summary: the universe has a funny way of ruining your life. or alternatively, johnny storm is everywhere.
pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader
warnings: exes to lovers, reader is down bad, angst, fluff, no use of y/n, cursing, based loosely off of the subway by chappell roan. not proof read. lower case intended.
notes: okay first fic ever so sorry if it sucks but i’m so down bad i needed this fic for my own selfish purposes. also been listening to this song on repeat and it was calling to me like the green goblin mask. also lowkey hate the end but anways
one.
july in new york has to be the closest thing to hell on earth. your flimsy portable fan is using all of its power to cool you down, although at most it’s blowing hot air that’s been sitting in the subway all day. the back of your shirt is starting to stick to your skin and the makeup haphazardly thrown on is starting to sweat off. poor timing had you hauling ass out of bed to make it to work on time.
thank god public transit seems to be the only thing on your side today.
you sling your bag higher up your shoulder as you hurriedly shuffle onto the train and make a beeline to the nearest open seat. stiff shoulders and weird smells is going to have to suffice for this morning as your usual plan to walk to work had to be sabotaged by your inability to fall asleep. well, it wasn't really your fault, was it?
it was him.
of course you couldn't rot on your couch in peace while nursing a half-eaten pint of cookie dough ice cream after your shift. you just had to pick the channel that was airing his stupid face in what felt like the most popular commercial in existence. golden hair and ocean blue eyes that seemed to haunt the narrative of your life just to piss you off. the ice cream was long forgotten as was your sleep.
you shake your head to sling him out of your thoughts. it’s been four months. plenty of time to get over a relationship that ended in a heated fight and now has your hand shoveling ice cream into your mouth while watching cheesy rom-coms every weekend.
the speakers along the train crackle to life as the system announces the next stop. grasping your tote closer to your chest, you watch as more commuters file in and push their way to the nearest handlebars. the air was getting stuffier and your patience was thinning.
closing your eyes for a brief moment, you try to remind yourself of the fresh tub of lemon sorbet in the freezer and reruns of I Love Lucy waiting for you after this day is over. deep breath in. deep breath out.
the second your eyes peel back open, your heart drops its way to your ass. across the car, the shiny new ad displayed above the seated chairs is the final straw to your already horrid morning. there in his glittering prime is johnny storm alongside his three teammates posing for a new skincare ad that some company probably paid way too much for.
at first, you have to laugh. it comes out as a chuckle, a low rumbling sound in the back of your throat that quickly morphs into full body laughter as you cover your mouth to stifle the sound. you can’t help the way your eyes start to water, first from the laughter, but then from the insurmountable sadness you’ve been bottling inside for the past four months. the once bubbly laughter turns into muffled sobs as the man beside you slowly inches his body away the best he can. a woman standing with her child slowly tugs them closer into her arms.
great. now you look like a psychopath crying on the subway because of a lotion ad with your ex on it.
clearing your throat, you tear your eyes away from the poster and make your way to the opening train doors. of all the trains running through the city, you just had to sit on the one with johnny’s face smiling at you. smug little shit.
wiping your eyes as best you can to avoid looking like a raccoon, you step out from the train and tell yourself that it was just a coincidence. the universe poking fun and laughing at you because look at you. this girl can’t even look at a lotion ad without having a breakdown. with the last bit of determination three hours of sleep can gather, you get back to commuting to work.
two.
“fuck my life,” you mutter under your breath. you close the pantry door and reopen it a second later, hoping that some sort of canned soup or box of mac n’ cheese will magically spawn itself into your life so you can eat something other than stale pastry scraps from your job at the cafe. after the third time of slamming and closing the pantry door shut, you realize that the only option is the grocery five blocks over.
you hastily slip on the nearest slippers as you grab your lanyard from the hook by the door. as you make your way onto the city streets, you realize maybe hello kitty sleep shorts and an oversized shirt that reads this guy needs a beer wasn’t exactly what a grown woman in her 20s should be seen doing her late night grocery hauls in. it wasn’t like you were going on the gilbert show or anything, so why should you care what anyone else thinks.
johnny would have liked it you think to yourself
no. nope. your mind cannot wander to that end of the pool tonight. you hurry across the dimly lit sidewalk and into the nearest store. you need to focus on what you came here for. food. real food that hasn’t been sitting out in the kitchen or decaying in your fridge for days. you hurry and grab a basketful of random ingredients that you know will suffice for a few different recipes.
fuck, you need breakfast food. there’s only so many orange-cranberry muffins a girl can eat on the clock before regretting skipping breakfast for the fifth time that week before work. you shuffle your slipper-clad feet to the next aisle over. cereal. perfect for when you’re running late and need to pile handfuls into your mouth while finishing your makeup. you skim the aisle for anything remotely tasty without being a pure sugar dump.
“mommy! look!” a child is tugging his worn down mother through the aisle, stretching up on his tip toes to point at a box a row too high for him to reach. “please please pleaseeee can we get this one? i only need one more action figure to complete my collection,” he pouts up at his mom. you see the bags under her eyes and the bottle of cabernet in her shopping cart. must’ve been a rough day for her you think. although remembering your attire, you remind yourself you really shouldn't be one to judge.
the little boy seems to get his way as a quiet “yes!” leaves his lips when his mother carelessly tosses the box alongside the wine. as they wander to another aisle, you come across the cereal the little boy so desperately was begging for.
and of fucking course its the limited edition fantastic four lucky charms cereal box.
“am i being punished or something? is this some sick joke, huh?,” you wonder out loud in the cereal aisle. you can’t even escape to shop for groceries without being reminded that your ex is doing well and fine without you.
a quiet cough catches your attention as you turn to your right and see an underpaid teenager in the store chain’s t-shirt mumble out a “ma’am, the store is closing in 10 minutes.” you feel your face heat up before you mutter a soft “thanks”. he looks you up and down before he slowly turns and retreats back to the front.
maybe that mom was onto something with the wine bottle.
finding the nearest cheerios box, you quickly make your way to the check out. not without snatching up a bottle of white wine to tie up the trip.
three.
the tv hums softly as you stir the noodles on the stove slowly. it’s sunday. the day for laundry, sleeping, and spending more than five minutes cooking dinner before inevitably collapsing on the couch to watch a shitty crime show before the work week starts again. your noodles had barely been softening before the entire apartment went dark. no more laugh track playing, no more hum of the stove, and no more fluorescent light shining in the room.
you move to the nearest window to peek out and decide if it's a power outage or you just forgot to pay your bills. which has happened. at the moment you crack open the window, you hear a loud crash. you spring back instinctively.
there in the middle of manhattan, a large robotic alien tears through the city with its long arms. well, at least it wasn’t just a you problem. before you can even scream or make your way to find a flashlight, you’re met with another sight. a glow of iridescent light that could only belong to that of sue storm. you see the robot struggle against her powers while getting pummeled by what has to be ben, because who else is made of rocks on this planet?
surely you have the worst survival instinct on the face of the earth. there’s a horrific robot alien creature merely a few minutes away. a sane person would hide, take shelter, maybe even call a loved one and ask if they’re okay. but not you. your mind can’t help but stand and watch in awe as the superheroes fight and work together in perfect sync. sue keeping it from moving, reed stretching from building to building to reach it, ben ripping limb from limb with his strength.
and johnny.
oh, johnny.
a fiery streak illuminates the night sky as he drives himself to deliver the final blow to end the towering alien. the villain fumbles harshly onto the street as the fantastic four breathe a sigh of relief and help nearby civilians out of whatever rubble is left. there’s cheers from nearby on-lookers just like you, who also couldn’t help but watch the magnificent display of art that was them working in tandem.
as the group finishes their work, they smile and wave before jetting back to the baxter building. johnny, of course, has his own means of travel. he leaps into the air as fire engulfs his form, basking in the glory from people below who scream and blow kisses his way. ever the show off, he flies high into the air and trails fire behind him in the shape of their signature 4 logo before flying back where the rest of the group is surely waiting on him.
you wonder if he remembers you live close by. if he was worried about you as they cornered the villain. if maybe he was showing off in hopes you were watching from the window.
you wish you could close the blinds and act like he didn’t exist. that he’s someone forgettable.
but when the glow of his body is casting familiar light into your dark apartment, you’re met with the reality that he’s always going to be looming in the corners of your life. because even with the lights off, you see his shadow.
four.
maybe you should just move. new city, new you and most importantly no johnny. maybe saskatchewan. maybe somewhere so far and rural that you have to milk cows and forage for berries to even have food on the table. somewhere so out of touch that they haven’t even heard of johnny or the fantastic four. or shit, maybe they don’t even know humans can go to space.
but alas, you’re a barista who barely makes enough for a cocktails night with your girlfriends so maybe that has to wait for now.
what you can afford however is a haircut. they say hair holds memories or something like that. one of your friends mentioned it while at a brunch that you couldn’t excuse your way out of. you don’t know if it was the mimosa or desperation that was agreeing with whatever tipsy advice was leaving her lips, but goddamn it it worked.
so here you are, fresh out of the salon with a new cut and new pep in your step. you weave a hand through your hair and feel a sort of phantom limb syndrome as your hair abruptly ends shorter than you're used to. “this is good,” you think to yourself. you can let go of everything bad that's happened in the past few months and rebrand.
your new life begins today you think. you visit a new coffee shop. try a new matcha latte. hate it but still drink it because, hey, that was $7 out of your bank account that unfortunately can’t be just thrown away. you splurge on a new outfit. window shop while strolling fifth ave. get caught in a hurricane level wind storm— wait what.
you look around as dirty newspapers and napkins swirl across the street in a hurried frenzy. interns on their lunch break are fleeing down the street faster than the food trucks can close their stands. and you’re just standing there in the middle of the crosswalk like an idiot as your brain short circuits.
when your brain finally catches up to the situation, you panic. you spin around and watch as the debris from the city is swirled around into the skyscrapers above. the sky is turning an angry dark gray as the storm you didn’t plan for starts rolling in. your brain seems detached from your body as you take off towards the nearest open store. just as your about to reach the door, you feel something fall from your pocket.
a sharp clink is heard as your apartment keys tumble onto the ground. part of you wants to say fuck it and bolt inside before lightning strikes you down with your luck. but you really don’t feel like paying $50 for a lock out fee after spending a decent amount of your paycheck already. so like the dumbass you are, you turn back and quickly reach down to grasp the lanyard in your hands. with a sigh of relief you look back up to see a tree branch barreling toward you faster than your reflexes can save you.
suddenly, you hear your name being frantically called before your arm is nearly ripped out of your socket by the amount of sheer force it took to pull you out of harm’s way. the jingle of a door bell shocks you back into reality as you realize your savior pulled you into a quant little record store. it smells dusty and warm like a grandparent’s house would be or a local thrift store. once you pat down your body and affirm that yes, you are alive, you turn around to thank whoever saw your poor self and decided to save you. your eyes lock onto him and you gasp before you can stop yourself.
standing sheepishly in front of you is johnny storm himself. he looks as good as ever even though you beg your subconscious to think otherwise. he smells like smoke and vanilla, the scent throwing you for a dizzying loop because you never thought you would be close enough to smell him like this ever again. his eyes are telling a different story than what his boyish smirk is trying to cover.
he jams his hands into his jeans before saying, “waiting for me to save you again, huh?” his voice is calm but the way his sweaty palms drag subtly across his jeans as he takes them out the pockets begs to differ.
he’s nervous.
and you can taste the matcha latte from earlier slowly trying to creep up past your throat as you clear your throat. “maybe i was waiting for sue. or ben. you’re not the only hero here you know,” you anxiously pat your hair back into the sort of neat state it was in before the wind hit. you look back outside from the store windows. maybe going back and getting hit by debris wouldn’t be as painful as this conversation.
johnny’s eyes study your face before moving along the rest of you. you feel the heat from his eyes travel along your legs and up your spine, before finally finishing back to your head. almost instinctively, his hand reaches up to fix a loose strand by your face. “you… cut your hair.”
you blink at his words. four months ago you couldn’t even think of him without getting worked up, and now you’re here discussing your recent haircut.
he takes your silence as a bad sign, “i mean— it looks great. frames your face. not that it wasn’t framed before or that it wasn’t nice because it always looks—,” an old man behind the cash register lets out a snort before quietly disappearing to wherever he lurked out of.
johnny laughs nervously at the old man’s laugh, then looks back at you with a smirk that’s softer than his usual one.“you know, you’re still the only person who makes me this nervous,” he says, voice low.
you raise an eyebrow. “you? i thought the johnny storm was an infamous playboy who doesn’t get nervous.”
“terrified,” he admits, and before you can respond, his hand cups your cheek, warm—almost too warm. you don’t pull away. his breath smells like that god forsaken lucky charms cereal that you know ruins his appetite for dinner.
his sincerity shocks you, and for a moment, you forget you’re not together. that this isn’t the usual bickering you two have before ben gags and sue smiles fondly at you both.
then you remember why it ended. he was too reckless, too proud, too absorbed in his circle of fans to remember that you existed too. countless dinners went forgotten, pitied smiles thrown your way, and arguments left unresolved. you ended it in the heat of the moment after another forgotten dinner date. you knew he couldn’t really help it if danger just so happened to be on your date night. that was his job. his title. but it wouldn't have hurt him to put you first for once.
you go to pull back, to nip this feeling in the bud. you feel his hands anchor themselves on your waist before you could take a step.
“i’m sorry,” he licks his lips as he releases a breath, his voice almost trembling. “for every dinner i missed, every time i made you feel like you weren’t the most important thing in my life. i was an idiot, and i thought… i thought you’d always be there no matter how badly i messed up.”
your hands hang uselessly at your sides, your chest twisting with everything you want to say but can’t. he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing while the wind picks up outside.
“i can save new york,” he continues, softer now, “but i couldn’t save us. i hate myself every waking moment for that. but if you tell me it’s over, i’ll walk away.”
the words hang heavy between you, and for a split second, you almost let them go unanswered. you should. it would be easier. but then his thumb brushes against your cheek—gentle, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter—and all the anger you’ve been holding onto crumbles into something you’ve been trying so hard to ignore.
“you’re still reckless,” you whisper, your voice unsteady, "and arrogant. and a stubborn little shit. and you drive me insane.”
a small, hopeful smile tugs at his lips. “but?”
“but…” you exhale shakily, gripping his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “i miss you.”
that’s all he needs. his mouth crashes into yours, desperate and warm and everything you swore you didn’t need anymore. you only break apart when the man behind the counter appears again to interject. “alright kids get a room.”
you hide your face in johnny’s chest as he grins, his voice a breath against your hair. “guess we’re going back to mine?”
you roll your eyes, though your lips curve into a smile. “don’t make me regret it.”
“never,” he promises, and when he drags you back outside, the storm has turned into a gentle drizzle. maybe the universe was sending signs.
