✶ — DON'T WORRY, BABY !
summary: you and johnny are tasked with babysitting franklin for the evening, and it comes with a lot more revelations than either of you expected. (6.8k words)
pairing: johnny storm / f!reader
contents: established relationship, domestic bliss, lots of fluff, cw for swearing, mentions of having children, smut 18+ ft. fem receiving oral, dirty talk, slightly dom!johnny but also sub!johnny because obviously, breeding kink, unprotected sex, mdni!!
Johnny Storm best describes himself in tenses: previous most eligible bachelor on earth, current protector of the universe, future father to your children. He makes the stubborn argument that it can’t be arrogant if it’s a statement of fact, which he’d made abundantly clear the day you met.
“Future husband, huh?” you echoed beneath the pulsing bass of the discotheque. The Doors blared overhead, making it virtually impossible to hear anything that wasn’t shouted directly into your ear. You used that as an excuse to stay close to the pretty stranger, who’d only just introduced himself to you — “Hi, I’m Johnny Storm,” he grinned and shook your hand. “I’m the man you’re gonna marry.”
Smoke billowed from your mouth as you smiled up at the blonde boy, bathed in flickering neon hues. “And what makes you so sure, Johnny Storm?”
“I can see the future,” he quipped and plucked the cigarette from your fingertips.
“Oh, yeah?” you lilted. The boy nodded wordlessly in response, cheeks hollow around the stick as he took a brief hit from it. He fought back a cough, and your smokey eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Alright, then, Johnny Storm… What happens next?”
“I follow you into that crowd,” he answered, pink mouth curled into a shy, lopsided smile. “And I actually start to believe in love at first sight.”
Your fingers brushed when he passed back the cigarette. His hands were made of softer stuff than most men his age, smoother than silk and warmer than velvet. A primal part of your brain instinctively concocted a plan to touch him again.
“And what about me?” you asked and took a lengthy drag.
“You let me take a taxi with you back to your place at the end of the night… You don’t let me in, but you do tell me to meet you for coffee the next morning.”
“Did future me happen to mention Dolly’s Diner?”
“She did, actually,” Johnny nodded with wide ocean eyes, rainbow lights shining in his flaxen locks like a neon halo. He crossed his strong arms over his chest, and his biceps strained against the jacket sleeves. “She specifically mentioned Dolly’s Diner at 8 a.m.—”
“Nine,” you corrected with a knowing half-smile.
“Nine.”
“Well, then, Johnny Storm… I guess we’ll see.”
You handed the stranger the dwindling cig as you walked past him. He didn’t try to stop you when you headed towards the light-up dance floor, where all your friends waited for you on the other side. You made it to the very edge of the flashing neon squares before you turned to look at him over your shoulder. He lingered in place with the half-gone cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, pretty features twisted in a puppy-like pout.
“Well, future-boy?” you called to him. “You comin’ or what?”
Johnny Storm, you soon realized, was a lot of things. Confident, chaotic, and occasionally hotheaded — but a liar wasn’t one of them. His brazen introduction as your future husband wasn’t just a clumsy way of flirting with you, but a promise. And, somewhere down the line, you became Mrs. Storm; and Johnny was the smug sonofabitch who accidentally told the future.
Sometimes, he worries that he may possess certain powers beyond the pyrogenesis kind. That something deep in his brain can actually predict the future, and did somehow manipulate you into falling in love with him that night. As far as he’s concerned, it’s the only plausible reason for your being here.
How else could he have gotten you to wear his ring on your finger? Or sleep in the noisy headquarters of Manhattan that he also shares with the rest of his superpowered family? Or be excited about spending the night babysitting his nephew, over the billion other (arguably more interesting) things you could be doing?
Johnny met you as a party girl in a small dress and go-go boots, full of smiles and wit and cunning. You’re all of those things still, but also his wife. So, yeah, either he is far more powerful than he realizes, or he’s just too lucky for his own damn good.
As Sue and Reed exit their shared bedroom, having finally traded their baggy, milk-stained sweats for fancier dinnerwear, Johnny looks down and realizes you’re wearing those same boots from that night. The white vinyl of them zips up to your mid-calf; the platform heel is slightly worn from constant use. You’ve paired them this time with a patent matching skirt and a black turtleneck — still the same girl from all those years ago, just a little more mature and a lot more loved by him.
Reed’s voice knocks Johnny out of his own head. He shrugs on a pin-striped suit jacket and rambles, “The number to the restaurant and the hotel is on the fridge. Call there if you need anything, alright? I mean it. Anything—”
“Anything,” Johnny echoes with a nod from where he sits between you and Franklin at the dining table.
He digs a pale fist into the box of Lucky Charms in his lap and shoves a handful of dry cereal into his mouth. He exhibits the same sort of gracelessness Franklin does in his high chair, mashing at the chopped banana before him rather than actually eating it.
“Not unless there’s an emergency, obviously,” Sue corrects, half-distracted, with her hands beneath her platinum locks to clasp her necklace. She pairs her mid-length, boatneck dress with the silver F pendant she wears in honor of her baby boy. “If he gets really fussy and nothing can calm him down, just try playing the Beach Boys— He loves that.”
“You know where we keep the breast milk, right?” Reed wonders aloud, anxious hands struggling with his cufflinks. Johnny nods, but the man answers himself anyway. “They’re in packets in the freezer, so just heat ‘em up if he gets hungry. They’re in the exact right amounts, okay? I made sure of that, so make sure you only use one—”
Sue sweeps in then, fastening his silver cuffs for him with steadier hands. “We already fed and changed him, so he should be good to go until tonight.”
Reed flashes a pair of pleading brown eyes over his wife’s shoulder, brows pinched in a pained sort of look. “I’d prefer if you’d just call, though. Every hour on the hour, ideally. Just so I know he’s okay.”
Sue’s icy gaze hardens playfully over her shoulder at the two of you. “Absolutely do not do that,” she instructs with an amused smile.
Johnny blinks like an owl, ocean eyes darting between his older sister and her husband, who he’s only just starting to care for. “I… Don’t know who I’m supposed to listen to.”
“Me,” Sue and Reed respond simultaneously.
“It’s Sue,” Ben answers as he stomps across the kitchen, in a pair of khakis he’s paired with a navy sweater vest and a matching baseball cap. (Ms. Rozman complimented the outfit once, and he never quite let it go.) “It’s always Sue.”
He chuckles at the half-hearted glare he gets from Reed and presses the button for the elevator with a large, calloused finger. The doors ding, and he steps inside — broad shoulders taking up the majority of the narrow space.
“Dinner’s on the stove, kids,” Ben tells you and Johnny as he hits the switch for the bottom floor.
“Thanks, Benny!” you call to him when the doors of the lift start to shut.
He shouts back, “Don’t forget!”
Reed and Sue share a quiet look then. “Ready?” he murmurs quietly to her. The older woman takes a deep breath in and nods wordlessly. They’ve saved the world together a thousand times over, yet you don’t think you’ve seen them look as worried as they are right now.
“We’ll call if there’s an emergency. I promise,” you assure them. “But there won’t be because Franklin is, quite literally, the perfect baby.”
The boy babbles in his high chair next to Johnny, utterly enraptured in his smushed bananas. He reaches across his uncle and out towards you with a tiny arm, offering you the piece of fruit enclosed in his chubby fist.
“For me?” you lilt in a small voice. “Thank you, Frankie…”
You lean down towards him and pretend to eat it. You make a quiet num, num, num sound that makes Franklin grin with all of his two bottom teeth.
Johnny’s pink lips curl into an absentminded smile as he watches you with his nephew, always so effortless in the way you care for him, like you were made to do it.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure between the two of us and the Beach Boys, we can handle it,” Johnny shrugs, then flashes you a blue, button-eyed look. “Right?”
You nod once with a tight-lipped smile. “Right.”
Reed and Sue leave with a smacking kiss pressed to their son’s chubby cheeks. They enter the elevator side by side and press the button for the main floor. “Try not to burn the place down while we’re gone,” Reed begs, only partly joking.
Sue smiles with an arched brow. “Literally.”
The double doors of the lift close before them.
Only when the parents are out of sight do you and Johnny exhale the pair of wavering breaths you didn’t even know you were holding. Franklin continues his babbling, playing with the mashed bananas on his high-chair table, while the two of you share semi-anxious looks.
“We can handle this, right?” Johnny wonders aloud, itching for an ounce of reassurance.
The two of you have looked after Franklin a thousand times before, during bathroom breaks and grocery trips and ninety-minute children’s movies, but never for a whole night. And never without Ben Grimm, the usual designated babysitter, more than one story away.
“Yeah,” you shrug. “We’ve done it before, kind of… What could go wrong?”
The answer to that, you soon realize, is everything.
And it happens far sooner than you expect.
You and Johnny lay Baby Franklin down for tummy time and get immediately enraptured in watching the boy experience the world on his stomach. So much so that you completely disregard the pasta Ben left simmering for you on the stove, which he blatantly told you not to forget.
The blonde boy sniffs once. “Do you smell smoke?” he asks.
“I think that’s just you, fire-boy,” you scoff.
Then the smoke alarm blares. The beep, beep, beeping is faint and faraway, but it startles Franklin nonetheless. The boy screams — a loud, teary, and grating scream — that’s a whole lot louder than the siren that had scared him to begin with.
While you rush to the kitchen to remove the smoking pan from the hot stove, Johnny scoops up his disgruntled nephew and brings him to his chest. He tries to soothe Franklin with one hand and start the record player with the other. With careful work, the Beach Boys crackle suddenly to life.
“—For I have the warmth of the sun…” the speaker croons. “Within me at night…”
It does little to quell Franklin’s screaming, despite his sister’s past assurance that it would. It’s entirely likely that he can’t hear the music over his pained shrieking, which pierces Johnny like a knife to the chest just now.
The blonde boy paces the length of the living room, bouncing the crying kid in his arms. Tears stream down his round, red cheeks in fat droplets that leave a dark stain on Johnny’s white t-shirt.
“Why isn’t it working?” Johnny strains through gritted teeth, hardly audible over the music and the subsequent screaming.
“It’s probably not the right song,” you answer, running past him in a flash and ducking for Ben’s record player. The record scratches faintly when you lift the needle from the vinyl.
“Not the right song?” he echoes incredulously, blinking at you with a pair of wide cerulean eyes. “He’s five months old, babe— He’s barely sentient. He can’t have a favorite song—”
You shift the arm slightly before setting it back in place. The needle hits the grooves of the record with a faint hiss. The music resumes again. “—Something’s bound to go wrong… But she looks in my eyes… And makes me realize…”
Franklin’s cries quieten instantly at the familiar music. He seems to forget, in that instance, what he’d been crying about in the first place. His pink mouth juts in a dramatic pout as he blinks up at his uncle with a pair of big, wet eyes.
Johnny grins down at him.
“Oh… Is that it? Huh?” the blonde boy coos, swaying the baby in his strong arms. He runs a wide palm up the length of his small back, and Franklin lets out a quiet hum of contentment. “You have a favorite song after all, don’t ya?”
The baby lets out a series of unintelligible babbles as you migrate to Johnny’s side. You rest your head on the boy’s broad shoulder, chest pressed to the outside of his bicep, while you run a gentle hand over the back of Franklin’s head. His still-growing tuft of dark chocolate curls is softer than cotton against your palm.
Franklin grins wide despite the tears still clinging to his round cheeks. Two tiny teeth poke from his bottom gums while his mouth opens and closes in unpracticed motions. He hums faint gibberish that you can’t quite understand, though it’s strangely in time with the crooning from the record player behind him.
“—Everything will turn out alright… Don’t worry, baby…”
It makes you laugh. “Are you singing, silly boy?”
Franklin’s babbling grows in volume at the acknowledgment.
He jerks in his uncle’s hold, tiny limbs failing with an excitement too big for his body. He reaches towards Johnny’s face, for the short flaxen strands just behind his ear. He wrenches the hair there into a tiny, unforgiving fist, and Johnny lets him. This raucous excitement is a lot easier on his heart than the screaming from before.
“Screw superpowers,” Johnny laughs, grimacing slightly when Franklin gives the strands a particularly hard tug. “We’ve got the next Beach Boy on our hands.”
His blue eyes glint with mirth when he turns his head to face you. The tip of his nose nearly grazes yours at the dwindling proximity between you. He kisses you instinctively then, pressing his smiling lips to yours in a chaste kiss.
Johnny’s eyes flutter shut. His long lashes dance over the tops of his flushed cheeks. In that fleeting moment, he feels a strange jerking at his chest.
The stars just beginning to speckle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows seem to align in that very instance. With you pressed so ardently to his side, and with Franklin still squirming in his hold, he feels a strange sense of nostalgia that he knows he shouldn’t. It’s strikingly familiar to him, but foreign all the same.
He gets a faint glimpse of his future then — of you and him and a baby, his baby — that he grieves when you pull suddenly away from him.
“You okay?” you murmur at the pinched look on the boy’s pretty face.
Johnny nods, still swaying softly with Franklin against his chest. “I think I just saw the future…” he tells you, playfully solemn as his brows raise to his hairline.
“Oh, yeah?” you hum, caging your bottom lip between your teeth in a feeble attempt to hide your smile.
“Mhm… And if I’m right, which let’s be real, I am right,” the blonde boy quips, only halfway joking. “Then… I’m gonna give you a baby.”
You meet his knowing grin with a deadpanned look. “Like, you’re gonna steal one off the street, or…?’
“I was thinking maybe we just kidnap Franklin or something,” he shrugs.
“Oh. Totally,” you hum with a slow nod. “I’m sure that won’t have any repercussions at all.”
Your gaze glitters with amusement despite the faux-serious look on your face. You couldn’t hide the way you feel for Johnny if you tried. You seem to carry all your love for him in your eyes. You think you always have. And Johnny sees it, too.
“I mean it, though,” he tells you. “I can see the future you, you know?”
“Oh, trust me,” you scoff. “I know.”
“So just… Prepare to have a baby soon.”
“How soon?”
When Johnny’s pink lips curl into a cheeky half-smile, you know he’s up to no good. He cradles Franklin’s bottom with one palm and smooths the other over the baby’s profile, cupping one ear and pinning the other to his chest.
“Tonight, if I’m lucky,” he quips in a low whisper.
Your face screws, and he laughs.
“You’re incorrigible.”
Franklin, now perfectly content, squirms like a wild little thing in your lap. With his chubby fist in his gummy mouth, he gapes incredulously at the black-and-white television across the room. As his aunt, you felt it was your duty to start him on chick-flicks while he’s still young. Tonight’s choice being Roman Holiday. He’s as enthralled by the moving picture as any baby would be, so you consider it a job well done.
You hold him carefully by the waist while he bounces up and down on your thighs. “Can you say Gregory Peck?” you coo in the baby’s ear, who responds with his own sort of gibberish. You repeat, slower this time, “Greg-ory… Peck…?”
Johnny laughs from where he stands in the kitchen.
The apartment has gone slowly dim with the late evening, lit only by rogue lamplight and the flickering television. He can just barely see your profiles from here, across the expansive apartment, where you and Frankie cuddle in the conversation pit.
“You are aware the kid’s basically a future genius, right?” Johnny laughs with a frozen pack of breast milk in hand. His palm glows a faint red color as the milk turns slowly into liquid. He pours the freshly warmed drink into a glass bottle and continues, “So if his first words turn out to be my sister’s first ever crush, Reed’ll have an actual aneurysm.”
“Sue and I are colluding to get Franklin to say ‘momma’ first, actually. And he’s almost got it, don’t ya, Frankie?” You grunt quietly as you spin the heavy baby in your hold. You grin instinctively when he faces you. “Can you say momma?” you coo to him. “Mom-ma?”
Franklin just babbles to himself, ‘cause he can’t seem to make the m sound quite yet. He just drools onto his onesie instead. You’re wiping the dribble from his chin with his bib when Johnny returns with the bottle.
“Here ya go,” the boy lilts.
“Thank you, honey—” you say, huffing as you shift Franklin in your arms once more. You cradle him in your lap and contort your limbs to check the temperature of the milk on your wrist.
Johnny’s face contorts in offense. He props his hands on his slim waist and frowns. “I tested it already, babe. It’s not hot.”
You look at the boy over your shoulder, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint. “You tested it on your skin?” you deadpan.
The blonde boy nods in response.
“Which has been known to be actively set on fire from time to time?”
Johnny thinks to himself for a moment, lips jutted and blue eyes flitted towards the ceiling.
“Exactly,” you giggle and turn away with the roll of your eyes.
Franklin grabs the bottle in a pair of strangely aggressive hands but still struggles to hold it on his own. You keep it propped up for him while he scarfs down his dinner. Johnny, meanwhile, descends the steps of the conversation pit and plops onto the plush sofa beside you. He sits with his legs spread and his arm thrown along the back of it. You melt instantly into his warmth.
While Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck slow dance to an unfamiliar song on the small, staticky screen across the way, Johnny feels a strange tugging at his chest.
“You know…” he starts with a sigh, cheek squished into your hair. “I think I could do this every day.”
“Watch Franklin?” you respond, half-distracted.
“Well, yeah, but… I mean, if we had our own kid, you know? I think we could do it.”
You turn your head slowly, half-expecting to find him wearing a cheeky sort of grin. Instead, you see something strangely sincere swimming in his round, ocean eyes as they flit back and forth between yours.
A laugh sputters from your lips before you can help it. “You haven’t even changed any diapers yet, Johnny—”
“I have!” he argues, wearing a pout that resembles his nephew’s.
“Or lost out on sleep for days because of sleep regression. Or because the baby’s gassy. Or colic—”
“I’m just saying we could handle it. That’s all,” Johnny shrugs with a shy smile. “There’s no one else I’d rather lose sleep with. Or change diapers with… Or clean up baby puke with.”
You falter for a moment.
It’s a more mature admission of love than you think you were expecting.
When Johnny approached you that sacred night in the smoky, neon dance hall — with the bold assurance that he would some day marry you — you figured you were just the prettiest, glittering thing that caught his eye. And you were okay with that, even more so when he started to love you for real. Far more than either of you was expecting.
Then you got married, and life got a little bigger. The laundry day, joint taxes, and choosing whose TV show gets watched on Wednesday nights, kind of bigger. Somewhere therein, you started to realize what it truly meant to love someone.
Love wasn’t always the prettiest glittering thing. Sometimes love was ugly. And that’s when it was best.
“How romantic…” you deadpan in response, lest you give away the warmth surging in your chest. But then you lean in to kiss him, chaste but lingering still, and Johnny feels all of it anyway.
He takes the empty bottle from Franklin’s tiny hands a moment later. You bring the boy to your chest, patting softly at his back for a few minutes more until his body jerks with a small hiccup. Johnny then laughs at the screwed look of concentration on his tiny features.
“What’s that face for, huh?” the blonde boy chuckles.
He inhales once and answers his own question.
The two of you wear similar looks of vague disgust at the baby’s obviously full diaper. You pass the full-bellied boy off to his uncle. “Here you go…” you mutter, half-strained as you hold your breath.
“Oh, god…” Johnny huffs in response, keeping Franklin at arm’s length as he rushes down the hall and towards the nursery. He hears your pretty laughter following him as he goes.
“I owe you one!”
Franklin’s nursery overlooks the Manhattan city skyline. The floor-to-ceiling window makes stars out of the yellow-lit buildings sparkling outside, like a personal nightlight for the sleeping baby.
You lean against the door frame while Johnny rocks his nephew in his arms. Your eyes follow his towering shadow as he paces the length of the dim, lamplight room. Franklin whines, trying hopelessly to fight his much-needed slumber. His attempts prove to be fruitless, though, when his uncle starts to sing.
“She told me, ‘Baby, when you race today, just take along my love with you…’” Johnny croons quietly, voice low and only slightly off-key. “‘And if you knew how much I love you, baby, nothing could go wrong with you…’”
Franklin doesn’t last long like that — not pressed to his uncle’s warm chest, swaying gently in his strong arms, listening to his most favorite song. Sleep lulls finally over him no more than a few minutes later, and Johnny makes the transfer into his crib with ease.
Franklin doesn’t move an inch when you slink out of the room with the baby monitor in tow. Johnny shuts the creaking door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar and exhaling a relieved breath he didn’t know he was holding.
You stand facing each other in the dim hallway, lit only by the kitchen light down the way. Half of your face is softened with dark shadows as you smile up at the boy. “You’re a real natural, you know that?”
“You are, too…” Johnny grins, pulling you closer by the belt loops of your skirt. Even in the dark, you can see the amused glimmer in his light eyes. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” he murmurs quietly.
The bridge of your nose scrunches in response. “That it’s really late, and we should probably eat something before we starve to death?”
The non-answer only makes him smile wider.
“Yeah, I think I could go for something to eat…” His voice trails as he ducks down for your neck. He presses a warm, wet kiss just over your pulse. Your knees threaten to buckle underneath you when his tongue darts out to taste the skin there.
“Johnny?” you sigh, eyes fluttered shut.
“Mhm?” he hums into your skin.
“You… are incorrigible—”
You push him away with a pair of half-hearted hands against his chest. Johnny wraps his fingers around your wrists to pull you gently back into him, anyway. His pink lips are noticeably rosier and slick with his spit when he asks, “How about we compromise, hm? I make you something to eat— without burning it this time, hopefully— and then you give me something to eat, too.”
You meet his smug grin with squinted eyes. “We’re supposed to be watching your nephew, Johnny—”
“He’s your nephew, too, you know? And he’s passed out until morning… The others won’t be back ’til then anyway, so…” He trails off with his brows raised in a playful look. “You owe me one, remember?”
You give in far quicker than Johnny expects.
“Well, then you better get to cookin’, fire-boy,” you monotone, poking him hard in the chest. “’Cause I’m not doing anything on an empty stomach.”
Johnny abides without question. It’s in his nature to obey you, and to keep you full — all in more ways than one.
So it’s only right that you keep your promise, too.
You christen the guest room on the Richards’ hall. Johnny tells you that Sue and Reed wouldn’t mind — that they’d much rather prefer it if you stayed on the same floor as Franklin, rather than a story above where your bedroom sits. You lie in the center of the foreign king-sized bed, as half-naked as the boy above you, while Johnny kisses down your body.
“I think they’d prefer it if we kept our hands to ourselves, actually,” you correct with a pretty laugh, staring down your body at the boy disappearing beneath the covers.
You run your fingers through his short, blonde locks when he presses a searing, wet kiss to your bare stomach. His warm fingers curl under the hem of your panties, sliding them slowly to the side.
“I mean, you are capable of that, aren’t you?”
Johnny’s mouth drools at the sight of your similarly weeping cunt, made of silk and honey. He looks at you from beneath his long lashes, blue eyes dark and dilated with lust. “Do you want me to be?” he murmurs lowly.
The warm breath of his whisper fans across your pussy. It clenches around nothing accordingly, waiting and pleading for his mouth.
You roll your eyes at him despite all that. “Get to work, fire-boy—”
His mouth latches immediately to your cunt. Your quip dissolves into a pitiful whimper when his tongue lolls over your clit. You keep one hand curled in his hair and the other gripping desperately at the silk sheets, trying fruitlessly to keep yourself tethered while Johnny sucks the sin from your body.
He kisses your pussy the way he would your mouth, tongue sloppy and languid against you. He makes a total mess of your thighs and his mouth and the bed sheets below you. His fingertips dig bruises into the plush skin as he laps at you, savoring the honey you leak for him.
He works until his jaw aches, until his neck burns from the harsh angle, until he feels your thighs trembling on either side of his face.
“I’m gonna cum” you squeak suddenly above him. Beneath his low grunts, which send gentle vibrations to your swollen clit, he hears you exhale pretty little whimpers for him. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna cum—”
Johnny makes no mention of how quickly your orgasm finds you. There is no snide remark or smug brag from the silver-tongued boy. His lips just curl into a proud smile against the velvety lips of your cunt, right before his mouth wraps around your sensitive button. He sucks mercilessly there until your hips buck off the bed — until your pulsing hole drools for him and a choked-back scream rises and dies in your throat.
He kisses away the remains of your orgasm until you’re pushing him away. Then he rises to his knees above you — cheeks flushed, lips rosy, chin shining with your cum. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans down over you, blue eyes lidded and glazed over.
“God, baby, I need to fuck you,” he slurs in a low murmur.
You smile deliriously at the ceiling when his mouth locks on your pulse point. His teeth graze over the skin there while you curl your arms around his neck. “Watching me with a baby got you this worked up, huh?” you tease — though judging by the swiftness of your previous orgasm, you’re hardly in a position to talk.
“You get me worked up all the time,” Johnny mumbles into your skin, before dragging his tongue over the bite mark blooming on your neck. “You’re gonna be the death of me at this rate—”
You hardly get a breath in before Johnny’s kissing the air from your lungs, licking fervently into your parted mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, a foreign sort of salty-sweetness stained on his lips. With his elbows propped on either side of your head, he cages you beneath the weight of his hungry mouth and golden body. Your nails dig into his freckled shoulders to pull him impossibly closer.
He grumbles a dramatic groan of disappointment against you a second later. Your swollen, spit-slick mouths part with a quiet smack.
“Shit…” Johnny huffs. “I left my wallet in the living room—”
Your legs wrap around his slim waist when he threatens to roll off of you. His pinched look of confusion is met with your devilish grin.
“I— I gotta get a condom, babe…” he stammers.
“You can’t exactly fuck a baby into me with a condom on, can you, Johnny?” you lilt with an air of feigned innocence, fingers twirling at the blonde curls at the nape of his neck.
Johnny huffs, like your words have physically knocked the breath out of him. He exhales hard through his nose as his lips quirk into a love-drunk smile. “See what I mean? You’re gonna kill me, baby—”
He’s kissing you again before he can properly get the words out, fueled with a primal sort of hunger that makes not touching your borderline unbearable.
It’s all tongue and teeth. Sloppy and nothing short of ravenous. He bothers not to drag his underwear down his legs, lest he have to part from you for more than a moment. Instead, he tucks the hem of them under his balls before jerking his stiff cock in his fist.
“Want this?” Johnny pants against your mouth. “Want me to fuck you?”
You nod wordlessly, throwing your head back when he drags the weeping, strawberry tip of his cock over your glimmering pussy.
He smiles crookedly down at you as he presses, “Need to hear you say it, baby, c’mon.”
“Fuck me, Johnny,” you plead in a breathless whisper, head back and eyes shut. “Fuck me, Johnny, please—”
And Johnny does what he always does. He obeys you without question, sliding within the velvety walls of your shuddering cunt with a practiced sort of precision.
You share sharply inhaled breaths when he’s sheathed fully inside of you — balls pressed to your ass, coarse thatch of hair above his cock grating your soft clit. His thrusts are painfully languid, and measured in a way that drives you wild.
“Please, go faster,” you beg against the shell of his ear. “Please. I need it…”
He shushes you gently. “Just let me make you feel good, baby…” he slurs into your neck. “Let me hit that spot…”
He rocks his hips, tilting them slowly forward until he hits somewhere deep inside of you. Only when you make a pretty noise for him does he creep back out again. He never pulls all the way out of you, just keeps your hips caged beneath his own until the pressure on your clit makes you keen.
You wrap your legs around his hips with a choked-back whimper, heels crossed and digging into the base of his spine. Your cunt suckles him further inside as the angle shifts. Johnny grumbles a moan into your neck.
“Oh, yeah— There you go…” Johnny praises, tucking his fingers into the curve of your waist as he sits back on his haunches.
His golden wedding band presses against your burning skin and glitters in the low lamplight. Yours does the same, small diamond glinting where you fist at the silk sheets.
The measured, unhurried rocking of his hips never ceases. A feeble whine sounds in your throat. His praise makes you as dizzy as his cock, and he knows it. “Yeah? You like that?” Johnny grins.
You nod, hair wild on the pillow.
“What happened to all that mouth you had before, huh?” Johnny pants, smiling deliriously at your fucked-out face. “You don’t have anything else to say? Huh?”
You only moan in response. He knows you don’t have the words to answer him. He knows he’s fucking you far too stupid for any of that.
“No…. You just wanna cum, don’t you? Want me to fuck a baby into you?” Johnny continues to tease despite his own breathlessness. You nod again, pussy fluttering around his twitching cock. He has to remind himself to breathe. “Then cum for me.”
The thread at the pit of your stomach snaps at his permission. Your body tenses underneath him — legs trembling around his hips, nails digging crescent shapes in his shoulders. There’s a fleeting moment of numbness when your cunt clenches tightly around him. It ebbs into a more blinding, white-hot pleasure a second later when you cum for him, leaking around his cock and onto the bed sheets below you.
Johnny’s not far behind.
You watch his orgasm roll over him through fluttering lashes. His jaw clenches, his neck tenses, his flushed chest heaves with heavy breaths.
He always talks a big game when he gets you all sweet and pliable underneath him. He likes to play dominant from time to time, likes the rare moments when he gets to tear you apart. But when his own orgasm crawls up his spine, he loses all of that bawdy confidence from before and leans back over you again.
Johnny cages you beneath his warm weight and the mattress while his thrusts go messy and erratic. He buries each of his pathetic whines and whimpers into your sweat-slick shoulder, babbling a string of nothingness in your ear.
“Fuck, honey. Oh, fuck— I’m gonna cum— Gonna fuck a baby into you— Shit—”
He punches into you once, hard, and then stills suddenly over your body. His cock jerks within your pulsing confines, spitting three ropes of warm cum inside you. Johnny trembles through every single one of them, slow to relax on top of you.
His golden body, radiating with heat and hunger, softens over yours in time with his sensitive cock. You lay like that for several long moments — sweaty bodies twisted in the sheets, pressed and melting together. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of your heavy breaths.
“We’re gonna have to wake up early to wash the sheets before they get back,” you whisper to him, breaking the honeyed silence.
Johnny nods against your shoulder until the words catch up to him. “I know…” he sighs.
He rolls off of your body and dissolves onto the mattress below. You waste little time leaving it, mourning his warmth as you squirm out from under the sheets and out of bed. You disappear into the adjoining bathroom, careful to keep your thighs together on the way there to prevent making a bigger mess than you already have.
You spend a few minutes cleaning yourself up, then return to the dim bedroom to toss Johnny a fresh rag for himself.
He wipe your slick away from his stomach, thighs, and still-sensitive cock, while you drag your panties up your legs. He flashes you a shy smirk across the bedroom and pulls his own underwear back over his hips. “Think it took?”
You shrug and pluck his t-shirt from the floor to drape it over your bare body. It just barely covers your ass. “I don’t know… Maybe.”
Johnny props his weight on his arms, sheets still twisted around his waist. His blonde locks are wild from your fingers as he blinks the remnants of bleary pleasure from his glassy ocean eyes.
“We can always keep trying if it doesn’t. We aren’t in a rush… Right?”
“Yeah…” you hum with a quiet grin, eyes glinting with mischief as you take slow steps his way. Johnny throws his legs over the edge of the bed, and you stand between his scruffy thighs. You drag your palms over his burning chest and hum, “The trying part’s pretty fun, actually…”
“You’re telling me,” he scoffs, obediently lifting his chin when you lean down to kiss him.
Your lips lock in something much more chaste and innocuous than before. Until a cry crackles from the baby monitor on the nightstand, anyway. It’s a garbled sort of whine at first, like Franklin’s just annoyed at having woken himself up. Then it turns into a full-blown wail the second he realizes he’s alone.
Neither of you says a word as you part from each other, leaving the sanctuary of the golden-lit bedroom to tend to the crying baby.
You head straight for the nursery while Johnny migrates to the kitchen. He retrieves another packet of milk from the freezer and heats it in his palm, all in practiced motions. He returns to you and his nephew with a fresh bottle in tow and finds you rocking the fussing boy in your arms.
He can’t shake the feeling that he’s looking at his future in the flesh.
Franklin takes to the bottle immediately when you give it to him, suckling at the milk like it’s the first and last time he’ll ever get to do it. You keep it angled for him with one arm and cradle him in the other. Johnny stands at your side and wraps his strong, golden ones around you. He keeps you pressed to his warmth as he sways you gently back and forth.
“I hope my sister knows she’s never getting this baby back,” he quips with his cheek pressed to your hair. Your giggling fills the dimly lit nursery, and he grins. “I mean it, babe. He’s ours now.”
You turn your head to flash him an amused look, eyes laced with a quiet sort of exhaustion. “You’re crazy, Johnny Storm, you know that?”
“Crazy for you…” he croons before pressing a smacking kiss to your flushed cheek.
Your subsequent laughter paints the lamplit room in flaxen shades of gold. Something about it pierces him deep in the chest. He loves you so much it hurts.
“How am I supposed to ever give this up, huh?”
“Well, we’ll have our own one day, right?” you ask him, smiling reminiscently at a memory that hasn’t yet happened. “We’ll give Franklin a cousin to run around with… And another baby to annoy Ben all the time.”
Johnny laughs at the thought of your baby climbing over the towering man like a jungle gym, the same way Franklin does. You feel the vibration of his chuckling against your arm. “The big softie,” he scoffs.
You cage your bottom lip between your teeth as you look at the blonde boy behind you. Your eyes go all squishy around the edges as they scan over his features, almost like you’re trying to memorize them.
“I hope our baby looks like you…” you confess in a honeyed whisper.
Johnny warms at the sincerity but hisses through his teeth all the same. “Well, now we’re in a dilemma, honey— ‘Cause I want a baby that looks like you. So… Now what?”
You shrug with a sardonic smile. “Guess that means we just have to keep trying until we get one of each, then, huh?” you lilt, all sarcastic and knowing in a way that makes him grin.
“Dammit, you read my mind.”
if you made it this far: thank you, i love you, and i'm giving you the biggest virtual kiss on the forehead right now!!! (▰˘◡˘▰)
