a furious call from your manager.
She hadn't been mad about the pairing. Far from it.
The Fantastic Four are the nation's heroes. Everything they touch turn to money and fame. Any potential partner of theirs would be catapulted to a level of attention most could only dream of.
She had just wanted a heads up.
"Carmen - Johnny and I are not a couple," You had stressed over the phone.
"Are you sleeping together?"
"We're not a couple," You repeat feebly, unwilling to commit either way.
Even in New York, while Johnny had assured you he was going to be around more for the time being, he hadn't explicitly said anything about the nature of your relationship going forward.
As far as you're concerned, you and he are continuing on in the same manner. Sleeping together, and pretending that's enough for either of you.
"Ah-ha!" She exclaims, voice rising an octave. "So, you're seeing each other - we can use that-"
"I don't want to use it-"
"C'mon, babe - this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Think about what it could do for the album. For your career."
That gives you pause. While you've always committed to secrecy regarding the inspiration for your songs, it doesn't take a genius to work out who inspired most of them.
It's one of the things Johnny likes to tease you about. But you know he loves it, deep down.
Last time you saw Sue, she'd told you that your debut is all he ever plays at Headquarters. That he's on his third copy, wearing them out at an impressive rate.
You had insisted you needed some time to think about things, before hanging up on Carmen, and heading straight for Sunset. The West coast launch is tonight, at Whiskey A Go-Go - but you always need to ground yourself before a gig.
Sunset is the perfect place to do it, and you drop into Mel's for a shake, trying to make sense of everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours. Part of you feels like you should try and get in contact with Johnny. See how he feels about it - if he's horrified by the attention, or if he's fine with the rumour mill.
You're back in New York next month. You'll probably see him then.
*****
The club smells like sex. Sex, weed, and sweat. Not uncommon for Whiskey, but your nose still wrinkles a little. The place is packed, probably fuller than regulations allow, but you're thrilled.
New York is great, but nothing will ever beat an LA crowd.
This time, when you spot Johnny, you're only halfway through your second song. Almost an entire set to go, and you suddenly don't remember a single word you've ever written.
He holds your gaze, and the electricity courses through your veins. It becomes a push-and-pull, tension building further and further as you sing, until you think you might burst.
All too soon, the main set is ending, and you're stepping off stage to take a breather, before your final two songs. When firm hands settle on your waist to spin you round, you should get a fright, but instead lean into the touch, coming face-to-face with Johnny Storm.
He's kissing you immediately, pulling you flush against him as you whine against his lips. He's everywhere - teeth, hands and tongue, until you finally detach yourself.
"I have a show to finish," You breathe, chest heaving.
"Fuck 'em," Johnny replies, and you laugh.
"We can't all act like entitled divas and get away with it, Johnny. I'll be fifteen minutes, okay?"
He nods, reluctantly loosening his grip on you. "Chateau Marmont's calling our names, babe. Would be rude not to answer!"
You grin, flipping him the bird as you grab your guitar, and head for the stage again.
The encore stretches on for far longer than the rest of the set seemed to, and you find your mind drifting to the man in the wings, his gaze boring into you.
It's dizzying.
Forgoing your usual practice of hanging about the venue afterwards to chat to fans, you instead let Johnny take your hand, and guide you backstage.
"What the hell are you doing here?" You mumble between kisses, trusting him entirely to get you where you need to go.
"Wanted to see you," He replies, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "Told you I had some time off."
"Yeah, but I thought that meant I'd see you more than once a month - I didn't realise it meant you were going to fly to Los Angeles."
He shrugs. "I haven't visited in a while. Figured I should change that."
You change as quickly as possible, and ignore Carmen's very pointed looks as you exit your dressing room, hand-in-hand with Johnny.
"My car's out front - I can drive us."
"Your car?" You repeat, eyebrow raised. "The front of Whiskey's always crawling with people, Johnny. Everyone'll see us?"
"So?"
He's pushing through the front doors, hand never leaving yours as you face the onslaught of fans. Cameras flash, and people cheer, and Johnny stays with you every step of the way, grip tightening with every wave of the crowd.
There are various shouts of surprise, autographs asked from both of you. Johnny waves them all off with a charisma you've never had, and helps you into the car, pressing the quickest kiss to your temple.
Too shocked to speak at this sudden public display of affection, from the world's most emotionally stunted man, you simply allow his hand to rest on your thigh as he pulls up Sunset.
Each question dies on your tongue, feeling inadequate to sum up your decade-long history with Johnny Storm.
Of course he's staying at the Chateau. You would expect nothing less from him.
Even for a Friday night, the hotel's busy - packed to the brim with starlets and millionaires.
A hundred of Hollywood's biggest stars are currently milling around - and yet every pair of eyes snaps to you both as Johnny steps out of the car.
You're expecting a hand on the small of your back. Maybe a loose hand-hold. Instead, Johnny's hand settles on your waist, right on the strip of flesh between your flares and shirt. His fingers curl in just slightly, possessive and telling.
Drinks are passed your way, and soon you're crowded round a table, with a few musicians you know, and some socialites Johnny's familiar with. More and more people appear, all of them wanting to be in Johnny's orbit - until there are no seats left.
And when you leave to run to the bathroom, you're entirely unsurprised to find your seat taken when you return.
You recognise the girl a little. She's an actress, you think. Pretty. Probably exactly Johnny's type. With every reply, she inches the chair closer to his. In a few minutes she'll be on top of him.
But as soon as Johnny spots you, his eyes light up, and he's reaching for you.
"I'll just go get another-"
"Nah, don't worry about it-"
A tug of your wrist, and he's pulling you unceremoniously into his lap, arms circling your waist. A slight squeak escapes your lips, as his thigh crooks between yours. "Johnny!"
"Mhm?" He replies, chin resting on your shoulder as he returns to his conversation across the table.
The actress lets out a little huff, abandoning her post, and your chair. The rational part of your brain knows you should get up, take the seat back and get back in your own head.
You're just about to do it when Johnny's fingers dig into your skin a little, almost ticklish. It's a silent statement, to stay where you are.
You glance at him, and he sticks his tongue out at you.
You try and lighten up a little, stealing his drink and relaxing into his grip, but your mind is working on overtime.
What the hell is he doing? Is this his way of trying to make things official? Or is he just working the press?
You have no idea, and it terrifies you. Normally Johnny's like an open book.
It doesn't help that with every passing drink, the urge to roll your hips grows stronger. You can't help it. With every movement, the denim rubs a little further against your clit - to the point that you're biting back a whimper whenever he laughs.
As the night goes on, your face ends up tucked into the crook of his neck, simply watching as he chats to the few people still gathered. He looks natural here. Very California.
And you could get used to him being around more often.
Moving into the Laurel Canyon house, brightening it up a little.
Being yours.
And you'd be his.
Finally, you can't take it any longer. Mumbled apologies, excuses of being tired, and you're heading to his room. Very publicly. In a way that's definitely going to make the news tomorrow.
The kisses are lazy, clouded with alcohol as you stumble into the penthouse. His lips trail fire down your neck, and it's a collective fumble at your clothes to get them off.
Soon, you're braced across his lap, hips rolling against his while your nails drag down the muscles of his abdomen. "God, baby - you're such a pretty little thing," He groans, hands setting the pace.
Each time he pulls you down, you almost see stars. The denim of his jeans seems to catch just right, and your first orgasm crashes over you almost embarrassingly quickly.
He's laying you back against the bed, and pressing a soft kiss to the bridge of your nose before he moves across the room, shedding his jeans.
"Want me to put your record on?" Johnny quips, a lazy grin dancing across his face as he stands by the turntable.
You arch an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard as you watch his form. Each movement sends a ripple of muscle across his abdomen, and a heat starts to pool low in your stomach. "You think I want to listen to myself during sex? How self-absorbed do you think I am?"
"I don't know what you LA kids are like these days - maybe that turns you on." The rapport is easy. Natural. Like you've known each other for years, rather than days. "Would you rather something else?"
"I'd rather you come back to bed, but I guess if you're insisting on a choice, you could put on The Doors self-titled."
The glint in his eyes betrays his amusement. "Light My Fire, huh?"
You shrug. "If the shoe fits, Storm."
The lilt of Ray Manzarek's keys starts to waft from the speakers, and Johnny makes his way back to the bed, sliding under the covers beside you.
Arms on either side of your head, he's caging you in, a soft smile on his face. "Hi."
"Hi," You murmur, smiling back. "I've missed you."
"Missed you too."
The moment feels charged, different to how it feels when you normally sleep together.
For fear of the moment getting too serious, too real, you speak again. "You gonna fuck me or what?"
"Honey, if I ever say no to that question, I want you to find a shotgun and put me out of my misery." He's kissing you again, hand creeping downward to press you open. His thumb rubs at your clit, another finger pushing past your entrance.
"G-god, Johnny," You manage, eyes fluttering closed.
"I know, babe. Tell me what you want." Contrary to his persona, Johnny's completely cool. Entirely in control, he knows exactly how to work you.
"N-need you, please-"
"Yeah? You want my fingers or my cock?" His index curls just a little as he speaks, and you cry out. "Good girl."
His voice is almost a coo - a condescending tone if it were anybody but your best friend knuckles deep inside of you.
"Your- ah-" Your voice trails off in a whine, hips bucking up feebly to meet Johnny's ministrations. "Your cock."
He hums approvingly. "Gotta give my girl what she wants, yeah?"
My girl.
Despite the loss of contact as Johnny withdraws his fingers, your legs continue to tremble.
The stretch when he fills you is a familiar ache - dull for just a second, before giving way to the most intense pleasure. He moves slowly, inch by inch, until he's bottomed out entirely.
The slightly shuddered breath he lets out is the only indication that he's as affected by this as you are.
There's a moment where there's nothing but you and Johnny, and then he starts to move. Fingernails digging into the flesh of his back, it takes everything in you to maintain some semblance of restraint.
You've been sleeping with Johnny Storm for ten years, and he manages to outdo himself every single time.
No one can unravel you quite like he can. And he knows it.
The Doors continue to spin in the background, a symphony for your unfulfilled wishes.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Whether Johnny will keep this up, or whether he'll disappear on you like he's done before.
Instead of dwelling, you kiss his neck, and let yourself go.
It doesn't take long for either of you to come. It never does. When you're as synced as you and Johnny, you orgasm three times in the period it would take another man to get you to come once.
Of course, Johnny's near insatiable after a night of drinking. Round two has you riding him in the giant heart-shaped tub, the sound of skin slapping filling the bathroom as he murmured praise into your ears.
Round three turns out to be the softest, Johnny's front pressed against your back as he fucks into you gently, his fingers lacing through yours.
It's only after you're done, when Johnny's pressing a damp towel to your core, and pressing a kiss to your bare knee, that you have the courage to ask.
"What's going on between us?"
He looks almost surprised at your question. "I kind of thought I was making myself obvious." You shake your head, lip between your teeth, and he sighs. "Aw, shit. I knew I was going to mess this up - I wanted it to be all cool, y'know? Public debut, love confession, and boom. New power couple."
"Love confession?" You ask, but he's stumbling ahead, lost in his train of thought.
"We've always been so good together, but it was really just timing that fucked us, right? Unless I've misread it all-"
"You haven't-"
"I just thought it would be fun, I guess. To give the paparazzi something to talk about, and make a real go of this."
Despite the serious expression on his face, you laugh. "Don't you think you forgot something important in the making it official plan?"
"I thought I made my intentions clear!" He protests, but the furrow of his brows tells you he knows he screwed up. "Can I ask you now, then?"
You shake your head, trying not to grin. "I think I need more convincing."
"Oh yeah? And how would you like to be convinced?" Johnny's back in his element, banishing the nerves as he leans over to kiss you.
"Well, for starters, more sex. Jewellery never hurts, too. Oh, and maybe a trip to Paris-"
He silences with another kiss, deep and slow as he cradles the back of your neck. "I can make that happen."
"You cut me off," You pout. "I wasn't done!"
"You've got a lifetime to make your demands of me, baby. I'm at your beck and call for as long as you'll have me."
are we still down with johnny storm or has the f4 hype died down??
SCREAMING ‼️‼️‼️‼️ when i saw this gem of a notif, my heart dropped and AHHHH !!!!!!! babe what do you smoke when you write?? what crack do you lace in these fics?? the writing- IMPECCABLE AS ALWAYS, you can always feel the theme, the art, the vibes like a little movie through the words that i forget im reading fanfiction ant this johnny?? im SWOONING, yall this is gonna be the reread of the century, i will NOT be shutting up about this one- apologies in advance if i cared. PLEASE MORE JOHNNY FICS I BEG OF YOU TO NEVER STOP 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
hey!! i’m not sure if this is the kind of writing you’d be inspired to do but could you do an angsty story about a clark kent x celebrity!reader (model, singer, actress etc, your pick) where she’s been seeing the same man often on her way to home, to work, in the grocery store, everywhere she goes and she informs clark about this but he doesn’t take her seriously, saying something like ”oh it’s probably just a coincidence”. then one night reader messages clark again that the same man is following her and getting closer and when clake gets concerned and asking for her location etc, reader doesn’t answer so clark gets worried and goes to find reader as superman? you can decide where the story goes from there :} also sorry if this is super confusing, writing isn’t my best skill so i’m asking you haha
don't ever apologise about your skills of writing- seriously, it means the world you trust me with this vision. i loved the idea and i hope i've done it okay?? if we can just pretend that i did this at a decent time and not let it rot in the inbox please 🙏🙏🙏 but hope you like it anon, i didnt know exactly how to end it so i hope the minor comfort resolution kind of thing is sufficient enough for everyone to sort of take it their own way and leave it up to their own way on how it can get resolved idk if making sense 😭😭 but hope youre well, sending my love!! <333
it starts off in the grocery store, then they're there at one of your shows, and then you catch them following you on the way back home and on all the occasions you tried to tell your boyfriend clark that you don't feel safe, he brushes it off. until one night, your calls and texts aren't answered, and the only thing he can do is search the streets as superman and pray its not too late.
superman! clark kent x celebrity! actress! fem! reader
themes/warnings: stalkering, trust issues, paranoia, violence (stalker ends up hurting you), strangulation, panic, anxiety, fear, hurt to comfort.
inspired after this request; (read for more context), again, biting my fingernails & really hope you like this anon! 🙈💘
masterlist.
it's the middle of the night when insomnia curls into you as you're cradled into large and warm arms. clark is knocked out cold, and maybe if it wasn't the drag of the daily planet wearing into the fine lines of his skin, he would've picked up on the subtle shift in your heart rate.
it picks up, a slight thuddering, knocking horridly against your chest until you feel it in your ears, roar in your blood and rush to your head. you close your eyes, count to ten, you picture the breeze, the sea, the stillness in clark's eyes that brushed you off hours before and try calm yourself.
flashback to earlier in the day.
"what's on your mind, baby?" when he feels your arms wrap around him a little tighter, head buried into his chest, like holding him is holding you together.
"i uh," you hesitate to tell him, leaning back an inch. and when you bite down on your lip, a pool of blood that threatens to break through to the surface in a swirl of worry, he leans forward. his large finger settles on your bottom lip, tapping it gently in the spot where you've been preoccupied and when your teeh finally release it and he brings you back down to planet earth you try again, "there was this guy i saw earlier who just felt off," and at the admission, clark hums curiously.
"off how?" he asks gently.
"i don't know," you admit, and it all feels silly. the man in question didn't actually approach you in any way, but the stare you felt burn on your back as he walked a few metres behind in the grocery store as you browsed the isles for clark's favourite cocoa brand. how you've never seen him before in your life, but you'll never get the stony gaze and flash of yellow teeth in a crooked grin free from your mind, "he just felt off," and its almost a whisper of embarrassment, that he could be an absolute nobody but the way you feel restless, unsteady, thrown off course is not a feeling you're accustomed to and you don't know what you despise more- the feeling of helplessness or the feeling of assuming the worst of someone unfairly, but either way, its a lot easier to despise yourself for the both of them.
"maybe it's nothing," clark mumbles reassurement into your ears, a tender murmur that soothes the rising worry with a caress of his fingers running along your side, "maybe he was just having a bad day," he shrugs, "but if there's ever a chance of you feeling unsafe, then please make sure to tell me honey," he soothes and you nod. you don't have anything to add to the conversation, it doesn't feel like you're being helpful in any way, you don't have any other information about this strange man other than how he looked your way hours before and cut your grocery run short by a half hour.
but i'm telling you now, you want to reach out in urgency, shake him awake from the covers and let him know you don't think this is the remenants of a bad day. the awfulness in his stare, the way he cruised the same isles you did until you made a surprise bolt to the self checkout machines didn't scream "its nothing" to you. the dread is slowly eating you alive that you don't even feel the subtle shift of arms wrapping around your middle and dragging you back down to the safety of your shared bed and boyfriend, clark kent.
the warmth he radiates, the hold that presses you flush against him as even in sleep, he towers over you- 240lbs the optimal weight for a heated blanket in these cold winter nights that you try and settle into him. to let yourself feel surrounded and safe as your head rests on his chest, pulse tuning to the soft pitter patter of his heart. you wish you could stay like this forever, in his protection and under his love.
"i can feel you awake, sugar" a sleep induced drawl kisses your hair lazily, and you try and shake off the concern, melt into his earlier reassurance and justify this as probably just a bad day on two stranger's part. it could be nothing, it feels like nothing when you're safe in clark's arms as you mumble a faint "sorry, my love" into his skin with a kiss goodnight as you try again for the millionth time to let sleep call you.
and when it does, with a slow blink and descend into the darkness, you can still see the sly yellow smile and darkened brown eyes from aisle 6 roam on your skin.
. . .
a few days later
the uneasy stares from the grocery store turns into a greasy smirk from the back row at one of your shows. you're performing in a play, reprising the role of juliet that you did last year in the slow blink of june summer nights. but now that it's december and the frost in the air and the heightened tension stiffens your limbs, you almost forget the words you've memorised a lifetime ago.
they slip an octave, stumble in hesitation when you catch sight of him again that your stage director shoots you a thumbs of from the sidelines. but under the blinding of white lights so bright they could blind you, you focus on what you can't see and continue on like its nothing. because the strange man in the back might let his stare linger on you enough to pull you down to the depths of despair, but it's the sight of your lover in the front row that reaches out to bring you back up to the top.
and when you receive an ovation, you no longer feel the pride burst through your limbs. your hands don't shake with excitement or gratitude like they usually do, they vibrate with an anxious built that makes you want to scream.
"hey, you were fantastic honey!" clark's big bubble of laughter draws you out and finds you backstage. you hardly have time to ground yourself when he's lifting you airborne, pressing kisses into your neck, the chuckles flushed hot on your skin that you try, you really try to stretch your smile to the ends of your mouth and the earth but it just falls flat. "what?" he pauses, taking your chin in his hand and searching in your eyes for anything that could point him in the right direction and bring you home.
"he's here," you frantically whisper, blinking away the tears that rise, forcing them back down so you don't appear insane or crazy, you just need him to believe you this time.
"who's here?" clark's brows furrow in confusion, "what are you talking about?" and he scans the perimeter for anything that could be likened to a threat. it lasts a second long before he returns back to you but you haven't calmed down, shaking your head as you peer out through the side into the main stage.
"the man from the grocery store, he's here," its a strained whisper you try and get out through shaky breaths, "he's here, clark i saw him!" and when you close your eyes tight with fear clark bundles you into his hold and against his chest in a firm hug. he searches the crowd again, listens in to the sounds of bustling footsteps leaving the theatre doors but nothing sounds out of the ordinary to him.
"baby, there's no one here," he speaks into your hair and you don't give him a chance to try again before you bang against his chest in little balled fists of fury,
"clark, i saw him!" the desperation leaks through and its his turn to bite down on his lip. he holds your hand tightly as he navigates around you to grab your things and leads you out to the car. its a long, stilted walk although its only four minutes it feels as though it may have been forever.
he only lets go of you for a single second and he leans in, clicks your seatbelt and softly shuts the door before getting in to the drivers side and starting the engine. he only makes it out the parking lot before you're looking up at him with an incredulous stare that could burn holes right through his face, whispering in defeat, "you don't believe me, do you?"
he reaches out across the console to interlock your hands, letting you know he's here though his words betray him in a different light, "there was no one there," he looks over at you, pained. "baby, you see hundreds of a people each night, what are the chances? it could've been a coincidence," he breathes, "i didn't feel anything suspicious."
it's meant to ease you, to give you something to soften the stillness in your bones but it only causes you to freeze up further, "coincidence," you repeat flatly, testing the words out on your tongue and hating how stale they are.
he gives you that damn shrug again, like he doesn't know what else to say or offer you, but he really doesn't think there's a threat out there for you to be worried about, "maybe you're tired-"
"i'm not seeing things," you seethe, anger rising in you at the unjust explanation that for a second you don't recognise who you're becoming- this feels so foreign to you but you know with your whole heart what you've seen, "don't do that to me," you talk after taking a moment to inhale deeply, your reply landing quieter, firmer, "don't make me out like i'm crazy."
"i'm not," he returns just as quick, "maybe he's just new to the area- you saw him get groceries," he explains, shooting his attention from you to the road every few miliseconds, "and then he came to watch a play- honey, you're famous for crying out loud," and its a scoff of adoration, he lets go of the wheel as if to gesture to the world, my girl is a celebrity- clark loves you loud and proud, "golly, if i wasn't your boyfriend, i'd still be booking tickets to see you on stage- you're incredible!"
you meet his praise with a slow blink, half your lip curling as you sit there feeling like an absolute piece of shit for once again overthinking and assuming the worst of some random person. "thank you," you whisper through broken breaths and the lump gathering in your throat, unsure of what to do with yourself. he inhales softly and brings your interlocked hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle sweetly and then holding it against his heart.
you ignore the burn in your limbs as you hold your arm upright across the console and the scorch in your heart that weighs you down.
"it could just be a coincidence," and the words roll so easily off of clark's tongue with a quiet confidence that you really do want to believe it.
"a coincidence," you repeat but it still feels as awful as the first time you said it. you focus your gaze on the road, then over at clark and try to forget the shadow that haunted you the last few nights- it finds you easier when you're alone, creeping up on you and swarming in a vicious attack where you just can't escape him. but the way that clark looks at you, concern about you and not for you, plummets that feeling of dread even further.
. . .
you don't see the strange man until a day later.
not that him not reappearing for a break of 24 hours had made things easier for you. your smile still froze tight, you carried yourself with an edge, and prayed like hell that this nightmare would all be over soon.
it's a friday which means you're performing again, except clark won't be there tonight- he leaves the daily planet later than usual and it just became an unspoken agreement that he would cook dinner as compensation for the lack of boisterous chants and cheering that you'd be subjected to when you bow to the crowd in your final moments.
what does come however just as you're leaving the main stage to head back to the sidelines to change and be rid of the costume that fits a little more snug than it did last year is a gruff growl that stops you in your tracks.
"great show out there."
your first thought is he sounds exactly as he looks, your second however is run.
you nod dumbly, like a deer stuck in headlights and you swallow past the lump in your throat, dive past the bile and beg for your brain to just say anything, "thank you," and you smile tightly, fear freezing your blood cold you don't even think you have it in you to run. you're thankful he stands at a distance because any closer and you fear the absolute worst. but maybe if you played nice, was friendly enough, he would just walk away. please just walk away.
and he does, not before he shoots another greasy smile your way that has your toes curling inwards and winks. he winks as he turns his back, "see you soon." your heart races in your chest, pounding so damn hard that it knocks the tears straight out of your eyes. you force your legs to move, to get a thousand feet away from the air that he's poisoned in his presence, to find somewhere you can just breathe and relax and just be safe, damn it.
your fingers rattle as you fight through your bag for your phone, almost dropping it three times in a fit of nerves that override your brain completely. you try ringing, but the necessant beeping only adds to the growing noise overstimulating your brain and after a few seconds of waiting, an answer doesn't come.
you pull up your chats instead, sliding past the pizza tonight?, call me when you leave, get home safe baby <3 and it's all so damn ironic that you feel your heart break into smaller and smaller pieces, slipping through your fingers slick with sweat and disbelief.
HERE GROEVY DTORE MAN IS HERE
it takes a lifetime before three small dots appear in the corner but its too late, your phone has dived into your puffer pocket and youve hauled your bag firm over your shoulder, you just need to get home as soon as possible.
as soon as you're home you'll be safe.
clark will be there, you could probably try filing a police report, you could finally be able to relax and breathe air what you know and love.
you just need to get home.
your phone rings almost immediately as you set foot outside the door and you answer it as soon as clark's picture flashes on the screen.
"honey? is everything okay?" and you can imagine him standing on the other line, phone hooked between his shoulder and jaw, usually where you rest your head as he focuses his attention to his arch nemesis- the stove. you focus your gaze to the floor, watching over your feet to make sure they don't trip over themselves and plummet you to a horrifying death; though maybe it would be a more gentler feat than having to face your stalker again.
until two footsteps turn to four, just metres behind you and your heart drops.
"no, oh god, please no" you whisper to yourself and clark just about catches it through the static.
"baby, talk to me. what is going on?" your boyfriend's voice grits out in urgency on the other side. he can feel how your heart rate quickens, how the blood pounds in your veins, how the whispers crack open little slices of his heart and he's up in miliseconds. you're preoccupied in the spiral of paranoia and anxiety that you don't hear the rustle on the other side, the plead of "baby, you gotta keep talking to me, where are you?"
"hi honey!" you almost shout in feign cheer, "i'm okay thanks! you know, just on my way back home- it was a good one tonight, crowd loved it!" the high pitch feels like a screech in your mind, scratching against the walls like a fork on glass and you want to cry, just lie on the floor, break down and cry.
clark understands immediately what you're doing, letting you gain control of the conversation, holding yourself together and playing it off to the man following you that you don't know that he's there, that he's dangerous. "how far are you?" he asks back.
"you were right!" you laugh, almost uncontrollably and pray you aren't blowing your cover, "we should totally grab a drink at the bar on twelfth you love so much," you gush, "their service is incredible," and then your voice lowers dangerously low in a hurried whisper, "though i'm not a fan of that one guy with the blonde hair whos probably three inches shorter than you and-"
the phone cuts short because you're thrown into a narrowed side alley and up against the wall, grubby hands closing in on your throat with a dangerous snarl milimetres from your ear.
"please," you gasp, "please let me go," and the tears stream hot down your face.
"you were doing so well," the stalker smirks, almost coo'ing affectionately at your attempts before he leans in closer, "and then you had to screw it up- not that great of an actress are you now?" and a chuckle slips from his chapped lips and barks in a taunt onto your own.
"please," you get out but the hold on your neck only tightens.
"i want to hear you sing," he leans in and you're a blubbering, wheezing mess as your legs just dangle up against the wall, "sing little actress, sing for me," he purrs and no words leave you, only fresh hot tears that burn and scorch the reddening of your cheeks as you panic, this is it. this is how you're going to die. at the hands and in the hands of someone who doesn't even know you.
you gasp, beg for air and release before it feels like the world is actually going to close on you, one haze of darkness at a time through the soft closing of your eyes. its only the whiplash of a bright blue and red that you've memorised with your life that jolts you awake.
with one hand superman grips the arm of the strange and flings him so hard into the wall, if you weren't exhausted enough you could've probably caught the crackle of his head splitting open on concrete. if you didn't feel the large gentle hands lowering you to the ground and into his embrace, then you would've caught sight of the barely there rise of the stalker's chest as he lies unconscious.
but all you can focus on is how the warmth and safety of superman's arms suffocates you that you're struggling so hard to level your breathing, your lungs are battered and bruised as they shovel you through more shift, "i told you!" you cry out in heaved breaks of desperation, clutching the ground as you roll over and hang your head low, "i've told you about this man for days," you sob, the salt from the tears poisoning your speech pattern and slobbering into a slurring mess, "i told you," you repeat hysterically, fingers coming around your throat where ugly purple bruises have started to form and you want to just wail harder. you want this to be a nasty dream, a nightmare you can wake up from and escape- this can't be real because this would mean that you were right and clark kent did not believe you.
"i'm sorry," he stutters pained, "i got here as quick as i could, sweetheart i'm here," he tries to reach for you but you stand barely, swaying as you hold yourself up to gain favourable inches away from him.
"i asked for my boyfriend! " you shout, "not you," you gesture to his costume and scoff, though it sounds like a choke with all the mucus building, "i needed my boyfriend and he thought i was a fucking idiot," you snarl, aggressively wiping away the tears that keep streaming and streaming, drowning the both of you in them. "you didn't listen to me," your voice cracks and shatters his heart with every syllable.
"i know," he gets out, a raise of his voice but in no means is an aggressive threat, "i know," he repeats softer, "you were right and you got hurt because i was wrong and didn't listen to you and i'm so damn sorry, gosh," he breathes, "i'm so sorry and please," he begs, "please you don't have to listen to me tonight, or let me be anywhere near you i don't deserve it or your forgiveness but let me at least help you get checked out. i don't want to hurt you anymore than i have, i can't please," and you bite your lip down at his pleading- a habit of yours you know he hates but you can't bring yourself to stop and redirect your worry somewhere else there's just too much of it and nowhere to place it.
you sigh in defeat, you don't really want to face him but the adrenaline from the moment of attack is dying down and you feel really lonely and scared all over. that, and you don't think you have enough energy to make it to the hospital by yourself, being thrown up a brick wall and almost strangled to death will do that.
"fuck," you mumble, "okay," and you raise your arms up.
it's the same gesture you give to clark every night when you're too tired to get yourself to bed, using all his hard earned muscle mass to good use as he carries you like a baby to your bed. its the same call for help when you've drank a little too much and you're seeing all the stars swim in clark's eyes that you can't see straight, or when your favourite pair of shoes has bitten and broken into your ankles too badly on a night out that clark kent (not superman) has to come save your day.
he might be wearing the barrier of blue and red but clark begs with his whole soul that you know it's still him at the end of the day.
its your clark that lifts you up, cradles you like a baby as he carries you to the nearest hospital and sits by your side as you get checked out. he's met with the stares, the sneaky photographs, the incessant gossiping but he'll endure it all for you as he waits patiently, biting his fingernails off as the nurses close the curtains around your bay for a little more privacy.
"who are you?" the nurse quizzes him.
"superman," he answers confidently.
"uh yeah bud and i'm bruce wayne now that's not going to cut it- patient confidentiality and all that, what's your relation?" she tries and clark knows a force of steel when he sees one.
"her boyfriend," he stands taller, ignoring the growing whispers and the jaw drop of the nurse who ushers him inside the curtains and at the foot of your bed instantly.
"clark?" you croak out, as you sit upwards in a reclined position. he can see the bruises how they've formed and made home on your skin and he wants to kill himself for not being able to stop this sooner, for being too foolish and caught up in the world and believing the best of everyone for not noticing that your gut instinct was right.
"yes, my love?" and he's at your side in an instant, crouching down to your height."what do you need- water? food? should i call the nurse- is it hurting?" you place a hand on his lazily but clark wraps it up in a tight interlock and rocks it in his lap- its his lifeline, you are his lifeline and you almost died.
"i understand if you gotta go," you whisper but he catches the hesitation and disappointment settled into your features, he shakes his head instantly with a firm "no."
"no," he repeats again, "i'm not going anywhere," he promises, "i'm here, it's still me and i'm clark, your clark and i'm not going anywhere, not this time." you smile weakly and he scoffs in adoration at the attempt, telling you to "save your energy, baby," and you try not to laugh ar how ridiculous he looks so big sitting in the small creaking plastic hospital chair because at this point even breathing feels like the hardest thing in existence, nevermind laughing. so you close your eyes, nestling into the grim white sheets and letting sleep finally take you.
and this time when it does, there's no blonde streaks and flashes of yellow teeth that haunt you, you can still feel his print around your throat but its calming sea blue eyes that ground you and trust you to know that it's safe.
riya saying hi: hey, i don't actually like this ending at all, i think its a bit meh and couldve had a lot more done with it but its also almost two am and this was getting pretty long and i just wanted to be done with it, hope this is okay anon!! please pretend i didnt let it sit in the inbox forever and this was done at a decent time, i love you guys, let me know what you think! <3
I just read your put you in a bodybag or in my bed fic and OH MY ITS SO GOOD IM LITERALLY (S)CREAMING
RI !!! coming from you?? the literal GOAT?? i am going to SCREAM, you are so sweet HAHA but i'm glad!! it's not as popular as the other clark fics but lowk, i hold her to my SOUL, i think its the longest fic i've ever written and idk it just felt special at the time, so i'm super happy that someone i look up to heavily feels that way, OH MY YOU'VE MADE MY WHOLE WEEK!!!! thank you, i love you!!! 💘💘💘
Is your username a reference to bodhi from date everything or a different bodhi im unaware of 😅
hey!! it is not, unfortunately!! it's a reference to a character (bodhi durran) from the empyrean series - a romantasy series (i know fourth wing was incredibly viral on the internet) but yeah, he was just my fave! and he hardly got any screen time at all in the books which was devastating and spiralled this whole account. but thanks for stopping by and your username is SO pretty!! <33
RIYA MY BBY!!! i hope you the absolute best with your new job eeeek. they’re going to love you. and i LOVE you!!! sending all the happy vibes to youuu💗🙂↕️
CHAR !!!!!!!!! ahh thank you so much!!! i'm so incredibly scared for it- it's a bit of a commute (an hour and a half) so i'm hoping itll give me more time to like journal and give me time to separate any feelings about work from when i get home? i dont make sense but im so scared ahh!! im not too fussed about making friends there because a lot of the staff are older but i just want to be good at something 😭😭 I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, GONNA CLUTCH THESE WORDS AND HOLD THEM TO MY HEART THROUGHOUT THIS AHH char you are always so sweet i want to sob, you're an incredible friend and i LOVE YOU!!!! 💘💘💘
Heyyy not meant to rush you or anything like that but are you gonna continue working on the Bradley rooster Bradshaw series you have rn?.
hi my love, i am still working on it- there's two parts to it left, i got stuck writing half of the next part and then sort of lost inspiration for it and got hooked on the superhero grind, i probably just need to rewatch tgm again however it is in the works and will be out soon (i just don't currently know when), but thanks for being so patient with this. sending my love! <3
updates will be slower my loves! i'm starting a new job this week (super terrified, super nervous- i've already bitten my nails off sigh) but hopefully will post something soon <33
summary: the universe has a funny way of ruining your life. or alternatively, johnny storm is everywhere.
pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader
warnings: exes to lovers, reader is down bad, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, cursing, based loosely off of the subway by chappell roan. not proof read. lower case intended.
notes: okay first fic ever so sorry if it sucks but i’m so down bad i needed this fic for my own selfish purposes. also been listening to this song on repeat and it was calling to me like the green goblin mask. also lowkey hate the end but anways
one.
july in new york has to be the closest thing to hell on earth. your flimsy portable fan is using all of its power to cool you down, although at most it’s blowing hot air that’s been sitting in the subway all day. the back of your shirt is starting to stick to your skin and the makeup haphazardly thrown on is starting to sweat off. poor timing had you hauling ass out of bed to make it to work on time.
thank god public transit seems to be the only thing on your side today.
you sling your bag higher up your shoulder as you hurriedly shuffle onto the train and make a beeline to the nearest open seat. stiff shoulders and weird smells is going to have to suffice for this morning as your usual plan to walk to work had to be sabotaged by your inability to fall asleep. well, it wasn't really your fault, was it?
it was him.
of course you couldn't rot on your couch in peace while nursing a half-eaten pint of cookie dough ice cream after your shift. you just had to pick the channel that was airing his stupid face in what felt like the most popular commercial in existence. golden hair and ocean blue eyes that seemed to haunt the narrative of your life just to piss you off. the ice cream was long forgotten as was your sleep.
you shake your head to sling him out of your thoughts. it’s been four months. plenty of time to get over a relationship that ended in a heated fight and now has your hand shoveling ice cream into your mouth while watching cheesy rom-coms every weekend.
the speakers along the train crackle to life as the system announces the next stop. grasping your tote closer to your chest, you watch as more commuters file in and push their way to the nearest handlebars. the air was getting stuffier and your patience was thinning.
closing your eyes for a brief moment, you try to remind yourself of the fresh tub of lemon sorbet in the freezer and reruns of I Love Lucy waiting for you after this day is over. deep breath in. deep breath out.
the second your eyes peel back open, your heart drops its way to your ass. across the car, the shiny new ad displayed above the seated chairs is the final straw to your already horrid morning. there in his glittering prime is johnny storm alongside his three teammates posing for a new skincare ad that some company probably paid way too much for.
at first, you have to laugh. it comes out as a chuckle, a low rumbling sound in the back of your throat that quickly morphs into full body laughter as you cover your mouth to stifle the sound. you can’t help the way your eyes start to water, first from the laughter, but then from the insurmountable sadness you’ve been bottling inside for the past four months. the once bubbly laughter turns into muffled sobs as the man beside you slowly inches his body away the best he can. a woman standing with her child slowly tugs them closer into her arms.
great. now you look like a psychopath crying on the subway because of a lotion ad with your ex on it.
clearing your throat, you tear your eyes away from the poster and make your way to the opening train doors. of all the trains running through the city, you just had to sit on the one with johnny’s face smiling at you. smug little shit.
wiping your eyes as best you can to avoid looking like a raccoon, you step out from the train and tell yourself that it was just a coincidence. the universe poking fun and laughing at you because look at you. this girl can’t even look at a lotion ad without having a breakdown. with the last bit of determination three hours of sleep can gather, you get back to commuting to work.
two.
“fuck my life,” you mutter under your breath. you close the pantry door and reopen it a second later, hoping that some sort of canned soup or box of mac n’ cheese will magically spawn itself into your life so you can eat something other than stale pastry scraps from your job at the cafe. after the third time of slamming and closing the pantry door shut, you realize that the only option is the grocery five blocks over.
you hastily slip on the nearest slippers as you grab your lanyard from the hook by the door. as you make your way onto the city streets, you realize maybe hello kitty sleep shorts and an oversized shirt that reads this guy needs a beer wasn’t exactly what a grown woman in her 20s should be seen doing her late night grocery hauls in. it wasn’t like you were going on the gilbert show or anything, so why should you care what anyone else thinks.
johnny would have liked it you think to yourself
no. nope. your mind cannot wander to that end of the pool tonight. you hurry across the dimly lit sidewalk and into the nearest store. you need to focus on what you came here for. food. real food that hasn’t been sitting out in the kitchen or decaying in your fridge for days. you hurry and grab a basketful of random ingredients that you know will suffice for a few different recipes.
fuck, you need breakfast food. there’s only so many orange-cranberry muffins a girl can eat on the clock before regretting skipping breakfast for the fifth time that week before work. you shuffle your slipper-clad feet to the next aisle over. cereal. perfect for when you’re running late and need to pile handfuls into your mouth while finishing your makeup. you skim the aisle for anything remotely tasty without being a pure sugar dump.
“mommy! look!” a child is tugging his worn down mother through the aisle, stretching up on his tip toes to point at a box a row too high for him to reach. “please please pleaseeee can we get this one? i only need one more action figure to complete my collection,” he pouts up at his mom. you see the bags under her eyes and the bottle of cabernet in her shopping cart. must’ve been a rough day for her you think. although remembering your attire, you remind yourself you really shouldn't be one to judge.
the little boy seems to get his way as a quiet “yes!” leaves his lips when his mother carelessly tosses the box alongside the wine. as they wander to another aisle, you come across the cereal the little boy so desperately was begging for.
and of fucking course its the limited edition fantastic four lucky charms cereal box.
“am i being punished or something? is this some sick joke, huh?,” you wonder out loud in the cereal aisle. you can’t even escape to shop for groceries without being reminded that your ex is doing well and fine without you.
a quiet cough catches your attention as you turn to your right and see an underpaid teenager in the store chain’s t-shirt mumble out a “ma’am, the store is closing in 10 minutes.” you feel your face heat up before you mutter a soft “thanks”. he looks you up and down before he slowly turns and retreats back to the front.
maybe that mom was onto something with the wine bottle.
finding the nearest cheerios box, you quickly make your way to the check out. not without snatching up a bottle of white wine to tie up the trip.
three.
the tv hums softly as you stir the noodles on the stove slowly. it’s sunday. the day for laundry, sleeping, and spending more than five minutes cooking dinner before inevitably collapsing on the couch to watch a shitty crime show before the work week starts again. your noodles had barely been softening before the entire apartment went dark. no more laugh track playing, no more hum of the stove, and no more fluorescent light shining in the room.
you move to the nearest window to peek out and decide if it's a power outage or you just forgot to pay your bills. which has happened. at the moment you crack open the window, you hear a loud crash. you spring back instinctively.
there in the middle of manhattan, a large robotic alien tears through the city with its long arms. well, at least it wasn’t just a you problem. before you can even scream or make your way to find a flashlight, you’re met with another sight. a glow of iridescent light that could only belong to that of sue storm. you see the robot struggle against her powers while getting pummeled by what has to be ben, because who else is made of rocks on this planet?
surely you have the worst survival instinct on the face of the earth. there’s a horrific robot alien creature merely a few minutes away. a sane person would hide, take shelter, maybe even call a loved one and ask if they’re okay. but not you. your mind can’t help but stand and watch in awe as the superheroes fight and work together in perfect sync. sue keeping it from moving, reed stretching from building to building to reach it, ben ripping limb from limb with his strength.
and johnny.
oh, johnny.
a fiery streak illuminates the night sky as he drives himself to deliver the final blow to end the towering alien. the villain fumbles harshly onto the street as the fantastic four breathe a sigh of relief and help nearby civilians out of whatever rubble is left. there’s cheers from nearby on-lookers just like you, who also couldn’t help but watch the magnificent display of art that was them working in tandem.
as the group finishes their work, they smile and wave before jetting back to the baxter building. johnny, of course, has his own means of travel. he leaps into the air as fire engulfs his form, basking in the glory from people below who scream and blow kisses his way. ever the show off, he flies high into the air and trails fire behind him in the shape of their signature 4 logo before flying back where the rest of the group is surely waiting on him.
you wonder if he remembers you live close by. if he was worried about you as they cornered the villain. if maybe he was showing off in hopes you were watching from the window.
you wish you could close the blinds and act like he didn’t exist. that he’s someone forgettable.
but when the glow of his body is casting familiar light into your dark apartment, you’re met with the reality that he’s always going to be looming in the corners of your life. because even with the lights off, you see his shadow.
four.
maybe you should just move. new city, new you and most importantly no johnny. maybe saskatchewan. maybe somewhere so far and rural that you have to milk cows and forage for berries to even have food on the table. somewhere so out of touch that they haven’t even heard of johnny or the fantastic four. or shit, maybe they don’t even know humans can go to space.
but alas, you’re a barista who barely makes enough for a cocktails night with your girlfriends so maybe that has to wait for now.
what you can afford however is a haircut. they say hair holds memories or something like that. one of your friends mentioned it while at a brunch that you couldn’t excuse your way out of. you don’t know if it was the mimosa or desperation that was agreeing with whatever tipsy advice was leaving her lips, but goddamn it it worked.
so here you are, fresh out of the salon with a new cut and new pep in your step. you weave a hand through your hair and feel a sort of phantom limb syndrome as your hair abruptly ends shorter than you're used to. “this is good,” you think to yourself. you can let go of everything bad that's happened in the past few months and rebrand.
your new life begins today you think. you visit a new coffee shop. try a new matcha latte. hate it but still drink it because, hey, that was $7 out of your bank account that unfortunately can’t be just thrown away. you splurge on a new outfit. window shop while strolling fifth ave. get caught in a hurricane level wind storm— wait what.
you look around as dirty newspapers and napkins swirl across the street in a hurried frenzy. interns on their lunch break are fleeing down the street faster than the food trucks can close their stands. and you’re just standing there in the middle of the crosswalk like an idiot as your brain short circuits.
when your brain finally catches up to the situation, you panic. you spin around and watch as the debris from the city is swirled around into the skyscrapers above. the sky is turning an angry dark gray as the storm you didn’t plan for starts rolling in. your brain seems detached from your body as you take off towards the nearest open store. just as your about to reach the door, you feel something fall from your pocket.
a sharp clink is heard as your apartment keys tumble onto the ground. part of you wants to say fuck it and bolt inside before lightning strikes you down with your luck. but you really don’t feel like paying $50 for a lock out fee after spending a decent amount of your paycheck already. so like the dumbass you are, you turn back and quickly reach down to grasp the lanyard in your hands. with a sigh of relief you look back up to see a tree branch barreling toward you faster than your reflexes can save you.
suddenly, you hear your name being frantically called before your arm is nearly ripped out of your socket by the amount of sheer force it took to pull you out of harm’s way. the jingle of a door bell shocks you back into reality as you realize your savior pulled you into a quant little record store. it smells dusty and warm like a grandparent’s house would be or a local thrift store. once you pat down your body and affirm that yes, you are alive, you turn around to thank whoever saw your poor self and decided to save you. your eyes lock onto him and you gasp before you can stop yourself.
standing sheepishly in front of you is johnny storm himself. he looks as good as ever even though you beg your subconscious to think otherwise. he smells like smoke and vanilla, the scent throwing you for a dizzying loop because you never thought you would be close enough to smell him like this ever again. his eyes are telling a different story than what his boyish smirk is trying to cover.
he jams his hands into his jeans before saying, “waiting for me to save you again, huh?” his voice is calm but the way his sweaty palms drag subtly across his jeans as he takes them out the pockets begs to differ.
he’s nervous.
and you can taste the matcha latte from earlier slowly trying to creep up past your throat as you clear your throat. “maybe i was waiting for sue. or ben. you’re not the only hero here you know,” you anxiously pat your hair back into the sort of neat state it was in before the wind hit. you look back outside from the store windows. maybe going back and getting hit by debris wouldn’t be as painful as this conversation.
johnny’s eyes study your face before moving along the rest of you. you feel the heat from his eyes travel along your legs and up your spine, before finally finishing back to your head. almost instinctively, his hand reaches up to fix a loose strand by your face. “you… cut your hair.”
you blink at his words. four months ago you couldn’t even think of him without getting worked up, and now you’re here discussing your recent haircut.
he takes your silence as a bad sign, “i mean— it looks great. frames your face. not that it wasn’t framed before or that it wasn’t nice because it always looks—,” an old man behind the cash register lets out a snort before quietly disappearing to wherever he lurked out of.
johnny laughs nervously at the old man’s laugh, then looks back at you with a smirk that’s softer than his usual one.“you know, you’re still the only person who makes me this nervous,” he says, voice low.
you raise an eyebrow. “you? i thought the johnny storm was an infamous playboy who doesn’t get nervous.”
“terrified,” he admits, and before you can respond, his hand cups your cheek, warm—almost too warm. you don’t pull away. his breath smells like that god forsaken lucky charms cereal that you know ruins his appetite for dinner.
his sincerity shocks you, and for a moment, you forget you’re not together. that this isn’t the usual bickering you two have before ben gags and sue smiles fondly at you both.
then you remember why it ended. he was too reckless, too proud, too absorbed in his circle of fans to remember that you existed too. countless dinners went forgotten, pitied smiles thrown your way, and arguments left unresolved. you ended it in the heat of the moment after another forgotten dinner date. you knew he couldn’t really help it if danger just so happened to be on your date night. that was his job. his title. but it wouldn't have hurt him to put you first for once.
you go to pull back, to nip this feeling in the bud. you feel his hands anchor themselves on your waist before you could take a step.
“i’m sorry,” he licks his lips as he releases a breath, his voice almost trembling. “for every dinner i missed, every time i made you feel like you weren’t the most important thing in my life. i was an idiot, and i thought… i thought you’d always be there no matter how badly i messed up.”
your hands hang uselessly at your sides, your chest twisting with everything you want to say but can’t. he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing while the wind picks up outside.
“i can save new york,” he continues, softer now, “but i couldn’t save us. i hate myself every waking moment for that. but if you tell me it’s over, i’ll walk away.”
the words hang heavy between you, and for a split second, you almost let them go unanswered. you should. it would be easier. but then his thumb brushes against your cheek—gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter—and all the anger you’ve been holding onto crumbles into something you’ve been trying so hard to ignore.
“you’re still reckless,” you whisper, your voice unsteady, "and arrogant. and a stubborn little shit. and you drive me insane.”
a small, hopeful smile tugs at his lips. “but?”
“but…” you exhale shakily, gripping his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “i miss you.”
that’s all he needs. his mouth crashes into yours, desperate and warm and everything you swore you didn’t need anymore. you only break apart when the man behind the counter appears again to interject. “alright kids get a room.”
you hide your face in johnny’s chest as he grins, his voice a breath against your hair. “guess we’re going back to mine?”
you roll your eyes, though your lips curve into a smile. “don’t make me regret it.”
“never,” he promises, and when he drags you back outside, the storm has turned into a gentle drizzle. maybe the universe was sending signs.
what it feels like when johnny storm dates a popstar; including saving you from paparazzi but only unless you say the magic word (or kiss, rather) , coming to the rescue at a power outage at your shows (he brings the fire, literally), in the thick of the lonely night during long distance where he'll fly however far he needs to to kiss you goodnight and not being allowed anywhere near your paper notes in case he burns any future singles to the ground which makes library dates super hard (sighs).
human torch! johnny storm x celebrity! popstar! fem! reader
themes: mainly fluff! minor angst from long distance relationship, this is like a hybrid oneshot/headcanon idk
inspired by this request - everyone say thank you bri! hope you like it honey, @goodnightngoread <3
masterlist.
johnny storm who saves you from the paparazzi!
it's no secret that johnny storm loves to pack on the pda; to let the whole world that he's taken, and he's taken by the world's most beautiful woman too. he's proud of you, he wants to show you off at any chance he can get, whether it's in the crowd at your shows, on live television where he blows you a kiss through the screen knowing you'll be watching or now, in the street.
it's dark, the evening air settling in as you both leave a high-profiled, michelin-star restaurant, because johnny storm sure as hell loves to spoil you- despite your pleading, saying its not necessary, you've long learnt your lesson and given up, knowing johnny does what he likes and you go along for the ride.
he walks right behind you, your back pressed against his front as he wraps his arms around your chest, holding you tight to him. you walk slowly, feeling his heartbeat dance along to your own rhythm; a sacred song the two of you will only ever sing as he walks you back to an apartment he has fifteen minutes away.
you're wrapped up in his red jacket and he rests his head on the worn leather clad on your shoulder, and a mixture of his aftershave and your sweet perfume intertwines and he inhales softly. you're humming a tune gently as he matches his steps to yours; though it looks more like a waddle as you both try not to trip over each other albeit johnny would never let you fall, he'd soften the blow in an instant.
"i had such a good time, baby," he drawls into your hair and you beam pure sunshine, no flame is needed, johnny can already feel the warmth, the magnetic pull of his soul to yours and you lean back into his embrace.
"well the good news is hotstuff, the night is not over just yet," you breathe back, and you spin lightly in his hold to press a kiss to the corner of his pink lips. he turns his head at the last second so he catches the centre of your lips instead before he melts in completely. its hungry, its swallowed with all the love and affection that when he pulls apart, he's breathless and you're his oxygen. you're a second away from chasing after his lips again when he chuckles softly to himself at the way your lipstick is smudged, bleeding out of the line of your lips and onto his own. it's messy, on the brink of becoming undone and there's a glint of mischief in your eyes as you plant a firm kiss to his cheek, fingers tracing over the outlines of the wrinkles and etches of your kiss now branded in red and he grins, proud to be marked and only ever known as yours.
"perfect," you mumble and he tries to fix your hair from where he's tugged at the strands in the midst of a steamy makeout. its tender and sweetly soft as you stand in his hold and he brushes the tendrils free from your blushing face, lingering on a few as they wrap around his fingers and he lets them go.
"yeah, you are," and he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. and he's inches away when he can see the upcoming blinding flash of cameras streak and swarm you like an army of bees. there's yelling, the blur of people nearing closer to you, the screaming of his name and yours metres away and you feel the panic rise in you.
"johnny?" you whisper and he nods firm,
"don't worry shortcake, i got this," and determination sets itself into his gaze and he stares up at the sky. his hold on you tightens and you feel the heat rise slowly, swarm you like a gentle hug, a carress of fire, but you blink slowly.
you haven't moved.
"johnny?" and he shakes his head, pretending to try again.
"it usually works," he shrugs and then he leans in close to you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, "maybe you need to say the magic word?" and you roll your eyes, dramatically throwing your head into his chest with a soft thud, it knocks him back slightly but he pokes his tongue into his cheek, standing, unwavering until you break first.
"please?" you plead as much as he loves to hear those words from your lips, he's looking for something a little more.
he pretends to think about it as the light draw nearer and you whine, pounding your fists softly against the muscles of his chest that radiate and rumble with joy of teasing you, "that was lovely, but nope," and then you meet him with a death glare, pure stone and steel and he feels a trickle of sweat slide down the back of his neck.
"flame on," you grit out and he grins, flicking your nose,
"almost, doll. its just missing a little something ..." he trails off, tapping his finger against his lips and you roll your eyes, knowing that johnny storm is a man of dramatic flair so you huff, stamp your heel to the ground and kiss him. you've basically thrown yourself into him to smash your lips on his as the yelling drums louder and louder his hands wrap around your waist firmly as yours interlock around his neck and he presses you against him tight.
"here we go, dollface," he whispers before all you see is pure red.
the flames engulf him but he's careful not to burn you, and when you're airborne you have to scrunch your eyes tightly, aware of the height he's raised you two at and he murmurs words of comfort into your hair that you greatly appreciate. "you're doing so well baby, i'm not gonna let you fall," and you believe him, it's just so high up here. he takes his time when he lowers you down to the ground and you exhale so loudly, grateful to feel the floor beneath you and the grounf to steady you.
"what took you so long?" you gasp, trying to regulate your breathing and johnny shrugs, trying to hide the smirk of knowing that when you wake up tomorrow morning in his bed, flicking on the news, you'll find a picture of you and him locked in a hurried kiss, and the world will once again know (as if they didn't already) that johnny storm is yours and you are his.
"you didn't say the magic words," he gets out before wrapping you in a hug, steadying you on your feet, "its scientifically proven that i perform a lot better after a kiss."
and johnny storm, as loud as he loves, is true to his heart and is no liar.
. . .
johnny storm who comes to the rescue during a power outage at your shows!
its hard not to notice the human torch. he's famous in his own right. but its also hard not to recognise johnny storm who sits at the highest point in the venue, a giant "president of the fan club" poster he waves in the air with your tour merch splashed across his chest.
his smile is contagious, his laughter your favourite sound and if you close your eyes you imagine the faint beat of his heart that steadies your own. the first time you performed with him in the crowd, nervous was an understatement. you had just started dating and you were wide-eyed, eager-hearted, desperate to impress him. tens of shows later and sometimes it still feels like the very first time, you get nervous and then you see the fond look of adoration sent from you above and the world spins a little slower, giving you time to regain control of your feet and your fate.
even unwillingly, without you knowing, like it's your body's natural reaction, your eyes search for his through every crowd and sea of souls till they settle on his and when they do, its like they bring you home.
your fans love having johnny at the shoes too, they coo and cheer and johnny storm is a damn superhero.
when the lights flicker off and the sound of your background vocals, when everything just seems to stop and fade into the darkness, he comes to rescue the day. there's chants of "flame on!" that take over but you can here is faint, "i'm coming, doll!" as he lights up, and then drops down barely a milimetre from you.
johnny only needs to flame a hand to give some warmth to the crowd, some light to see in the darkness and keep the show running but he burns his whole body to let you know he's here, he's willing to do anything for you. he does marvel in the praise and adoration of his skills as he performs a few tricks; giving in to the attention and you don't even hide back the happiness the sight of him brings you.
after a few minutes more of being the main act, he sits on the edge of the stage next to you, your feet dangling next to his as he takes one of your hands, interlocks it with his and places it firmly in his lap. a human campfire, if you will as you take an acoustic version of your songs.
he sings along to every word he knows by rememberance, he's burned them into his soul, into the rooms in his mind dedicated to you and after every line, you find yourself looking to him again, singing to him.
because when you can feel him in everything around you, it's hard to remember that there's a world watching, it feels as though it all just crumbles to ash, hides in the smoke. right here, right now, there's a room of people filled who love you completely, at the centre- burning bright and whole sits the love of your life, johnny storm.
the powers may be out, but johnny keeps it running all night long without complaint- and he'd do it a million times more to keep that show-stopping smile printed on your face.
johnny storm who hates long distance but will do anything to make it work!
you haven't seen johnny in weeks; and its the longest you've ever gone without him. you have your scheduled morning and evening calls but its just not the same. the rasp around the edges as he breathes out "i miss you" tugs at your heartstrings painfully and you want nothing more to just curl up in his arms, roam your fingers through the blonde locks and stare into your favourite colour eyes- blue like the ocean waters that call you home.
you've spent the day doing fan service, filling the johnny sized hole in your heart with others who love and support you. and part of it works, you smile, you laugh, you joke and pose for pictures, you listen to stories and tell your own and when you leave the venue, the 5'10 aching weight is slightly lifted from your heart.
it was busier than you anticipated today and so you missed your morning call as well as breakfast, being pushed to a workout facility to exercise and then practise your dance sequences. and being on the go makes it easier to forget that when you turn in for the night, you're lonely and alone all the same again.
you drag yourself to the hotel room, letting exhaustion win over as you collapse onto the bed. the shoes are still on your feet, your outfit still clinging to your frame as your head pounds, pressed into the mattress as you just hope and beg that sleeps takes you early; rescues you into a soft dream escape where all you see is johnny.
the phone rings and the shrill noise causes you to groan in annoyance further, you just want to be left alone to sulk in peace. to rot out this bad mood where you don't have the energy to people please today. the ringing doesn't stop and you use every ounce of your energy to force yourself up, lean over and snatch the phone from the handle with such grear ferocity.
"what?" you snarl, and it's so foreign, so strange as it leaves your lips that you don't have time to apologise, wipe it clean from memory and start over- the persona you have programmed into your mind just slipping free.
a moment passes between the line where all you hear is a slow inhale.
"honey?" and you instantly crumble.
"i'm sorry," you breathe, face hot with tears that just fall and fall and fall. they drown you, soak up the earlier good feelings and stain your cheeks, "i didn't mean to-" you clear your throat but the voice miles away on the line leaks through with blatant concern.
"babygirl, are you okay?" and you can imagine him now, the cute furrow in his brow, the pout of his bottom lip and you soften, trying to regain composure and bite back the rising despair falling all over.
"yeah!" you try for upbeat, "yeah," you wipe away the snot hurriedly, "i uh, caught you on tv earlier you looked so good, baby!" you gush, cursing yourself for being so ridiculous but johnny storm on the other side doesn't believe you one bit.
"honey," he whispers, "you're upset and i'm not there," his voice sounds pained, like all this distance is hurting him too, you just can't see it.
"i'm fine bug," you blink slowly, trying to gather yourself, "it's just one of those days, you know?" you try to laugh it off and he exhales quietly.
"i miss you," it comes quiet, not like all the times you've said it before. it leaks with desperation, the days of yearning and the outstretched longing of your soul that just screams for johnny and nothing else will minimise the urge.
"i miss you," he returns back with the same empty sadness that consumes him, "i think i might just die," he dramatically gasps and it bursts a real giggle from you, except laced with the sniffles and tears it comes out like a slob. johnny hums satisfied nonetheless and you can imagine him leaning into the phone, his soft pink lips whispering the words and as they settle into the grin he reserves just for you. the phone tucked securely beneath his ear and resting on his shoulder as he scratches herby's head or he balances franklin on his hip.
"johnny," you scold but the burn doesn't land, "just a few more days, right?" you hate yourself for how small and desperate you sound, it echoes in the quiet of the night, the stillness of the hotel room where you've never felt so lonely.
"just a few more, darlin" he promises and as much as you'd love to stay all night and talk with him till the sunrise but you've got to get up early for rehearsal all over again so its time for you to face the dark, wallowing emptiness and to turn in for the night.
you reimagine him whispering "i love you" just as he did moments before repetitively that it lulls you to sleep so easily and you don't remember when you completely listened to the darkness. you're wrapped into the sheets, tangled into the creases of the pillows when you hear a faint tapping.
you must be dreaming and continue to ignore it when the tapping gets louder and more frequent and you recognise the pattern of knocking from your real bedroom door. you're half asleep and your feet move on their own accord, like a lightning reaction leading you to the own who rotates your earth, spins your entire universe and you open the door to balcony with such disbelief.
"johnny?" you blink, exhaustion laced in your features and sleep heavy on your mind that everything looks too blurry, but the piercing blue brings you right to reality and into his arms.
"hey baby," theres a faint smell of smoke that lingers and you just feel yourself lift off the ground and jump into his arms. he catches you with ease, like its all he's known his entire life and holds you against him so tightly. it speaks volumes of love, the days and nights where he hasn't been able to hold you and the future in which he wishes he'll never have to leave you.
"you're here," you breathe, feeling the tears collect at your waterline all over. he presses his thumbs into them, catching the strays that fall and pushes his forehead to yours.
"i'm here," he confirms and it breaks his heart all over to see you so distressed, to see you hurting just as much as he has; he's also just very good at hiding it in public. but when he's alone and he can't see you, can't feel you- he feels himself collapse entirely.
you think he's saved you tonight, come to your aid and crushed the melancholic thoughts of missing him, but as he holds you now, its you putting all his pieces back together. melting and moulding the heat that radiates from him but affirms it with your shared love.
you feel like home and he's missed you so much that he can't wait for the tour to end, to be back in your place and have sunday dinners together all over. to reach across the sheets and feel your hands, to see your things all over his place- little remenants of you, to just have you in his vicinity.
but for now, he'll settle for flying and burning miles and miles as he visits you in different states, holding you for the hours he can before he has to make the journey back. because hours on the road to get minutes with you? that seems like a pretty fair deal to him.
. . .
johnny storm who is banned from your songwriting sessions!
the first and last time johnny storm ever joined you for a songwriting session, the two of you had been wrapped up in the corner of a library. he was swinging on his chair, busying himself with science fiction as you flicked through some of your journals to try and draw out some inspiration, gather some themes for your new album and to be surrounded by stories? what better place to scope out some fresh inspiration than a library.
when you first approached johnny with the idea he tried to hide his lack of enthusiams, instead soaking up yours as he let you lead him to a corner where the two of you could sit unnoticed, research and just give yourself some breathing space to feel inspired. and it was working for the first 20 minutes until johnny let the boredom sink in, he'd lean in, tease you with a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, lingering longer each time, grazing his teeth across your skin in an agonising tease.
"johnny," you hissed, splashes of red flushing up from your neck, burning the tips of your ears, "this is a public space," but he remained undeterred. he busied himself, planting kisses whenever you left yourself exposed and when he realised you weren't paying him the attention he so desperately craved, he placed a warm hand to your thigh and let it wander just a little bit higher. he let it just stay there, grip your skin firmly, letting the tease die there- he wanted you to come seek him out, to play into his game.
you leaned into his hold, stroking the back of his hair to where it meets his neck and tugged lightly, "johnny," you murmured, your pretty pink lips curled into a sweet smile.
"yes, my love?" he hummed into your neck.
"shall we just get out of here?" and it was meant to be a trap, he'd get excited and you'd shut down his hopes then and there. kind of like what you'd do to tease a child, except all you saw was a flame derived from excitement and burn your paper notes to ash.
he looked guilty as he met your parted lips, exasperated with disbelief. you stared at the crumbling, how it fell from your fingertips and faced him with a pure fire of your own, blazing with rage.
"you did not,"'you gasp in horror and his hands are immediately up in defense.
"hey- you started making all these fun suggestions," he tried to excuse but you shove him with a force that almost pushed him to the floor.
"can anyone smell that?" a rogue voice in the distance called, you stared at johnny; the panic setting in as he matched your intensity. grabbing and salvaging what he could, dumping into your tote as he locked his hand in yours and the two of you ran.
that was the last time johnny storm was allowed in a library or in one of your songwriting sessions ever again.
except now, where your songwriting sessions are beyonf libraries and the studio, extending into the late hours of the night- where an idea hits you and consumes you that you just have to get it out of your mind and onto the page.
so johnny storm stands at the door, leaning his body weight across the frame as the one am cold bites at his bare chest.
you look so beautiful in your own element, you're dressed in one of his t shirts, sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by a plethora of random notes, crumpled paper balls, a million biro pens- one holding your hair up as a guitar shifts in your lap.
it's pitch black save for a small lamp, emitting warm light over your head as you mumble a melody, cut yourself off and start over, a lot more confident. your murmurs of words and strumming of chords are cut short when you hear his own rumble at the door.
"baby, i love you but its one am," he almost whines, sleep etched into his voice that lowers an octave as he stares down at you, "come back to bed," its a soft order- bedtime is strictly his time.
"you gotta hear this one, i'm almost there," and the amount of times johnny has heard this spiel from you, he knows its futile arguing. so he takes a seat six feet from you on the floor and motions for you to continue, you beam and strum the guitar softly, and when you sing its so clear that its written about him, written for him.
you're bashful under his attention and love leaks from his melting heart, you're so perfect and he thinks just how did he get so lucky in this lifetime to adore and cherish you. billions of people on earth and johnny storm has met his match in the shape and form of you.
love and fondness warms the air, his heart beating softly as the background bass to your chords as you meet his gaze, giggle softly and continue. he wants nothing more to reach out, hold you, squeeze you till you're conjoined into his existence and nothing separates you but you have this damn rule of him and paper.
so he waits quietly, you finish and flush under his praise, his applause and then he extends his arms, actions not words asking for permission and you soften.
"do you promise to behave yourself?" you raise your eyebrows and he chuckles at the memory, scoffing lightly before slipping on that easy grin you've written into all your songs.
"i promise," he mumbles and you extend your own arms. he crosses the distance in a second, lifts you up so you sit in his lap, his bare chest to your back and he rocks you against him quietly.
"let me hear it again baby, from the beginning," he asks and you grow excited at his interest, fingers finding the strings and starting again. he tries to stay awake, he really does but the gentle sweep of your voice drifts him to sleep as he lowers his head into the crook of your neck.
and when you finish, your ears catch hearing of the gentle snores that escape him and you set the guitar to the side, the notes are abandoned, the song is recorded and everything, every single thing leads right back to him.
it doesn't matter if its in libraries, studo sessions or on the floor of his living room, johnny storm lives and breathes your inspiration- you could be anywhere with him and itll be fine because johnny storm is the music. he's every song you'll ever sing, every moment big or small that you breathe, he's everything.
riya saying hi: unashamed to admit that the last scene kinda inspired by taylor singing to joe (if you know you KNOW) and ahh this ended up being longer than i thought itd be, let me know what you think ! i'd love to do a part two on this but yeah, still working on those requests (coming soon) and i love you! see you soon! <3 🥺💘
