Here are some Johnny x reader fic ideas that I've had for a while, feel free to use them I haven't had the motivation to write them myself😭 the one that I crossed out I had already requested to smb but you can still use it!
If you do use any of these ideas pls tag me!!!!!!!!!
Pairing: firefighter!johnny storm x er nurse!reader
Summary: For nearly a year, you and Johnny Storm, a local firefighter, have shared nothing more than passing moments between emergencies. Enough to recognize each other, not enough to step closer. When a fire destroys your apartment building, you find yourself staying in his home, where distance is no longer something you both can rely on.
Word Count: 6,2k
Tags: modern au, firefighter au, no powers au, forced proximity, mutual pining, acquaintances to friends to lovers, domestic fluff, living together, no use of y/n
a/n: i went to the fire station a week ago and that was what inspired this. literally. i hope you all enjoy :) x
Johnny Storm’s days follow a relatively simple routine. He clocks in at 8:00 in the morning and starts a 48-hour shift, consecutively. After those 48 hours end, he goes home to his bachelor pad and rests for a good four days before he has to go back to his job. He might get a few interesting cases here and there, but it’s really nothing to write home about.
Except when he gets to see you, then it’s everything to write home about.
Which is unfortunately a rare occurrence. You’re busy with your work, firefighters don’t usually go to the ER anyway, he knows that—hell, you guys weren’t even that close. Even when he wants to spend time with you, he doesn’t think that he could just stroll into the emergency room one day and ask you out. Well, maybe he can, but he’s just a bit of a coward at that part.
You both met a little under a year ago.
The call itself wasn’t anything special. Small building fire, one victim suffering from smoke inhalation, stable vitals, conscious and talking.
Johnny had carried the woman down three flights of stairs and stayed with her all the way to the hospital, mostly because she refused to let go of his hand. "You're a nice young man," she'd wheezed through the oxygen mask.
"Why thank you, ma’am. Tell everyone for me, please." He gives her his signature grin.
The ambulance rolled into the emergency department's ambulance bay twenty minutes later.
The doors burst open, and there you were.
"Female, seventy-two," the paramedic began as the stretcher was unloaded. "Smoke inhalation. Alert and oriented. Initial oxygen levels were eighty-nine percent on the scene, now sitting at ninety-six on fifteen liters of non-rebreather."
Johnny barely listened. Because you were moving around the stretcher with the kind of confidence that made the chaos look choreographed.
"Any loss of consciousness?" you asked.
"Negative."
"Cardiac history?"
"Hypertension."
"Allergies?"
The questions came rapid-fire. You were efficient, focused, and…
Pretty.
Wait. Pretty?
Johnny blinked, but the older woman noticed immediately. Maybe she has a knack for these things. "Oh," she said, sounding delighted. "He's staring at the nurse."
“Ma'am," he said.
Your head snapped up. Okay, that’s a handsome man—no, you have a job to do.
"He's been carrying me around all afternoon," she informed you.
"Ma'am."
To his horror, you smiled. "Thank you for bringing her in," you said.
He gives you a crooked smile. “Yeah, yeah… you’re welcome. I mean, it’s my job… yeah.” He nods, like that makes his stumbling any better.
After that interaction, he’d be the first person to volunteer every time one of the firefighters had to go to the emergency room. Not that they go there a lot anyway, but hey, he’d take any chance to get a glimpse of you.
The first few times, he was convinced you wouldn't even remember him. You worked in an emergency department. Hundreds of patients passed through those doors every week, accompanied by paramedics, police officers, firefighters, and worried family members. There was no reason a nurse would remember one firefighter she'd met on a random Tuesday.
Then, the next time he walked a patient through the ambulance bay, you looked up from your charting and greeted him by name.
Just like that.
The conversation had lasted less than a minute.
A quick hello.
A question about the patient.
A joke about the soot smeared across his jaw.
But Johnny found himself thinking about it for the rest of his shift. After that, seeing you became something he quietly looked forward to.
Sometimes he would catch you during a particularly brutal shift, your hair hastily tied back and exhaustion written plainly across your face. Other times he'd arrive to find you laughing with one of your coworkers, the sound carrying across the department before you noticed him standing there.
You always seemed happy to see him, and over time, the conversations grew longer.
A minute became five.
Five became ten whenever neither of you was being pulled in opposite directions.
He learned that you survived almost entirely on caffeine during night shifts (much to your dismay). You learned that he couldn't cook anything more complicated than pasta without consulting the internet. He learned which vending machine snacks you always bought when you forgot your lunch. You learned that he hated paperwork more than actual fires.
None of it was important information, at least not on paper.
But somehow, every small detail felt significant when it came from you. The problem was that your relationship never seemed to move beyond the walls of the hospital.
You weren't strangers, yet you weren't friends, either.
Not really.
You and Johnny saw each other because your jobs happened to collide every now and then. And yet, every time he left the emergency department, he found himself wondering when he'd see you again.
The answer was always eventually.
A week, maybe two, or even a month. But sooner or later another call would end at the hospital, and he'd find you somewhere beyond those sliding doors.
That certainty made it easy to do nothing.
Today, Johnny strolled into the fire department in the morning and went straight to the kitchen, as usual. When he has to arrive at the station as early as eight, he doesn’t really have the luxury of a dedicated breakfast time in the mornings.
He grabbed some bread and ingredients from the pantry and made a simple sandwich. This one looks particularly good, he thinks. But before he could get a bite to his sandwich, the station tones screamed through the building.
Johnny closed his eyes. "You have got to be kidding me."
Around him, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone immediately sprang into motion.
So much for breakfast.
He wrapped the sandwich in a napkin, shoved it onto the counter, and followed the rest of the crew toward the apparatus bay while dispatch rattled off the address overhead.
To you, twelve hours in the emergency department rarely stayed twelve hours. Someone always needed help, always arrived five minutes before your shift ended, and always crashed at the worst possible moment.
You'd stopped fighting it months ago.
At least today was your day off.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains and painted soft streaks of gold across your bedroom walls, and for a few moments you simply lay there, enjoying the unfamiliar luxury of not having anywhere to be.
After waking up in the morning, you spent a few blissful minutes doing absolutely nothing. No monitors beeping, no doctors calling your name, just silence. Glorious silence. But eventually, you did have to drag yourself out of bed.
You wandered into the kitchen and started putting together breakfast. Nothing fancy, just enough food to keep you occupied while you figured out how you wanted to spend the rest of your day.
Laundry was probably necessary.
Grocery shopping too.
Also, there was a growing pile of unopened mail sitting on the counter that deserved your attention.
Realistically, you would accomplish none of those things.
Outside, the city was already awake. Cars moved steadily through the streets below, people hurried along the sidewalks, and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed before fading away. Exactly the kind of morning you had been looking forward to.
You had just taken another sip of coffee when a loud, piercing alarm cut through the apartment.
Your head snapped up immediately.
For a second, you stared at the ceiling, waiting for the sound to stop.
But of course, it didn't.
The alarm continued to blare through the building in steady intervals, loud enough that you could feel the vibration through the walls.
By the time the second alarm sounded, you were already on your feet.
The apartment door across the hall opened with a loud bang. A moment later, voices drifted in from the corridor. Someone asked if this was another maintenance test. Someone else sounded annoyed enough to ignore it entirely.
You set your coffee down and crossed the apartment toward the front door. The moment you opened it, the faint smell of smoke hit you.
Not strong, not overwhelming.
But unmistakable.
Your stomach tightened. Ah shit, it’s serious.
That was enough to make the decision for you.
You stepped back inside, immediately reaching for your phone, wallet, keys, and the backpack hanging near the entrance. The movements felt automatic, driven by the same instincts that had carried you through countless emergencies at work.
Within two minutes, you were locking your apartment door behind you and making your way toward the stairwell with dozens of other residents.
The atmosphere remained surprisingly calm, and most people looked irritated more than concerned. And yet, the smell of smoke grew stronger with each floor you descended.
By the time you reached the ground floor and stepped outside, several residents had already gathered in the parking lot.
You turned back toward the building, and only then did you notice the thin stream of dark smoke escaping from one of the upper-floor windows.
“Oh dear, that looks bad.” Your neighbour, Martha, says. She had managed to find you in the sea of people.
You look to your side, to her. “Yeah. I’m hoping everyone’s alright.” You respond.
By the time the fire department arrived on scene, a crowd had already formed outside the apartment complex.
Johnny barely spared them a glance as the truck rolled to a stop, though. His attention was fixed on the building. From a distance, the smoke had looked relatively contained. Up close, it was a different story.
Dark smoke pushed from multiple windows near the center of the structure, thick enough to obscure portions of the upper floors. Every few seconds, fresh plumes poured from the building as if something inside was feeding the fire faster than it could burn through.
"Shit," someone muttered beside him.
Johnny silently agreed.
The moment the emergency vehicle stopped moving, the crew sprang into action. Orders were exchanged, equipment was unloaded, and hose lines were stretched across the pavement. Within moments, the organized chaos that accompanied every structure fire had settled over the scene.
A battalion chief was already speaking with building management.
Police officers worked to keep residents away from the entrance.
Paramedics established a treatment area for anyone suffering from smoke exposure.
Okay, here we go, he thinks. Johnny grabbed his gear and headed toward the command post to receive his assignment.
As he approached, fragments of conversation reached him. Apparently, the fire had originated in one of the lower-floor units, but it had spread beyond the apartment itself. There was concern that flames had extended into wall voids and utility spaces, and that immediately complicated everything.
Apartment fires were difficult enough when the fire remained confined to a single unit. Once flames found their way into the spaces between walls, they could travel through a building without anyone realizing how far they'd gone.
Which meant what looked manageable from the outside often wasn't.
The next hour passed in a blur of heat, smoke, and shouted communication.
Johnny's crew was assigned to assist with interior operations. The work was exhausting even by firefighter standards. Every movement felt heavier beneath layers of protective gear, and the air inside the building remained thick despite the ventilation efforts underway.
At one point, they helped escort an elderly resident down several flights of stairs after she refused to leave without her cat. Later, they were redirected to assist another crew investigating smoke that had begun seeping into apartments far from the original unit.
None of it was unusual.
By the time Johnny emerged from the building again, sweat clung uncomfortably to the back of his neck and his shoulders ached from carrying equipment up and down stairwells.
He pulled off one glove and accepted a bottle of water from another firefighter before making his way toward the command area for an update.
That was when his attention drifted toward the evacuation zone.
At first, he didn't think anything of it, just another resident standing among the crowd. Then the woman turned slightly, and his brain took a second to catch up.
A second after that, his stomach nearly dropped into his boots.
There was absolutely no way.
For a moment, he simply stared. Out of all the apartment buildings in the city, all the fires he could have responded to. The sight of you sent a jolt of alarm through him before he could think twice about it.
Were you hurt?
Had you been inside when the fire started?
Had you inhaled smoke?
You looked upright, alert, and uninjured, at least from where he was standing. But that did little to settle the sudden knot of concern tightening in his chest.
Your attention remained fixed on the building, completely unaware that he had spotted you.
Before he could stop himself, his feet were already moving.
He wove through the crowd gathered near the edge of the parking lot, barely registering the conversations around him. Your expression was focused in the way he had seen dozens of times inside the emergency department, as if you were mentally assessing the situation rather than simply witnessing it.
Then you turned your head. The second your eyes landed on him, surprise flickered across your face.
"Johnny?"
He called out your name and stopped in front of you, gaze moving quickly over your face and shoulders as though searching for injuries. "Are you alright?"
You blinked. The question came so quickly that it seemed to catch you off guard. "Yeah," you said. "I'm fine."
Johnny frowned. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Only then did he seem to realize he was still staring. A faint flush crept up the back of his neck. He cleared his throat and took a small step back, trying to recover whatever professionalism he'd abandoned during his walk across the parking lot.
"I just..." He glanced toward the building. "I saw you standing out here and figured you lived in one of the units."
"I do."
The answer was simple enough, but something about hearing it made his stomach sink.
"You got out okay?"
You nodded.
"Good." The response came immediately.
Too immediately, as though he'd been holding his breath waiting to hear it.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the scene filled the silence instead. The hiss of water lines being charged, shouted instructions from firefighters, the distant wail of another arriving vehicle. Johnny looked over his shoulder toward the building.
His expression changed slightly, and you noticed it right away. "How bad is it?"
His gaze returned to yours. For a second, he seemed to debate whether he should answer honestly.
That was an answer enough.
Your stomach tightened, and he exhaled slowly.
"It's not great."
You followed his line of sight toward the smoke pouring from the upper floors. The longer the operation continued, the more chaotic the evacuation area became. Suddenly, raised voices cut through the crowd, and several people turned at once.
Near the curb, a man in his sixties slumped heavily against a parked vehicle. At first, it looked as though he had simply sat down.
Then his knees buckled.
Your body reacted before your brain did, and you were already moving by the time someone shouted for a medic. Before you could reach him, the man hit the pavement hard. A small crowd immediately began forming around him.
"Give him space," you called as you pushed forward.
The smell of smoke still clung to his clothing, and his breathing… it sounded wrong. Shallow.
A firefighter dropped to one knee beside him. Johnny.
His eyes widened briefly when he recognized you, but you barely noticed, your attention remained fixed on the patient.
"Sir? Can you hear me?"
The man's eyelids fluttered. Okay, so not fully unconscious. Good.
A paramedic arrived moments later, carrying equipment. "We've got two ambulances already transporting," she said quickly as she knelt beside you. "Can you help me out?"
You nodded immediately, and the paramedic began attaching monitoring equipment while you performed a rapid assessment. The patient's skin looked pale beneath the soot staining his face. His pulse was fast, and his breathing remained concerning.
"Smoke inhalation?" you asked.
"Most likely."
The man suddenly started coughing. A harsh, painful sound.
Johnny shifted closer, looking between the both of you. "What do you need?"
"High-flow oxygen." You both answered. Without hesitation, Johnny reached for the equipment beside him.
Within minutes, the patient was receiving oxygen, but his condition still wasn't improving as quickly as you would've liked. The paramedic looked toward the ambulance staging area and swore quietly. Every available transport unit was occupied, and one of the ambulances hadn't even returned from its previous trip yet.
"We need him evaluated at the hospital."
"He needs a blood gas and respiratory assessment," you agreed.
The paramedic looked between you and Johnny, then an idea seemed to occur to her. "You work at Manhattan General, right?"
You nodded.
She turned to Johnny. "Can you drive?"
Johnny stared at her. "That's your question?"
"Can you drive without hitting anybody?"
"Much better."
The paramedic pointed toward the patient. "Good. Because I need this man in an emergency department now, and you're currently the fastest option I've got."
Johnny looked at you, and you looked back at him. For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then he shrugged. “Well. This is certainly a first."
The drive to Manhattan General Hospital was surprisingly uneventful. Fortunately, the patient remained conscious for most of the trip. You stayed beside him in the back seat, monitoring his breathing and doing your best to keep him talking while Johnny navigated traffic.
The arrangement felt absurd. A firefighter driving, an emergency room nurse riding in the back, and a smoke inhalation patient occupying the rear seat of what was very obviously not an ambulance.
If anyone asked, you were never admitting this had happened.
By the time the hospital came into view, you were already mentally preparing the report you would give upon arrival. The familiar sight of the emergency department entrance stirred something automatic in your brain.
Johnny pulled to a stop near the ambulance entrance. Before the vehicle had fully settled, you were reaching for the door handle.
"Easy there," Johnny said.
You shot him a look. "Unlike you, some of us spend enough time here to navigate it with our eyes closed."
Johnny scoffed. "I've been here hundreds of times."
"Yeah, but you still have to ask for directions every now and then."
"Only occasionally."
"Sure."
He shook his head. "Alright, that's fair."
The two of you helped the patient inside, and the moment the automatic doors slid open, the controlled chaos of the emergency department washed over you. A nurse glanced up from the triage desk.
Then did a double take. "...Why are you here?"
You didn't slow down. “Long story."
"You're not scheduled."
"Still a long story."
A few heads turned as you passed. Apparently showing up unexpectedly with soot on your clothes was enough to attract attention.
The patient was quickly transferred onto a hospital stretcher, and you immediately slipped back into work mode.
"Male, I would say in his sixties? Smoke exposure from a residential structure fire. Progressive respiratory distress on scene, and oxygen administered prior to transport, but his condition deteriorated during observation."
The receiving physician nodded.
Questions followed, but as always, you answered them automatically.
By the time the report was finished, several members of the emergency department were staring at you with varying levels of concern.
One of your coworkers finally crossed her arms.
"Why are you covered in ash?"
You blinked. Right, the fire. "Apartment building fire," you admitted.
The room fell silent. "Excuse me?" someone asked. "You live there?" another asked.
"Unfortunately."
Several people immediately started talking at once.
Were you okay?
Did you get hurt?
Had you lost anything?
You suddenly regretted saying anything.
One of the nurses pointed toward a chair. "Sit down."
"I'm fine."
"Sit."
"I'm literally helping."
"You are literally homeless."
Johnny snorts at that, and you give him a glare. He looks away right after, lips still quirking up.
Eventually, the nurses on the clock dispersed, having to do their jobs anyway. You look up at Johnny. “Hey, you.”
He smiled. “Hello to you too.”
“Thanks for driving us here. You should probably go back now, they need you.” You stand up, crossing your arms.
He hums. “Yeah. Good work with the patient. That was some quick action.” He says, his voice soft. “Does he need anything else?”
You shake your head. “Nope, he’s in good hands. I’ll probably stay here, watch over him for a bit. Nothing much I can do anyway.”
Johnny nods. Then, “Do you need anything?”
“Nah, not for now, no. But I appreciate the offer. I’ll see you around then?” You ask, hopeful.
“Of course.” He nods, and starts to leave. He gives you a tiny wave, and you give him one back. You watch as he drives off, and you let out a deep sigh.
“Who was that?” Someone suddenly says beside you—Kathy, another doctor who you were particularly close to.
You startle at the sudden voice. “Christ, Kathy! Stop doing that. He’s no one.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Well, this no one is particularly handsome.”
She waits for your reaction. Then, not being able to hold it, your lips quirk up.
“Ha! I knew it! What’s his name?” She holds you by your shoulders.
“Don’t you have work to do?” You scold, but still smiling.
“Ugh! You’re no fun!”
It wasn’t until nearly two hours into the operation that things began to shift from urgent to uncertain.
The fire itself was still active, but contained enough that the chief was finally able to start thinking beyond suppression and toward damage assessment. That was usually the point where the scene stopped feeling like controlled chaos and started feeling like a long, exhausting problem.
Johnny had just finished rotating out a hose line when one of the lieutenants approached him near the apparatus. “Hey,” the man said, lowering his voice slightly. “You’re the one who brought that patient in earlier, right?”
Johnny frowned, wiping soot from his forearm with the back of his glove. “Yeah.”
“There’s been an update on the residents from the fourth floor. Building management just confirmed structural compromise in the eastern units. Water damage, electrical failure—whole section’s going to be offline for a while.”
Johnny’s attention sharpened immediately, though he didn’t fully know why at first.
The lieutenant continued.
“They’re not clearing the building for re-entry. Not today, and probably not for the next week or two. The Red Cross is getting involved for temporary housing.”
That landed differently. “A week or two,” he repeated quietly.
“Best case,” the lieutenant said. “Worst case, longer.”
Johnny nodded once, though his mind had already drifted. Because in his head, that wasn’t a building update anymore.
It was you.
“Hey, uh, mind if I drive back to the hospital for a bit? Just ten, fifteen minutes? I think I forgot something.” Johnny asks.
The lieutenant looked confused at that, but he looked around, then back at Johnny. “Yeah, we’re alright here for now. Just make sure you come back as soon as possible.”
Johnny nods, and he rushes to drive to Manhattan General Hospital.
By the time he reached you, you were speaking with a patient, your backpack now sitting on the ground beside your feet. You looked tired in a way you hadn’t earlier. Less sharp, more human around the edges, but still very much upright.
When you noticed him approaching, your expression shifted slightly. You frowned. “What are you doing back here? Does anyone else need help?” you said.
“No, no, everyone’s okay for now.” He reassures you. “I just… um…”
There was a pause, brief but loaded with everything neither of you had said since the fire started.
Johnny glanced toward the patient, then back at you. “Mind if I talk to you in private for a second?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” You respond, giving the patient a brief goodbye before walking to a more secluded area of the room.
“They’re saying you might not be able to go back in for a while,” he starts.
You exhaled slowly, like you already knew where this was going. “Yeah, I figured.”
“And you’ve got somewhere to stay?” It came out more direct than he intended.
You blinked at him, then gave a small, humorless laugh. “Not really. I’ve got… a backpack and a very strong desire for this to be temporary.”
That should have made it lighter.
It didn’t.
Johnny looked away for a second, jaw tightening as he considered the situation in a way that had nothing to do with firefighting. “You can stay at mine,” he said.
The words came out clean. Immediate, and absolutely no hesitation. Like he’d already decided without telling himself.
You stared at him. “…What?”
“My place,” he repeated, more carefully this time, as if that would make it less insane. “It’s close to the hospital. You’ve got work, and I’ve got a couch. Spare room, technically, but I’ve never used it for anything other than storage.”
That last part sounded like an attempt at credibility. It didn’t help much.
“You don’t have to do that,” you said slowly.
“I know.”
Another pause. Around you, the scene kept moving, but between the two of you, everything had narrowed.
Johnny shifted his weight slightly, suddenly aware of how this sounded and unable to find a version of it that didn’t sound like too much.
“It’s not… I’m not—” he started, then stopped, clearly frustrated with his own sentence. “You don’t have anywhere else right now. And I’m not letting you sleep in a hotel alone for two weeks after your building burned down.”
You studied him for a moment, weighing your options. There was no teasing grin. No easy confidence. No hint that he was offering because he felt obligated or because he thought it was the right thing to do.
He looked genuinely concerned for you. And somehow, that made this infinitely more dangerous.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. You'd spent months convincing yourself that whatever existed between the two of you was harmless. Nothing either of you would ever act on.
Then your expression softened just slightly.
“You realize this is a terrible idea. We might not be compatible living with each other and you might hate me forever,” you said, with a smile threatening to form on your face.
Johnny gave a short exhale that might have been a laugh. “Yeah.”
“And you’re still offering.”
“Yeah.” His gaze held yours for a second longer than necessary.
Then, almost reluctantly, you nodded. “Okay,” you said softly. “Just for a little while.”
For the briefest moment, something flickered across Johnny's face. Relief.
Maybe even happiness.
It disappeared almost immediately, replaced by an expression that was far more casual than you suspected he actually felt. Inside, he was far from casual. Neither of you could quite ignore the way your pulse had suddenly become much harder to explain.
Okay, holy shit, this is real. She’s moving into my place—we don’t even know each other that well yet. Maybe this was a bad idea? No, no, it’s not. I get to spend time with her! This is amazing. We’ll get to know each other, and—
“Johnny?” You ask, confused by his sudden blank stare.
“Huh?” He snapped out of his trance. “Yes?”
“You okay?” You furrow your brows in concern.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” Johnny nods reassuringly, and he holds a hand out to you. “Do you have your phone? Mine’s somewhere in the car. I can text you details, and we’ll talk about it.” He shrugs, offering.
You reach into your bag and hand it over to him. He types his number in your phone, and texts himself something silly. He gives it back to you, smiling.
“I, uh… I look forward to it.” You say, and you internally cringe. Look forward to it? What is this, a date?
He smiles sheepishly, exhaling. “Yeah, yeah, me too. I’ll see you later then.”
You nod. “Mhm. Get back safely.”
You both pretty much worked it out seamlessly. There was a list of instructions, a rough time estimate, and a shared understanding that neither of you needed to overcomplicate what was already complicated enough. Johnny told you his address. You told him how long it would take you to get what you needed. Neither of you questioned the arrangement again.
It should have felt strange. But it didn’t, not in the way either of you expected.
When you finally left the apartment building, it was with a small list of essentials and a tired sense of detachment that came from functioning too long on instinct alone. You moved quickly through the familiar process of retrieving what you could, like medications and toiletries, half of your wardrobe, your laptop, and your work bag that you had apparently left half-open on your counter in your rush to leave that morning.
The apartment itself looked almost unchanged at first glance.
But the smell had already begun to creep in through the hallway, faint but unmistakable, and the sound of distant movement from below reminded you that whatever normal had existed here earlier in the day was no longer available to you.
When you came back down, Johnny was already there.
He had changed out of some of his gear, and he looks… different, this way. You can’t really pin point on what, but one thing’s for sure, he looks equally as handsome as when you saw him for the first time. Or maybe even more handsome, you dare to think.
“You got everything you needed?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said. “Enough.”
That seemed to be sufficient.
He held out his hand, and you looked at him confused.
“Your bag.” He says. Ever the gentleman.
“Oh. You sure?” You ask.
He rolls his eyes, smiling, hand still out. “Yes, I’m sure. Just give it to me.”
You eventually hand it over to him, and he carries it like nothing. Damn firefighters.
The drive to his place was quieter than the earlier trip to the hospital, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came from two people who were both still mentally catching up to what had already happened.
Occasionally, Johnny would glance at you, as if checking something he could not quite articulate. Each time, you caught it once or twice before he looked away again.
Neither of you commented on it.
By the time he parked, the sun had shifted lower in the sky, and the events of the day felt both recent and strangely distant.
Johnny got out first, walked around the car, and opened your door before you could reach for it yourself.
You looked up at it, then back at him. The building definitely had some questionable design choices.
“Wow.”
Johnny immediately narrowed his eyes. “That sounded sarcastic.”
“It wasn't.”
“It absolutely was.”
“I said one word.”
Johnny pointed toward the building. “For the record, it's a perfectly respectable apartment.”
“Mhm.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That tone.”
“I don't have a tone.”
“You do.”
“I just got displaced by a fire, Johnny. Maybe I'm emotionally fragile.”
“Convenient excuse.”
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “Okay, fine. It's nice.”
His expression brightened immediately. Then, he added, “You can crash here as long as you need.”
As long as you need.
Not forever, not anything bigger than it had to be.
Just enough room for what this was.
The first hour in Johnny’s apartment passed in a blur of half-unpacking and quiet reassessment.
The building itself was nicer than you had expected.
Not extravagant, but comfortable. The lobby had actual plants that somehow looked alive, and the elevator didn't make any concerning noises on the way up, which already put it ahead of several apartment buildings you'd lived in.
When Johnny unlocked the door and stepped aside to let you in first, you hesitated for a moment before crossing the threshold. You weren't entirely sure what you had expected.
It was cleaner than you had expected.
Not spotless, exactly, but lived-in in a way that suggested someone who functioned on practicality more than decoration. A couch that had clearly been used for naps rather than guests, then to your right, a stack of mail that had been pushed into a corner rather than ignored completely. And when you walked further inside, there was a kitchen that looked like it had been designed for survival rather than enjoyment.
Your eyes drifted around the room.
There were framed photos on a shelf, a few trophies tucked away near a bookcase. Then, a blanket thrown haphazardly over one arm of the couch that looked suspiciously well-loved. You smiled at the sight.
It felt like him.
Comfortable, slightly disorganized, and somehow welcoming despite making absolutely no effort to be.
Johnny hovered awkwardly near the doorway while you looked around.
"So?" he asked.
You glanced back at him.
"So what?"
"So, is it terrible?"
You stared. "Johnny."
"What?"
"You live in a building with functioning elevators."
"That's not an answer."
“It's already nicer than my apartment."
His expression brightened immediately. "Really?"
"No."
The smile vanished.
You laughed.
The offended look he gave you was immediate. "Wow."
"I'm kidding."
"You sounded sincere." He scoffs. “Maybe I should take a look at your apartment and judge for myself.”
You smile at that. “Hmm, maybe. Once all this blows over. I’ll give you a tour.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged and continued your inspection.
The living room flowed into the kitchen, which contained exactly what you expected from a man who worked long shifts and survived primarily on convenience.
You opened one cabinet.
Instant noodles.
Another.
Protein bars.
A third.
Oh. More protein bars! And protein… powder?
You slowly turned toward him.
Johnny immediately pointed a finger. "Don't judge me."
"I opened three cabinets."
"Yes."
"And two of them are protein bars."
"They were on sale."
"Johnny."
"They were really on sale."
You shook your head, laughing. “If I get scurvy while living here, I'm suing you."
"That's not how scurvy works."
"You don't know that."
"I absolutely know that."
The conversation dissolved into quiet laughter, and some of the tension you'd both been carrying since the fire eased just slightly.
Johnny gave you space without making a point of it. He showed you where things were, like the bathroom, the spare room, the thermostat that he clearly had opinions about, and then drifted back toward the kitchen as if trying not to hover.
“You can take the room,” he said at one point, nodding toward a door down the hallway. “It’s not much, but the bed’s clean. I changed the sheets last month.”
“Last month,” you repeated.
He shrugged. “It’s usually just storage.”
That explained the slightly chaotic pile of boxes in the corner of the room when you stepped inside. Nothing urgent. Just things that didn’t belong anywhere else yet.
You set your bag down carefully, suddenly aware of how little of your life you had managed to carry with you. Clothes, a few essentials. A version of yourself reduced to what could fit in an emergency evacuation.
You were halfway through walking out of the room when your body betrayed you slightly.
It wasn’t dramatic, just a subtle shift in balance, a delayed reaction catching up with everything you had been running on since the alarm went off that morning. The exhaustion hit you all at once, like your system had finally decided it was done compensating.
Your hand reached for the doorframe without you fully registering it.
Johnny noticed immediately.
He moved before you could properly correct yourself, one hand coming up instinctively to steady your arm.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You blinked, briefly disoriented. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
The contact should have been nothing. Brief, practical. Something that happened between people all the time without meaning anything beyond balance and physics.
But he didn’t let go right away.
Not immediately.
His grip was careful, steady in a way that felt more intentional than necessary, like he was making sure you were actually grounded before he trusted you to stand on your own again.
You became very aware of the fact that he was close. Close enough that the heat from him cut through the tired chill that had settled into your bones.
“I’ve got you,” he said after a beat, like it had come out automatically.
You looked up at him then.
His expression had shifted. Less distracted now, less caught between places. Focused in a way that wasn’t about the fire anymore.
Just you.
“I’m okay,” you said again, softer this time.
He nodded once, but didn’t immediately move away. For a second, neither of you did. Holding you felt… natural, like there was no question behind it.
Then, as if realizing it at the same time you did, Johnny slowly released your arm.
“Right,” he said, clearing his throat slightly. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I know,” he replied, giving you a small smile.
You hesitated, then glanced toward the room again. “I think I’m just going to—”
“Yeah,” he said immediately. Then, after a pause, softer: “Go rest.”
You nodded. This time when you stepped away, nothing stopped you.
But as you closed the door behind you, you could still feel the place where his hand had been on your arm, like your body had bothered to remember it longer than your mind had intended to.
additional notes: anddd that's it for chapter one folks! i had a fun time writing this au. chapter two definitely has more romantic/domestic moments, so stay tuned for it! it might be released sometime this week? i'm a bit busy at the moment, but i do enjoy writing these to kind of wind down in between.
also, please comment if you'd like to be tagged in the next one!
Johnny Storm never lets you lift a finger… Masterlist
You didn’t even notice it at first.
On the very first date, he brought you flowers. You tried to reach for them after you put your coat on, but he grabbed them before you could without saying a word.
And on the way home he had the flowers tucked under his arm and the doggy bag with your left overs in his hand, the other one holding yours firmly.
Then he tagged along on your shopping trip a few weeks later, you didn’t hold a single thing, not even your purse.
You thought it was just the honeymoon phase, but months of shopping trips and dates, you never carried a thing.
When you went on coffee dates, he wouldn’t even let you hold that. He carried it to your next destination. Or leaned it towards you if you wanted a sip.
It didn’t even dawn on you until you had been dating for a year. You reached to grab your purse after dinner and Johnny grabbed it first.
“As long as you have me you won’t lift a finger baby,” he said smoothly, extending his other hand for you to hold as you left the restaurant.
Everything he said made you blush, another thing that never changed.
Then, it came time to move out of your studio and he insisted on handling it with Ben.
Hell, he basically unpacked for you too. Then he made sure all your furniture was put together and all your pictures were hung while you went to work the next day.
When you went on your regularly scheduled museum date you had your coat over your arms as you walked around. The MET was always your favorite date spot with him.
You’re not even sure if he liked it, but he loved you, so he didn’t mind one bit.
He pulled your coat from your arms and put it over his so that he was holding them both.
“Johnny, I can hold it,” you said in a hushed tone.
He shook his head, “I got it. Keep looking baby.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Your friends noticed it too.
“God you really spoil her,” your friend said as Johnny kept his hand around your waist at the bar. He slid his card in front of you so that you could order everyone drinks. Your purse was in his shoulder and your jackets was in his other arm.
Before you could respond, he did, “as if she doesn’t deserve it?”
She didn’t mean anything by it, just an observation, but he was rather insulted at the insinuation that you deserved anything less than princess treatment.
You were more than capable of doing these things on your own. You had a job, you had your own money, but god it felt good to be cared for.
“You do everything for me without even being asked,” you said as he unpacked the groceries after carrying them up three flights of stairs.
He stopped what he was doing, “is that… a problem?”
You shook your head, “no. Guess I’ve never met a guy I didn’t have to nag.”
He huffed a laugh and shrugged, reaching into the grocery bag to continue what he was doing, “I just like making your life a little easier, making you happier. I honestly don’t even think about it. I just do it.”
He wasn’t even looking at you, he was organizing the cabinets, you could’ve exploded. How did you stumble upon the best man in the world?
Johnny spending the night with you • fluff, he’s a big dork
Johnny loves space, Johnny loves you!!
you had just finished brushing your teeth, your nightgown swaying as you stepped out of the bathroom when you looked up and nearly gasped
“Johnny!” you beamed, pausing in the doorway of your bedroom
there he was leaning casually against your vanity, a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder, like he’d just walked in from the city. he looked so out of place yet perfectly right. black slacks, white tee clinging to his chest, his hair slightly tousled
without a second thought, you walked right up to him, throwing your arms around his waist. your cheek pressed into his chest as you breathed him in. your voice was muffled slightly when you asked “What are you doing here?”
his arm wrapped around your waist “Thought I’d spend the night” he said simply, his voice a little low. a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips
you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes wide with surprise. full nights with Johnny were usually rare, quick kisses and short goodbyes at the window. but this? a duffel bag meant he planned it
“Really?”
he gave a single nod. “Yeah baby. brought everything”
you smiled so wide your cheeks ached. your hands slid up his chest as you tiptoed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, lips warm against his skin. just as you pulled away, the strap of your nightgown slipped down your shoulder. Johnny’s hand caught it without even looking as he gently placed it back in place. his eyes stayed on your face, that doting little smirk on his lips like you were the only thing he ever wanted to look at
“Go on” he said “Head to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”
you nodded instantly, smile still glued to your face as you turned toward the bed. your knees made soft dents in the mattress as you climbed onto it, the frills of your nightgown rising a little as you curled up on your side, watching as Johnny set his bag down and knelt beside it, fingers tugging the zipper open with a soft zzzip. you watched from your cozy perch on the bed, chin propped up on your hand. he pulled out a folded pair of soft pajama pants, dark blue ones, probably stolen straight from the baxter building laundry rotation and a plain gray tee, which he tossed aside
without much thought, he took off the white tee he’d worn over, revealing the lean, muscles of his chest and stomach. you gasped, instantly covering your eyes with both hands, though your fingers stayed just a little parted for a peek
“Johnny!” you squeaked
he laughed. “What? you act like you’ve never seen it before” he teased, tugging on his pajama pants as he stood there in the soft glow of your bedside lamp
“I haven’t in my room like this” you said flustered, peeking out from behind your hands. he just gave you a look
and soon enough, he flopped into the bed beside you with a long sigh, the mattress dipping with his weight. his skin was still a little cool from the night air, but he radiated that heat that only Johnny Storm could. he instantly reached over and wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you gently toward him. your cheek landed against his bare chest, and you nuzzled closer
for a while, it was just quiet. his fingers tracing circles into your back through your nightgown
then he spoke
“You know…” he murmured, voice softer now. you shifted just a bit to glance up at him, resting your chin on his chest. his blue eyes were on the ceiling, that faraway look in them
“I will dedicate the rest of my life to looking up at the stars” he said quietly “Every time I see ‘em I feel… small but like I matter. you know? like they remember me. like they’re up there waitin’.”
you didn’t say anything right away. just listened, because you knew how rare it was for him to speak like this, not as the human torch, not as a superhero but as Johnny. just Johnny.
you hummed softly, letting your hand move across his chest, drawing invisible shapes there. “They probably do remember you” you said dreamily “You were up there once.“
he smiled faintly at that “Yeah… but sometimes I think the stars weren’t the most beautiful thing I saw up there.”
your brows lifted, but you didn’t ask. he looked down at you, faint smile still on his lips, and brushed his knuckles along your cheek. you didn’t know if he meant you. but the way his heart beat beneath your cheek, it felt like he did.
Johnny’s voice drifted low and full of awe as he kept talking about space, little facts he probably didn’t even realize he’d memorized. “Did you know Jupiter’s moon might have a whole ocean beneath its icy surface?” he murmured, fingertips tracing lazy patterns over your arm. “An ocean just… hidden under miles of ice. can you imagine what’s living in there?”
you shook your head slowly, eyes closed, your cheek still resting on his chest
“and saturn’s rings?” he continued, eyes lit with childlike excitement “They’re mostly made of ice. just tiny frozen fragments spinning around at like thousands of miles per hour. but they look soft, like you could fall into ‘em.”
he raised his hands slightly, gesturing as he spoke, like trying to draw it out for you in the air. “And stars? they’re not all white or yellow like we see ‘em. some burn blue, really hot and some are red giants, burning out slow.”
you didn’t understand everything he was saying. not really. but you didn’t need to. you heard it in his voice how alive he felt talking about the stars, how much wonder lived inside him when he thought of the universe. it made space seem less cold, less terrifying, not empty, but endless
“And there’s just so much to discover still” he said finally, hands coming back down to wrap around you
you tilted your head a little, chin on his chest, voice quiet “Johnny… if you could… would you go back?”
his answer was almost immediate “Yeah.” he nodded once “Yeah, I would.”
you nodded too, slowly. you knew that. you’d always known. the stars had called him once and probably always would
but there was no jealousy in you, no fear of being left behind because you understood now. space was part of him, it wasn’t a threat, it was just a dream he hadn’t finished chasing
“I hope you do” you said softly and sincerely, your fingers curling around his side
he looked down at you, something flickering in his eyes. gratitude. that you didn’t ask him to stay put, that you let him dream
“You’ll be here when I get back, right?” he asked, brushing your hair back behind your ear
“Always” you whispered, smiling up at him
you didn’t know when he’d leave. or if that day would ever come… but if it did, if the stars called him back you knew you’d be there, waiting. always
and lying in his arms, with the soft cotton of his pajama pants brushing your bare leg, his warmth all around, you felt safe, and cherished.
Johnny looked down at you, brushing his lips against your forehead “We exist under the same stars, you know” he said softly
and then he started talking again quiet, dreamy words tumbling out of him in the kind of ramble only you ever got to hear
“You’re my whole world” he murmured “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. and I’ve seen a supernova. but it doesn’t even touch you.”
his hand found yours beneath the covers, his thumb gently brushing your knuckles
“Sometimes I think loving you feels like flyin’ through space. just floating, endless. like the universe itself” he paused, glancing down at you
you were so still, curled into him, your breathing soft and steady. he smiled faintly, pressing another kiss to your temple
“I love you” he whispered
but you didn’t answer. somewhere along the way, in that sweet lull of his voice, talking about stars, and you, and everything in between, you’d fallen asleep. safe in his arms, your fingers still curled loosely around his
he chuckled softly under his breath “of course you’d fall asleep on my big romantic moment.”
he said it full of adoration. the kind that filled up his chest so full it almost hurt
you didn’t need to say it back but he knew.
because you were the only thing in the universe he looked at the way he looked at the stars. and maybe that was the most romantic thing of all.
you, his girl, were dreaming sweet and warm beside him. dreaming of galaxies maybe, of moons and planets and love
Johnny held you tighter, his cheek resting on your hair as he whispered one last thing
“I’ll bring you the stars baby. all of ‘em. just say the word.”
Summary: Headcanons on dating Johnny Storm
a/n: thanks for the science fact, James Webb Discovery
🩵| He's still flirty far after you get into the relationship, like it doesn't even die down. Over the top gasps when you show him your date night outfits, good morning / good night texts, and showering you with compliments purely because he thinks you're beautiful. One moment that stuck in your memory was when you were pre-shower, wearing stained pajamas, and a silly animal skincare mask, only to turn around and find him looking at you like you were the sun itself
🩵| One time, after he went on a space trip, he had managed to annoy convince Reed to let him name a constellation they had found. He named it after you, not even something that resembled your name or a nickname, your full name. He was so giddy to tell you about it. The first night after they got back and finalized the name, he flew up into the sky and made a smoke circle around it and wrote 'for my favorite girl'
🩵| You two absolutely have favorite looks of each other
His is when you're wearing his clothes instead of your own, specifically when it's the morning after one of his fancy parties and you're in one of the few button-up shirts he owned and shorts. It gives him butterflies
Yours is when he's in his casual clothes, in one of his ridiculously tight t-shirts and baggy grey sweatpants, it just does something, you know
🩵| Science rambles, all the time. He'll be pacing around your room or lying upside down on your shared bed, going on and on about how Cosmic Background Radiation is the faint glow of radiation that permeates the entire universe, a remnant from the explosive birth of the universe over 13.8 billion years ago. You would sit cross legged in his desk chair and nod along
🩵| You're his voice of reason/advice person. Almost every day, you can 100% guarantee that he'll call you with a question like, 'How many eggs get added to a soufflé again?' or 'I forgot, what sort of animal is a Koala?' And you always manage to have an answer, no matter how ridiculous of an inquiry it was
🩵| He loves to get you random little gifts, 'I saw this and thought of you' type of stuff. He would often return with a new pillow in a colour you like or a figurine of characters off of shows you enjoy. You couldn't count on all your fingers how many times he brought home 'just because' bouquets of your favorite flowers.
🩵| On your 3-year anniversary, he got you a beautiful locket necklace with a picture of the two of you inside. It was from one of your first dates, you had gone on a beach picnic. It had the two of you, sitting on a blanket, facing away from the camera. The sunset in front of you was pink and yellow and orange galore. When he gave it to you, he told you to close your eyes and he wrapped it around your neck, connecting it at the back
🩵| Whenever the Fantastic 4 are invited to bring a plus one to a fancy event, he'll always take you along. He enjoys seeing you all dressed up and will show you off, not in the 'haha she's just here for me to brag about' sense, but in the 'my girlfriend is so gorgeous, look at her!' sense. If he ever has to thank people in a speech, your first in line, asked about his latest accomplishment, something he's done for you, greatest achievement, managing to date you
🩵| If you ever get tired when walking around the city, he will pick you up bridal style and carry or fly you home. It doesn't matter how much you complain or state that you would be fine (which was clearly a lie). One thing about Johnny is that embarrassment isn't a word in his vocabulary, especially when it involves you
🩵| Sometimes, after a long night of superheroing, you have to drag him out of bed because he still has stuff to do. He'll just groan and grab you by your waist, pulling you back down to bed and trapping you there, not that you really mind. Next thing he knows, you're rolling over off the edge of the bed, taking him with you
Congratulations on the new 2000 followers milestone and accomplishment! This is so exciting!!! You’re so talented and I’m glad so many people see that 🫶🏾
Could you do the Orchid Spin the Wheel with Johnny Storm? Thank you 🥰
APOLLO’S GARDEN | JOIN MY 2K CELEBRATION
ORCHID — SPIN THE WHEEL ! (5 spaces left)
give me a character! i’ll spin a wheel with all prompts from my list and write a 100-200 word blurb with whatever it lands on!
prompt: ‘I brought you flowers’.
notes: gender neutral reader, implied past argument, angsty with happy ending [navigation].
He says it like it might fix everything, hovering in your doorway with an expression that is trying very hard to be casual and failing in a way that feels almost disarming.
“I brought you flowers.” The orchids look faintly ridiculous in his hands, too delicate for the way he usually moves through the world, and something in your chest tightens despite yourself.
You had meant to stay annoyed. It felt justified, something solid to hold onto after the careless comment he tossed out earlier, the kind that lingered longer for you than it ever would for him. That resolve falters now, softened by the quiet effort in front of you, by the way he is watching your face like he is waiting to be told whether he has got it right this time.
You take them slowly, fingers brushing his, and the contact feels warmer than it should. It is not forgiveness, not quite, but it is a shift, something loosening.
“You didn’t have to,” you say, though you already know he needed to.
“I know,” he replies, softer now. “I wanted to.”
ALL FICS: @ilocuras24 @the-annoying-fan
ALL MCU: @luniimunii27 @decadentreviewnight @lia-pitchiner @goldfishenthusiast67
i kinda hate how mainstream spideytorch has become, cuz why did i see a tiktok comment the other day saying "why are there no fics?" bitch what??? this ship has been around since the asteroid killed the dinosaurs wydm "theres no fics"
SUMMARY: Being best friends with Johnny Storm had always come naturally, maybe a little too naturally. Somewhere between late-night movies and whispered secrets, your feelings began to shift. But you kept them to yourself, tucking the crush away and convincing yourself that friendship was more than enough. So when Susan and Reed ask you to help Johnny watch Franklin, you agree without hesitation. What could go wrong?
WARNINGS: Contains minor Fantastic Four: First Steps Spoilers! Established friendship, eventual friends to lovers, cursing, oblivious idiots in love, fluff galore, flirty banter, Reed and Susan are unintentional matchmakers, domestic uncle!Johnny, slight angst, suggestiveness but no smut!
A/N: The way Johnny acted whenever he interacted with Franklin had to be one of my favorite parts of the entire movie! Men that are good with kids are just INCREDIBLY attractive. So this one-shot is purely self-indulgent! Hope we get more of them in the future!! Divider by @saradika-graphics <3
➩ main masterlist
➩ johnny storm masterlist
The Baxter Building had practically become your second home. Between late-night movie marathons, joining impromptu family dinners, and Susan’s gentle insistence that you never needed an invitation. It's safe to say you’d spent more time there than in your own apartment lately. The elevator doors gave a gentle chime before gliding open, revealing the sleek, interior of the Fantastic Four’s private floor.
H.E.R.B.I.E. zipped into view the moment you stepped out, whirring cheerfully with blinking lights and enthusiastic beeps that filled the hallway like confetti. You laughed and crouched down slightly, holding out your hand as the robot spun in a delighted little circle. “Hello, H.E.R.B.I.E., you miss me already?” You grinned, giving the top of his head an affectionate tap.
Before you could ask about the others, a familiar figure emerged from around the corner in a whirlwind of motion. Reed Richards looked like he'd just walked out of a scientific hurricane, shirt slightly wrinkled, tie askew, and hair in the kind of tousled state only existential stress could cause. “Oh, thank goodness.” He breathed, already halfway across the hall and closing the distance with long, purposeful strides.
In a rare show of affection, he wrapped you into a brief but firm hug, clinging like a man about to board a rocket. “Jeez, Reed,” You chuckled, stepping back as he released you. “Don’t you look thrilled for date night.” His expression twisted with half a smile and half a wince as he ran a hand down his face, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt like it was suffocating him. Behind him, H.E.R.B.I.E. let out a low, sympathetic beep.
Reed pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded a lot like a plea to the universe. “Johnny.” That was all you needed. One name, and the entire situation became crystal clear. Your best friend was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, and wherever he went, trouble wasn’t far behind, usually smiling, charming, and completely unapologetic.
Almost as if summoned by name, or more likely because he had been eavesdropping, Johnny Storm burst into the room like a one-man parade. “There’s my favorite girl!” He announced, arms already open wide. Before you could react, he was scooping you up in a familiar, dizzying spin, his laughter rumbling against your ear. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped you, the sound bubbling up like it always did around him, effortless, easy.
Only when he seemed satisfied with the display of affection did he finally set you back down, but even then, his hands lingered on your waist like he hadn’t quite decided to let you go. You didn't exactly mind. When the room stopped spinning, you looked up, and instantly regretted it. God, he looked good. Too good. A maroon bomber jacket was thrown over a white tee, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows with casual flair, displaying his veiny forearms that never failed to make your mouth water.
His blonde hair, annoyingly perfect as always, caught the light just enough to look sun-kissed, and those blue eyes sparkled with mischief, like he was already planning his next stunt. Behind him, Reed cleared his throat meaningfully. Johnny glanced over his shoulder with a grin that was all innocence and zero guilt, as if he hadn’t just been encouraging a toddler to weaponize household objects moments prior.
“Causing trouble already?” You asked, folding your arms with mock sternness and one raised brow. “Me? Never.” He winked, oozing charm, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him completely. At last, his hands dropped from your waist, and even that small absence left your skin tingling. You tried to focus as he dashed off, already on a mission to corral the minefield of toys strewn across the living room floor.
You watched as he picked up a stuffed alien by one leg, then a miniature drum, and then immediately dropped both to make a siren noise with a plastic fire truck. Unsurprisingly, the room was destined to be chaos again the moment Franklin reentered it, but Johnny was at least pretending to tidy up, which was worth something. “How do you deal with him?” Reed asked, sounding as exhausted as he looked.
He stood there taking in the sight of his brother-in-law playing with his son's toys, rubbing at his temple with the air of a man who knew he’d never truly be free of the chaos. You offered a shrug, casual but fond. “Years of practice. He grows on you, eventually.” You didn’t even have to look to know Johnny had heard you. A dramatic gasp echoed behind you, followed by the sound of him stumbling backward as if wounded.
“Hey! I can hear you!” He cried, one hand over his heart like you’d mortally offended him. Grinning, you stuck your tongue out at him like the mature adult that you were. Before Johnny could retaliate, probably with a pillow launched in your direction or another lecture about how everyone secretly loved him, a small blur shot around the corner like a pint-sized comet.
“Y/N!” You turned just in time, crouching down with open arms as Franklin launched himself at you. His tiny body slammed into your chest, and you caught him easily, steadying the both of you with a laugh. “Whoa, careful there, sweetheart.” You chuckled, pulling him in tight. His little hands curled around your neck as if he hadn't seen you in years, and you pressed your face into his soft hair.
“My goodness,” You whispered, leaning back to take a better look at him. “You have got to stop growing.” You showered his chubby cheeks in kisses, laughing as he giggled uncontrollably, little legs kicking in excitement. The sound lit something up in you, pure, uncomplicated joy, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded out. All that mattered was the warmth of Franklin’s hug and the sound of his happiness echoing off the walls.
Which is why, you didn’t notice Johnny had stopped moving. Across the room, he stood frozen mid-step, a toy truck dangling forgotten from one hand. His usual smirk had softened into something quieter, eyes fixed on you and Franklin like he was watching a dream he hadn’t dared name. There was something in his expression, something fond, unguarded, maybe even a little stunned. For once, Johnny Storm was speechless.
“Y/N, hello darling.” Susan’s voice broke through the chorus of giggles still echoing in the room. You glanced up to find her walking in with effortless grace, powder blue dress nipped at the waist, pearl earrings, blonde hair pinned up in soft curls. Even when wrangling genius husbands and precocious toddlers, Susan Storm somehow made it look easy. You shifted Franklin on your hip, his arms still looped loosely around your neck as you rose to greet her.
“Hi, Sue, you look gorgeous.” You grinned, wrapping one arm around her in a warm hug. “Thank you.” She returned the smile, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand with that calm, nurturing energy only she could exude. Her gaze drifted to Franklin, then flicked briefly toward Johnny, who was now pretending to inspect the bookshelf but had clearly not stopped watching you since you walked in.
A knowing glimmer sparkled in her eyes, but she let it pass with only a subtle lift of her brow. “Are you sure this isn’t an inconvenience?” She asked gently, though the hesitation in her voice told you she already felt guilty. “I know watching a toddler on a Friday night isn’t exactly ideal.” You scoffed before she could finish the thought, pulling Franklin a little closer. His sleepy weight pressed against you like he belonged there.
“He’s my godson, there’s really nowhere else I’d rather be.” You replied easily, brushing a bit of hair from Franklin’s forehead before placing a loving kiss on his forehead. “Get outta here, lovebirds.” Johnny chimed in, slipping an arm over your shoulders with the casual ease of someone who’d been doing it since childhood. His other hand waved dramatically toward the door. “Franklin’s in fantastic hands.”
You rolled your eyes, snorting at the awful pun. “Really?” You muttered under your breath, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. He grinned, utterly unapologetic, and leaned a little more of his weight against you like he had no intention of moving anytime soon. “Both children will be in one piece when you two come back.” You promised, giving Johnny a pointed side glance.
Susan let out a quiet chuckle, her eyes flicking toward her brother, clearly amused. “We won’t be out too late,” She assured again, though her tone had softened, more relaxed now. “If he gets fussy, there are snacks in the kitchen, and his bedtime is around eight.” Reed reappeared from the hallway, his composure mostly restored, tie straightened, coat neatly draped over one arm.
With his usual efficiency, he helped Susan into her coat, adjusting the shoulders with a care that made you momentarily forget he was the world’s most distracted genius. Before leaving, Susan turned one last time, her gaze resting on you and Franklin, and just briefly, on the way Johnny’s arm still lingered around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing idle patterns against your upper arm.
She mouthed one final thank you, before slipping through the front door with Reed in tow. The soft click of the latch left behind a hush that settled over the room, which left just you, Franklin, and Johnny. “So,” He drawled, quirking a brow, blue eyes fixed on you. “You, me, and one dangerously powerful toddler. What could possibly go wrong?” You smirked. “Everything.” And somehow, you were looking forward to every second of it.
As predicted, the moment you set Franklin down, he making a beeline straight for the living room. Without hesitation, he scooped up as many toy cars as his tiny arms could manage, cradling them to his chest like precious cargo. He dropped to his knees with all the focused determination of a world-class engineer, lining up the miniature vehicles in a meticulous row alongside the winding, high-tech racetrack Reed had crafted in the lab.
Johnny wasted no time. He vaulted over the back of the couch like a kid on Christmas morning, skidding into place beside Franklin on the rug. Within seconds, he was deep in the throes of an imaginary race, arms outstretched, making high-pitched engine noises, mimicking tight turns, screeching tires, and dramatic crashes. At one point, he even narrated the race in a terrible British accent, which made Franklin laugh so hard he rolled backward into a pile of pillows.
You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, unable to wipe the smile off your face. Watching Johnny with Franklin was unfair in every way. He looked too good like this, lit up from the inside out, eyes crinkled with laughter, hair slightly mussed from all the movement. Your ovaries were overwhelmed with joy, hormones, and entirely inappropriate thoughts that you had absolutely no business entertaining while a two-year-old was in the room.
To distract yourself, you busied yourself in the kitchen. The warm light over the counter glowed like amber as you set out apple slices, crackers, and a juice box, arranging them on a plate shaped like a cartoon spaceship. But, toddlers are nothing if not delightfully unpredictable. “Uncle Johnny’s loud.” Franklin announced from the floor before trotting over to you, toy car still clutched in one hand. “Book now, pwease.”
With zero resistance, you scooped him up and headed for the couch, already grabbing the well-worn copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar from where it laid on the coffee table. Franklin nestled into your side like he belonged there, head on your shoulder, thumb in his mouth. You flipped open the book, voice gentle as you began to read. Or at least, you tried to read.
You stumbled over words you’d read a hundred times before, tongue tripping more than you’d like to admit, not because of Franklin, who was happily turning pages too soon, but because Johnny was watching you. His gaze hadn’t left you since you sat down, blue eyes softened with something too warm, too intense for casual friendship. You refused to meet his eyes, cheeks burning hotter than any of his fire tricks.
After dinner, Franklin was back to racing around with his cars. Only now, he wanted you and Johnny to play too. Which is how you ended up cross-legged on the living room floor again, mid-race chaos, with Franklin assigning you very serious car duties, like “crash dis one” and “make dis one fly.” Johnny, of course, took it way too far.
He zoomed his car off the edge of the coffee table with a dramatic explosion noise, tossed Franklin gently in the air, which earned him a fierce scolding glare from you, and then proudly unveiled a mini Johnny Storm action figure from one of the toy bins. You groaned, the moment it crackled to life with a mechanical, over-enthusiastic: 'FLAME ON!'
“Bet you didn’t think I’d let this masterpiece go out of production.” Johnny puffed his chest out like he’d won a Nobel Prize. “It talks? “Why on Earth does it talk?” You deadpanned. “Because it's genius,” He stated matter-of-factly, holding the tiny figure like it was sacred. “And because the world needs more me.” You opened your mouth to disagree, but Franklin grabbed the figure from his hand and hugged it to his chest like it was made of gold.
"Uncle Johnny, cool!" Johnny beamed, smiling from ear to ear. “See? The people agree.” You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw another dimension. You wanted to argue, saying Franklin was clearly biased, but the truth was, watching him, with Franklin curled up against you and laughter echoing around the room, you couldn’t remember the last time your heart had felt this full.
Seeing as Johnny had playtime thoroughly covered, complete with dramatic reenactments and the occasional sound barrier being broken, you took the opportunity to slip away and handle the aftermath of dinner. The dishes weren’t going to wash themselves, and frankly, you needed a few minutes to cool down. Watching Johnny be good with Franklin, be soft, had your heart doing things that felt mildly illegal.
You stepped into the kitchen just as H.E.R.B.I.E. glided up beside you, silently offering the now-empty plate Franklin had used for his macaroni masterpiece. With a fond smile and a quiet thank you, you reached for it, and that’s when all hell decided to break loose. “OW! Buddy, not the hair!” Johnny’s voice cut through the room, followed by a shrill, high-pitched wail that had every maternal instinct in your body firing at once.
You sprinted the short distance from the kitchen to the living room, nearly slipping on one of Franklin’s rogue race cars. The scene that met you was peak disaster, Johnny was crouched on the floor, a frazzled mess with a toy still in one hand and Franklin squirming in his arms, red-faced and wailing. Johnny’s blue eyes snapped up the moment he heard your footsteps. His expression was a mix of panic and guilt.
“Give him to me.” Your voice was calm, instinctive, even as your arms reached out without hesitation. The moment Franklin caught sight of you, he lunged like a rocket, practically leaping into your embrace. You caught him easily, cradling his small frame against your chest. His sobs were still jagged and hiccupy, but they began to slow as you rocked him gently from side to side, your fingers drawing soft, rhythmic circles against his back.
His little fists clung to your shirt like lifelines, breath hitching in that pitiful post-cry rhythm that tugged at every heartstring you had. You murmured soft nonsense into his hair, words that didn’t matter so much as the tone, reassuring, steady, warm. Gradually, the tension left his body, replaced by that heavy-limbed drowsiness that always followed a toddler meltdown.
Over Franklin’s head, your gaze drifted to the wall clock, it read 7:58 PM. Of course, his body knew. Right on cue, the crash before bedtime. “Can you finish cleaning up?” You murmured, glancing over to Johnny, who was still sitting there, looking like he’d just been emotionally sideswiped. “I’m going to try and get him settled for bed.” Johnny nodded, standing quickly, carefully. As he stepped closer, he placed a gentle kiss on Franklin’s tousled head.
Then, his hand came to rest on your shoulder, warm and grounding, fingers giving the faintest squeeze as he brushed past you and disappeared into the kitchen. The touch lingered even after he was gone. And for a second, just a second, you let yourself close your eyes and breathe in the moment, Franklin's weight against you, the quiet settling over the room, and the echo of Johnny's tenderness still trailing behind him.
As you disappeared down the hallway, cradling a drowsy Franklin against your chest, Johnny let out the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. It left him in a slow, uneven exhale, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, not because of exhaustion, but because watching you like that wrecked him in ways he couldn’t begin to explain. The sight of you, arms wrapped protectively around Franklin, murmuring in that soft voice that made even the toddler’s screams quiet down.
He dropped into a chair at the kitchen island, elbows on the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face as if it might shake off the feeling tightening in his ribcage. God, he was so screwed. It wasn’t just the way you looked tonight, though, yeah, that was enough to short-circuit him on a good day. The soft, lived-in familiarity of your smile, the way you rolled your eyes when he got too cocky, the gentle way you brushed Franklin’s hair back like you’d done it a thousand times before.
It wasn’t new. The feelings had been there for a while now, growing in quiet corners between inside jokes and late-night calls, rooted in the unshakable way you just got him. But this? Tonight? Watching you soothe his nephew like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he just stood there helpless, hair askew, ego bruised by a toddler? Yeah. That cracked something open.
Johnny leaned back, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answer to his emotional ineptitude was hidden in the plaster. He wasn’t good at this part, the messy, vulnerable, heart-in-his-throat stuff. Flirting, he could do blindfolded. Grand gestures? Easy. But feelings that mattered? Feelings that made his pulse stutter and his brain go fuzzy and his mouth forget how to be clever? That was harder.
But no matter how loud his heart got, there was one thing louder: the fear of ruining everything. You were his best friend. The constant in his chaos. You just got him, ego, flaws, fire and all. And the thought of letting these feelings consume him, of risking what you already had for something that might never work out? That terrified him more than anything.
Because what if he said something, did something, and it changed the way you looked at him? What if the easy laughter and casual touches turned awkward? What if he lost you? He looked toward the hallway where you'd disappeared, the quiet hum of your footsteps still echoing faintly in his ears. You’d taken Franklin like he was yours. Like you belonged here, in the middle of this family chaos, perfectly slotted into a space you hadn’t even asked to fill.
And somehow, everything felt quieter with you in it. He glanced toward the sink, eyes landing on the half-finished dishes, but his mind was still on you. Your hand on his shoulder. The way you didn’t flinch when things got messy. The way Franklin launched himself into your arms like it was instinct. Johnny rested his chin in his palm, staring at nothing in particular, lips curving just a little despite himself.
He was in love with you. Completely, stupidly, irrevocably in love with you. And the most ridiculous part? You probably had no idea. So he did what he always did. He swallowed it. Pushed it down, tucked it behind a grin and a joke and a wink. He’d take the way you looked at him now, fond and familiar, over losing you entirely. Even if it meant sitting here in the quiet, heart full of things he didn’t know how to say.
“Finally got him down.” You sighed, stepping back into the kitchen with your shoulders drooping slightly, weariness and warmth both lingering in your expression. You set the baby monitor on the kitchen island with a quiet clink, the soft static crackle filling the space just enough to remind you he was still only a room away. Johnny blinked, snapping out of whatever tangled thoughts he’d been drowning in.
“Sit.” His voice was gentle, coaxing, already rising from his chair. One hand brushed the small of your back, a fleeting touch, but enough to make your breath catch. He pulled out the chair next to his, guiding you into it with a casual attentiveness that never failed to send a zoo of butterflies stampeding through your stomach. You dropped into the seat with a sigh that was part exhaustion, part resignation. “But the dishes—”
“Herbert and I got it.” He interrupted smoothly, shooting a smirk toward H.E.R.B.I.E., who rolled up at just the right moment with mechanical precision. Johnny bumped fists with the robot, taking a bowl from his outstretched arm. You raised your hands in mock surrender, lips curling into a tired smile as you leaned back against the chair. Your eyes followed Johnny as he casually peeled off his bomber jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair.
Without it, he was all forearms and muscle, the short sleeves of his t-shirt hugging the defined curve of his biceps and the broad stretch of his chest like it had been designed with malicious intent. You glanced away quickly before your gaze betrayed you, but not fast enough to stop your face from flushing. You could feel the warmth blooming at your cheeks and cursed him, silently, lovingly, for existing so effortlessly.
The room fell into a quiet rhythm: H.E.R.B.I.E.'s faint whirring, the occasional clink of dishes, the lullaby-soft hush of a house winding down for the night. Then Johnny’s voice broke through, soft and unguarded. “You know…” He began, fingers still lingering on the edge of the countertop, but his eyes now fully on you. “You’re going to make an amazing mom one day.” The words landed with more weight than you expected. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it.
Not as a joke. Not as some offhand compliment. It came out quiet, earnest, a whisper of a truth he couldn’t stop himself from saying aloud. Your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. For a beat too long, you stared at him, trying to read what was hidden behind the usual mischief. There was no mask this time. No smirk. Just Johnny, bare and sincere in a way he rarely let himself be. You smiled, small and surprised, a flutter stirring in your chest. “You think?”
He shrugged, but the smile he wore was warm enough to melt through any doubt. “I know.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, heart full and aching in a way you hadn’t expected. That look in his eyes, bright, a little reverent, maybe even something closer to love, it made the air feel too thick, too still. You wondered if he felt it too. That quiet hum between you, the one that had been there for years but now felt impossible to ignore.
And then, without even trying, the words fell from his mouth as if he’d been fed a truth serum. “I think about it a lot, honestly. More specifically, you being the mother of my children." Your breath hitched. Time slowed. Even H.E.R.B.I.E., bless him, seemed to sense the gravity of what had just been released into the room and rolled discreetly out of the kitchen. Johnny stood frozen, one hand clenched around the dishcloth, knuckles white, eyes wide.
Like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back. And frankly, he didn’t want to. A nervous laugh escaped him, breathless and uneven. “Shit, that sounds way more intense when it’s not just in my head.” You turned to face him fully, your heart beating so fast you were sure he could hear it echoing in the silence. “I mean it.” He added quickly, voice dropping, sincerity bleeding through every word.
“It’s not just some passing thought I get when I see you with Franklin, or when you laugh, or when you fall asleep during movie nights and drool on my shoulder.” You made a quiet noise of protest, heat blooming across your cheeks. He grinned softly at that, but it faltered just as quickly, replaced by something more hesitant. “I try to ignore it, y'know?” His fingers fidgeted with the hem of the dish towel, eyes focused on the counter like it might help him stay grounded.
“Because I didn’t want to mess this up. You and me... we’re good. We work. And I kept thinking, if I opened my mouth, I’d ruin it all. That I’d lose you.” His eyes finally met yours again, open, uncertain, completely unguarded. “But lately? It’s like... I can’t not feel it anymore. It’s everywhere. You're everywhere. Every time I look at you, I think about what it’d be like to wake up next to you. To build something real. I think about how natural it feels when you're here, like you're already part of the family.”
His hand hovered near yours on the counter, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat between your fingers. “I’m tired of pretending it’s not there. Tired of pretending I don’t—” The words caught on his tongue. “Tired of pretending that I don’t love you, Y/N.” And there it was. Simple. Raw. Undeniably real. The air between you felt electric, charged with everything that had been buried under years of stolen glances, long talks, missed chances, and the quiet kind of love that grows too strong to ignore.
"Oh, fuck it." Before you could react and before he could talk himself out of it, Johnny rounded the kitchen island with a kind of reckless purpose, his restraint unraveling in real time. And then, he was there. He surged forward, big hands finding your waist, as his lips crashed against yours. Your eyes flew open, shocked by the force of it, by the sheer heat, but your body answered before your brain could catch up, instinct overriding reason.
Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed him back, years of pent-up tension igniting like gasoline meeting flame. His hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you flush against him as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. When his tongue pushed past your lips and brushed against yours, a soft moan slipped out of you before you could stop it, swallowed by his mouth like it was the very thing he’d been starving for.
You felt him groan low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending another wave of heat straight down your spine. His hands roamed, one sliding up your back, the other briefly gripping your hip before pulling you impossibly closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was really happening. Your hands had a mind of their own, smoothing up the planes of his chest, over his shoulders, fingertips trailing across the warm skin of his neck and into his hair.
He shuddered beneath your touch, deepening the kiss like he never wanted to come up for air. It was messy. Intense. Every press of his mouth against yours was filled with every stolen glance, every suppressed feeling, every unsaid word that had sat between you like a live wire for years. When he finally did pull back, breathless and wide-eyed, your lips were swollen, your chest heaving, and so was his.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” He breathed out, voice low and wrecked with emotion, his forehead pressing gently to yours. His thumbs stroked your hips, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started. You nodded, still catching your breath, eyes searching his face for anything, regret, hesitation, but there was none. “I thought I was dreaming,” You whispered. “I’ve been in love with you since I can remember.”
The words, settled over your skin like a warm blanket, uncomplicated, long-overdue, and unmistakably true. “Say it again.” He begged, voice hoarse, like he needed the sound of it more than air. Like your confession might be the only thing tethering him to reality. “I love you, Johnny.” That did it. He surged forward again, but this time there was no urgency, no crashing wave of desperation, just reverence.
His lips met yours with a gentleness that threatened to undo you entirely. No rush, only the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone as his mouth moved against yours, patient and aching, as though he was trying to memorize the shape of your lips and the rhythm of your sighs. Your hands curled around his wrists, anchoring yourself to him as he kissed you like it was sacred.
His breath hitched slightly when your fingers threaded back through his hair, but he didn't press further, didn’t deepen the kiss like before. This was about worship. Like he'd spent years imagining this, and now that he had it, he wanted to slow time down and savor every second. When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes remained closed, like he was afraid they’d snap open and find it had all vanished.
You couldn't stop the airy laugh that left you lips. "You've seriously thought about me as the mother of your children?" You raised a brow, hand absentmindedly tracing the veins of his forearm you ogled more than you'd like to admit. "Baby, seeing the way you act with Franklin always gets me all hot and bothered. Anything you do really." He stated matter-of-factly, smirk breaking out onto his face. You rolled your eyes, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed you.
"Why do you ask, want to practice?" Johnny huskily murmured in your ear, his breath hot and intoxicating as it fanned across your skin. The low rasp of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, awakening something dormant and long-suppressed. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of your neck before pressing a deliberately slow, kiss just beneath your jaw. The heat of it bloomed across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and your breath hitched involuntarily.
Years of unspoken desire and stolen glances rushed to the surface, threatening to unravel your composure. As much as you wanted to surrender, to drown in the fantasy you had nursed for so long, a quiet voice inside pulled you back. You placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The tension between you crackled, heavy with want, but you pushed him back, just enough to create distance, not rejection.
"Not with the two-year-old were supposed to be watching less than ten feet away." Johnny pulled back with a dramatic groan, his expression pure betrayal. You watched as his eyes had darkened considerably, but they still sparkled as he opened his mouth to throw out another flirty one-liner your way, only to be cut off by a familiar, high-pitched wail echoing from the baby monitor that made both of you freeze.
“Traitor.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the tiny screen like it had done it on purpose. You placed one more chaste kiss to his heated cheek, patting his chest sympathetically, before you were already on your feet, chuckling as you padded toward the hallway. He followed with reluctant steps, grumbling under his breath but unable to stop glancing at you with that soft, besotted look he probably didn’t even realize he was wearing.
Later that night, when Susan and Reed returned to the Baxter Building, they were met with an unfamiliar but very welcome sound: silence. Brows furrowed, Susan kicked off her heels and made a beeline toward Franklin’s room, her mom instincts already stirring. Her heart skipped as she peeked into the dimly lit nursery, only to find the crib empty. “Reed?” Her voice was barely a whisper, nerves creeping up her spine.
“Hold on.” Reed called quietly from down the hall, standing in front of Johnny’s bedroom with the door slightly ajar, light from the hallway spilling just enough to illuminate what was inside. Susan joined him, brows raised in silent question. He merely tilted his head toward the crack in the door. Inside, Franklin lay curled on your chest, tiny hand fisted in your shirt, lips slightly parted in sleep. Your head rested against Johnny’s shoulder, your breathing steady and deep.
Johnny’s arms wrapped around both of you, one across your waist, the other lightly covering Franklin’s back in a protective cocoon. Susan exhaled slowly, something warm blooming in her chest. “Looks like you were right.” Susan’s smile was nothing short of smug as she crossed her arms. “I’m always right.” She quipped, fully planning to tease both of you relentlessly at breakfast. But for now, she simply stood there, soaking in the quiet proof of what she’d suspected all along.
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mdni. you're questioning where you stand in his life? that just won't do. hiromi makes sure to reassure you. how? with a baby, of course. duh.
tags: established relationship, afab!reader, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s, higuruma is canon age/36), breeding, pre-marital sex, oral (f receiving), pwp (kinda), reader is an over-thinker, hiromi is an over-explainer, fluff towards the end. not proof read
a/n: get a glimpse of my brain during heat week #ovulation. also first time writing smut, pls be kind </3
“other than the fact that you're always buried in your work, and that we barely have time for each other... you act like I'm too young to understand, hiromi. am i your partner—or your distraction?”
hiromi absolutely bristles when those words leave your mouth.
he admits his faults: he was too nose-deep in the cases he handled that he forgot he has a girlfriend waiting for him at home. he did tend to brush off your concerns regarding matters at work, always assuming they were too much for you to comprehend. not that you couldn't—they were just too much, and he preferred his work life and personal life don't interfere with each other.
that much has already failed when you confronted him earlier that night. you had felt confused, hurt, and neglected—here was hiromi, a much older, more experienced man, and for a moment, you feared you were nothing more than some youthful distraction after a rough day.
hiromi, however, doesn't appreciate that thought. not one bit. the idea that you see him as any less than serious and devoted? it unsettles him more than he expected...
...which is why he is now in between your thighs, face buried in his favorite place in the world.
your hand shoots out to grip his hair when his nose presses against your clit, his tongue prodding at your entrance. hiromi groans as you pull at him—it merely drives him to press his face further into your pretty little cunt.
after a moment, he moves up to lap at your clit, one finger now teasing at your hole.
“fuck,” he moans against your skin. “you taste too good for me to treat you lightly.”
“w-weak argument,” you stutter out.
“think so?” hiromi hums. “i disagree.”
a weak whine escapes your throat when he inserts a digit. you squirm against his hold, but his palm is fast enough to hold your hips in place. the fast pace of his finger contrasts how slow he was at lapping at your clit—he flattens his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves before slowly sliding it up, his lidded eyes on yours.
hiromi doesn't shy away when your hips stutter against his mouth. he lets you pull his head into your cunt, lets you use him as you please. when you cry out as the tip of his nose grinds against your clit once more, he knows you're close. hiromi still doesn't shy away then.
your thighs lock around his head as you come. he diligently laps up all your juices, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head from how sweet you tasted.
before you could even calm down from your high, your ass is already being pulled to his lap, his own cock red and angry against his stomach.
“'romi—!” you cry out, back arching off the bed even more when your boyfriend rams in without a single warning. his fat cock hits ungodly spots inside you, your vision blurring as he rams inside your puffed out pussy.
hiromi barely hears you—he merely hikes your legs higher on his shoulder by your thighs, making sure his cock's reaching the deepest parts of you. you could feel yourself mold around him, and it seems like he feels it too with the way he groans lowly into your neck.
“'s too much—” you gasp, long nails clawing his back when his hips ruts a little too harshly against you. “'romi—”
“it's not,” hiromi growls softly. “you can take it—you're such a good girl. i'm not done with you yet.”
you could only whine as he folds you mercilessly in half. the squelching was absolutely obscene, and everything was wet and sticky. you could only try to hide with your arm over your eyes. just as you did so, your pretty little cunt tightens around your boyfriend when he forces your hand above your head.
“Look at me,” he quietly commands, deliberately snapping his hips forward. you choke out a moan.
“there you go,” a kiss.
“that's it,” another kiss.
“look at you shaking already,” he whispers, leaning down to give you one more sloppy kiss. he then pulls away and murmurs against your lips, “you keep worrying about things that don't matter.”
hiromi's free hand splays on top of where your womb rests. “maybe i should give you something else to think about.”
oh. you almost come again. you let out a sob at the thought, and hiromi's quick to thumb the tears away. his gentle hand goes against how mean his cock's drilling into you.
“'m not about to leave my pretty girl when she's swollen with me,” he chuckles. “you'd make the prettiest mother. think you can handle that? make me a dad?”
“yes! yes, yes— 'romi—please,” you sob out. “want that.”
the older man's hips stutter at your begging. he wastes no time push you back further into the mattress only to fuck you deeper. his hand snakes down to play at your clit, and you almost scream.
“god,” hiromi groans out lowly. “you're asking where you stand? right here.”
no sound leaves your hoarse throat when his tip kisses your cervix and as hot spurts of his cum fills you up. hiromi makes sure not one bead is wasted as he continues to rut into you, fingers joining his cock to fuck some back inside. you cry softly at the stretch, unable to stop coming, but your boyfriend is quick to kiss your tears away.
as his rutting gradually slows, hiromi's free hand comes up to cup your face.
“good girl,” he whispers. “easy... you okay, baby? you did so well.”
you nod weakly, soft mewls leaving your lips as he continues to fill you in. his hands gently moves your hair away from your forehead. “I don't have time for 'past-times'. if i didn't want you here, i wouldn't let you stay.”
hiromi looks down where you stay connected. “that's not something i'd do lightly,” he murmurs.
you could only muster another weak nod of your head, body relaxing as his hand slides down to massage your hip.
your boyfriend peppers soft kisses around your face before engulfing you in an embrace. you immediately hide your face on his neck, sniffling as you come down from your high.
hiromi smiles lazily at you, his fingers treading through your hair. “...you're ovulating right now, aren't you? i tracked your cycle.”
“mhm.”
“good.” he kisses your forehead gently. “looks like i have to marry you soon.”
border credits: ithemes and ghostgum!
gonna have to practice smut more hueheudh. my vision was so clear in my head but execution was so wonky. anyway, feel free to send in requests! gonna go thru them after midterms this week.
the bedroom door clicks shut behind you, and johnny’s already laughing — low and stupid-happy — before you even turn around.
he’s got that post-shower glow, hair still damp and sticking up in ridiculous spikes, towel slung low around his hips like he forgot how gravity works.
“you’re staring,” he teases, stepping closer until you’re backed against the wall. his hands find your waist immediately, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt. “like what you see?”
you snort, trying to play it cool.
“maybe.”
he gasps dramatically, clutching his chest.
“ouch. my ego. it’s wounded. you gotta kiss it better now.”
before you can roll your eyes, he’s crowding you — mouth crashing into yours with zero finesse and all the enthusiasm of someone who’s been thinking about this for hours. it’s messy from the jump: teeth clacking, noses bumping, both of you giggling into each other’s mouths like idiots.
“ow! fuck, storm, slow down,” you mumble against his lips, but you’re already tugging him closer by the back of his neck.
“can’t,” he grins, voice wrecked and breathless. “you taste like that cherry lip balm. it’s distracting.”
he licks into your mouth again, slower this time — tongue sliding against yours in lazy, filthy strokes that make your knees weak. one of his hands slides up your spine under your shirt, warm palm flat against bare skin, and you shiver hard enough that he feels it.
“cold?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes are bright, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed pink. he’s so pretty it’s unfair.
“no, just — your hands are hot,” you say, and immediately regret it when his grin turns wicked.
“yeah?” his fingers drag down your sides, teasing the waistband of your shorts. “you like that?”
you shove at his chest, playful.
“shut up.”
“make me.”
so you do. you yank him back in by the towel — careful not to pull it off (yet) — and kiss him harder, sucking on his bottom lip until he groans. the sound vibrates through you both, and suddenly it’s not funny anymore. it’s desperate. tongues tangling, wet and hot, little gasps every time one of you has to breathe.
he’s giggling again — can’t help it — when you accidentally bite his tongue a little too hard.
“ow! baby— fuck,” he laughs against your mouth, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, he presses closer, hips slotting against yours so you can feel exactly how much he’s enjoying this.
“sorry,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. then his jaw. then down the column of his throat. he tilts his head back with a shaky exhale, fingers flexing on your hips.
“don’t be,” he murmurs. “do it again.”
you nip lightly, and he full-on whimpers — high and needy — before laughing at himself, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
“god, i’m so easy for you,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “it’s embarrassing.”
“it’s cute,” you tell him, threading your fingers through his damp hair and tugging just enough to make him hiss.
he lifts his head, eyes sparkling.
“cute? i’m supposed to be sexy and dangerous.”
“you’re both.”
you’re kissing again — deeper now, slower, hands roaming. his towel finally gives up and slips to the floor; neither of you cares. your shirt’s halfway off before you even register him pulling it over your head.
when you break apart this time, you’re both panting, foreheads pressed together, grinning like idiots.
“hi,” he whispers.
“hi,” you whisper back.
he kisses the tip of your nose. then your cheek. then your mouth again — soft and sweet and still a little giggly.
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