𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖
Johnny Storm x F reader (Human Torch)
SUMMARY ঔঌ Johnny joins you in your apartment believing you wish to know about his recent photoshoot covers but you had other plans.
AUTHORS N. ঔঌ inspired by Superman 2025. Lois interviews Clark. Yes. I was excited. Forgive any mistake. Enjoy!!
(part two)
Are cookies supposed to look like this? Slightly darker than golden. Twice the size of your palm? No. Your head shakes. Obviously not. You knew better. Cookies are only golden. Their size is big enough to fit in your palm.
What you have now will do. After all, tonight is your only opportunity. You’re not even sure what might happen. Scaring your subject is one of your habits anyway. A simple question is enough to tick them off. It infuriates you.
How could you not get upset? No one wants to tell the truth unless you reveal intel they wish to keep to themselves. That is what makes great Journalism. Yet accessing proof to strengthen your claim is always the most challenging part.
You casually dragged your heels from the kitchen to the living room, carrying the plate of freshly baked cookies (You instantly regret baking) to a short coffee table.
Beside you lay your red couch, and across from it a sofa. Same fabric–thankfully, you spent no money to purchase the set. Your aunt was generous enough to give them to you during her move-out.
Across from you was your balcony, a wide enough view of New York City, especially with the Fantastic Four building far ahead. This might be the best room you have ever claimed.
“I’m not late, am I?”
You jolt at the sudden voice, dropping the plate without shattering it before raising your head. Johnny Storm, who would have thought? His flammable body vanishes before stepping into your apartment from your balcony.
He appeared wearing a plain black shirt, sleeves gripping his biceps (Same for his collar), and high waist pants that had support from his belt.
Lost by words, your mind drifts. How rude. Could he not have used the front door? He can’t walk into any apartment or house like it’s his home.
“You know I have a front door. My balcony isn’t for entering.” Johnny's attention veers to your family photos, eyeing them as if he stepped into a museum and reached a hand to touch your belongings.
“What did you want to happen? Me show up to your door with pretty ladies and reporters on my back?’ His brow lifts, shooting a careless expression in your direction.
In return, your eyes rolled. He’s right. How clueless could you be? Hello? Johnny Storm is Human Torch. Part of the Fantastic Four! No human can fly onto your balcony unless he is a member of the Fantastic Four.
Plus, this interview is set to be private. No one knows of this except you, Johnny, and–
“So Ben tells me you wish to interview me about my recent photoshoots.” He slides over behind your sofa, resting his arms on the cushions.
“I’m surprised you agree to this. Doesn’t Reed speak for the team?” You spun to the shelf behind you, grabbing a recorder. “For the team,” He said solemnly.
“I only agree with this because Ben had me curious about what convinced him this interview was worth a try, and so far, I’m not impressed.”
“Why is that?”
“If I were a journalist like you, my apartment would be much more fancy with cameras prepared to record from each angle and probably wear a tight work uniform-not saying your pajamas are the worst outfit for this– but a professional setup.”
“Remind you my interviews aren't for tv, it's for me to write,” Your brows furrowed, yanking your shirt for Johnny to view clearly.
“And don’t discriminate against my Wallace and Gromit shirt.” Johnny’s grin look drops, eyeing your shirt were pain in his eyes. “No one watches that anymore.” He mouths.
“Shall we start, Human Torch, or do you prefer me to call you Johnny?” You plant yourself on the couch, legs criss-crossed, with the recorder tossed onto the coffee table.
“Johnny. Oh, you made cookies?” He climbed onto the sofa, snatching one of your cookies. “Hopefully it's good.” Your index hovers over the start button. “Ready?”
Johnny nods. Tape begins.
“Johnny Storm, the Human Torch of the Fantastic Four.” You start. “That’s me!”
“Let’s begin with some warm-up questions to loosen you up.” You lean forward, crasping your palms with a prepared attitude. “Hit me.” He sits up, swallowing the same cookie.
“Are you single?” Out of all the questions, that's what you came up with. “Very. Interested?” A smile separates his lips.
“Funny. Have any plans this weekend?” Johnny reaches for another cookie. Were your baking skills not as bad as you thought? “I don’t plan, I just do. Unless I have a scheduled appointment with Reed, which I don’t–”
“Good. Last question. How’s the cookie?” Your teeth grits. You were well aware he probably fancied your cookie yet a knot in your throat had you feeling otherwise.
“I mean, the texture is crunchy and good. It tastes like any other cookie.” An air of joy fills your lungs. “But it's overbaked by a slight I’m afraid. So not the best cookie I’ve had.”
The tape paused. “You did not need to say more than it tastes like any other cookie.”
“You asked the question.” He says while mid-chewing. You shot a glare. Is this what you will have to deal with for the night? Should’ve expected the unexpected.
Tape begins. “Tell me, how many months has it been since Galactus?” You start again. “Two months.”
“And about the Silver Surfer that arrived on Earth before Galactus had, do you believe we might see her again?” Your head tilts, clenching your jaw from furthering your question. “Silver Surfer?”
“Yes. During the months you and your team were up in space, the public gave her a name. Silver Surfer. She was the talk for months till your team arrived.” You explained.
Johnny's face then tightens. “Her name is Shalla-Bal–”
“Shalla-Bal?”
“Yes. Without her help, my sister’s son would’ve been gone, and maybe our planet would be, too.” Your lips pursed to his words.
Without her help? Yes, this Silver Surfer had helped push Galactus into their portal. That doesn’t support how he feels about her.
“Yes, she did, but if Silver Surfer is to show up again, she isn’t to be trusted. Who knows what her intentions might be?”
Johnny posture straightened, palms intertwined and shooting you a look that was the same as yours earlier.
“She will come in peace and with no intentions of destroying our planet. Not after what she did,” he declares.
“But you don’t know for sure. How can you be? She heralded Galactus. She chose our planet to be devoured by that guy. Did you forget?”
“Of course not! I know what she did and why! You don’t know her like I do. Despite the wrong she did, she chose to save our planet!”
Johnny then reached for your recording, attempting to pause the record, his frustration blinded him from spotting the obvious button. “Stop. I got it!” Your palm steals the recorder.
Tape paused.
“What is this? I thought you wanted to interview me about my Photoshoots?!”
You stood near the steps of your friend’s synagogue. Rachel Rozman. You did not really know her, though. Just met her while passing constantly on the same streets, and she happened to invite you to a synagogue she attends.
You both had a few coffees and chatted after meetings about your days and what’s been happening lately, which was Galactus. It was all on people’s minds at the time, anyway.
With the Fantastic Four claiming their victory, everyone was curious about Galactus' existence and the Silver Surfers, including her role with him. There were so many questions that the four refused to acknowledge. All the citizens knew was what Galactus wanted—Susan’s son.
You rubbed your muffin hands together, building as much warmth as possible against New York's wintry weather. And without a need to change your view of direction, your head sways on its own.
Just to lay your eyes on a figure afar. Its dark silhouette carelessly strolled towards you, its body twice the size of a regular person. ‘Is that who I think it is?’ You thought.
“Ben?” You blurt out in shock once he appears in the light above you.
“Oh, yeah, that’s me. I came for uh Rachel. She here?” He removes his hat so you may see his face under all the darkness, but then places it back on. “You know Rachel? Are you guys like a thing or—”
“Thing? Is that a joke? Are you trying—“
“NO! No, I forgot about your heroic name. I only said that because you know people these days don’t like hearing the term dati—“ Ben cuts you off from blabbing any further.
“Just messing with you. Don’t worry, I knew what you meant.” A small chuckle escapes him under the dark shadow. And with a smile growing across your face, you sensed him doing the same, as if you could see.
“Oh well, were you going to join me and Rachel tonight? She’s taking me to one of her meetings. People are still suffering from what happened over the last few months. You know?”
Your voice speaks in a sorrowful tone. You felt bad. Despite victory, who wishes to think of the past? Ben lets out a heavy sigh.
“That’s why we have people like Rachel. I saw her help others. She’s good at her job,” Oh?
“Anyways, I thought I would drop by to say hello, but she seems busy and I can’t stay long. Have a great night!” Ben then farewells, turning his back on you.
You stop him. “Ben! Wait! I‘m not close to Rachel– just a meeting buddy, but I know she’s free during the afternoon.”
Ben then faces you. “What are you saying?”
“ I’m encouraging you to follow what your heart desires. (saying this, and you haven’t even dated a guy since High School) “What’s the favor?” asked Ben.
You initially had no intentions; you only thought of encouraging him. You weren't sure if he knew that under the shade or if he wanted to do something in return, and only figured that this was to say it, so you had no choice.
Is that normal? Anyways, you couldn’t think of one. Why are you thinking of one? All you have to do is say “No favors.”
Yet because of your journalist side. It took over. “An Interview with Human Torch about his recent Photoshoots?” You say at random.
“His Calvin Klein Photos?” Oh. “yes.”
“Hm. His Calvin Klein?” He repeats. “Yes.”
Johnny reaches for your recorder, but you were quick enough to grasp it before him. Your palms pressed against your chest as he forced off the sofa to surface his anger. “Are you a criminal?! What do you want?! My Calvin Klein underwear?”
“No?! Gross. This is only an Interview! That's all I want!” A look of disgust washes over you. “Not your smelly underwear.”
Johnny's brows narrowed lower, offended by your words. “Gross? Smelly? Then what?” His voice rises.
You took a moment to collect yourself. Then, you changed your position on the coach to feel more relaxed. “Will you please sit first and let me explain?”
Your eyes signaled to your sofa. He followed your direction. Took his moment. Then sat. Johnny’s fiery manner remained, his lips rubbed, and his fist formed to constrain himself. He had every right to be upset.
“During the last two months, have you ever taken a second and looked around New York? Embrace the environment we have now?” Tape begins. “Why are you interviewing me again. I thought you were explaining.”
“I’m trying to explain. Answer the question, Johnny.” He hesitates, then shrugs.
“You’re the protectors of this earth, and you don’t know. For the past two months, since Galactus, people of New York have stopped before crossing a sidewalk, before stepping into a store or apartment building to look up at the sky. Do you know why?”
“No, why?” he says with an attitude.
“because they still wonder to this day who the visitors on earth were. Will they ever come back? And will the Fantastic Four be prepared this time? Some still leave in fear and attend church, hoping for God to give answers.”
“I would’ve known of this—“
“Well, you didn’t because of your advertisements. Everywhere you walk, you see Johnny Storm’s underwear being yanked by a dog for no reason and repeated reminders for who the Fantastic Four is and why they are so Fantastic!” You use your free hand to grab a cookie.
“This is a major issue, though. It will be all over the news, we—” you interrupted him.
“Well, it’s not. No one will care to listen. All everyone wants to know is what is hidden underneath your pants.”
A dull look rains over Johnny. He was at a loss for words. He felt that you were calling him out. And you were. You had had enough of his blindness and of these people suffering in silence.
Someone had to speak up. His head hung over his shoulder, intensely rubbing his nape out of annoyance. “Why me? Why interview me?”
“You’re the only one who can give me a full answer.” You check your recorder. Tape ongoing. You place it back on the table. “Why not Reed?”
“I don’t care for thesis and equations.”
“Ben?”
“Hm. You know how a deal works Johnny.”
“Yeah. whatever. Susan?”
“Half answer. You’re the only one who knows Silver Surfer.”
Johnny then got out of his seat, hating every second he spent on it, and again swung his attention to your photographs. He completely shut himself off from you.
To turn the tape off would be risky. Every word matters. Even if it was a single word, it’s an expression. You did not want to push his buttons any further, so you were silent. Yet having patience isn’t one of your strongest suits.
With cookies wiped from your plate, you took this opportunity to wash the dish along with the others you had left this morning.
Yes, it's a bad habit, but how could you not blame yourself? Forcing yourself to be awake at midnight to keep up with one of your favorite shows is diabolical.
You place the final plate on your dishrack, turn the faucet, then wipe your palms dry. Still silent. Not a single word for five minutes. By now, you suspect him to be gone from your apartment.
Oh well, you gain enough to write, just not enough to be approved for publication. You still had questions–more efficient ones to sum up the discussion.
You spun where your living room lay, only to find Johnny reaching the end of your shelf near a doorway leading to your kitchen. Strange.
“Do you have any more questions for me?” asked Johnny, his back facing you and a finger caressing a photo. “Yes, a few. Is that a problem?” You watch him closely.
You find yourself reclaiming your spot, and Johnny follows your lead, but instead of sitting across from you, he sits very close, with an inch or two of gap between you.
Was he willing to be open-minded? Was he willing to get this interview over with? He says in such a subdued tone, like a whisper echoing in your ear, “No problem. Hit me.”
“Really?” An excitement rushes over you. “If you’re going to make me repeat myself. I’m leaving.” You slide the recorder across the table before continuing. “What is your relationship with the Silver Surfer?”
“That’s your question?” He judges. “It’s important. Answer please.”
“There’s no relationship, I believe. I happen to know how she felt at the time and hoped that she would turn against Galactus.” His arm rests on the cushion. “Earlier, it seemed like you both did.”
“Well, we didn’t. Next question.”
“If Galactus finds our planet again. Will the Fantastic Four be prepared for what may happen?” You nibbed on your bottom lip out of uncertainty. His blue eyes teared away from yours for a second. “You can ask Reed.”
“Why? Do you not have an answer?” You swallowed. “This question isn’t for me.” Johnny said, annoyance coating his voice.
That's when he again stormed off your couch just like before. This time, you could not tolerate his attitude. Nor did Johnny have a chance to shut down again. “What? What is it?”
“Could you not have come up with a better answer than 'Ask Reed' because you’re making whoever may read this have more fear than they already do. Not even a shimmer of hope in that answer.”
You both stood behind the couch. Johnny was facing you with a burning expression that matched yours. “So you want me to lie?” He snapped, closing the distance and hovering over.
Baffled by his sudden manner, you step back. Yet your guard remained up. “That’s not what I am saying. Are you delusional?”
“Am I delusional? If you want answers, speak to Reed. As a matter of fact, go to Ben. I bet his answers are far better than mine.” He marches forward, forcing you to stumble further back and lose your balance.
Your arm reaches for him, capturing only his sleeves, which had Johnny tag along. His arm grips your waist while the other holds the corner of your couch.
Your head throws back, leaving a slight throb of pain on your nape. It happened so fast, you instantly forgot how you got to this point.
‘Why am I staring up at the ceiling?’ Your head lifts, resting your gaze on Johnny with terror in his blue eyes. Face tightened with regret.
Right- you both were in a heated disagreement, which resulted in you falling–it seemed like Johnny thinks this was all his fault.
You held him tight by his sleeves. Your waist in his firm grip. “You okay?” He whispers gently as you stand on your own two feet. “I think so.” Johnny’s palm slides off from behind, freeing you from being imprisoned. You remained still, regaining your calmness without speaking another word.
“Shall we continue?”
