Pt. 2 (Pt. 1)
Public Nuisance (According to the New York Times)
⤷ Johnny Storm x journalist!fem!reader
⤷ You’ve spent two years professionally dragging Johnny Storm's ass in the New York Times. After Reed Richards quoted your article in his speech, you got an exclusive interview- a week in the Baxter Building was supposed to confirm everything you already knew about Fantastic 4. It didn’t, matter of fact, it changed everything.
⤷ fluff, a lot of banter, johnny crashes out pretty much every day, sue is tired of his ass, reader has beef with blond men (self indulgent oops), reader is low-key lois lane coded idk i love her, no freaky stuff here guys sorry i love tension!! might do a part 2 tho
⤷ im sorry i had to divide this into two parts, as i said i hit the 1000 block limit smh but i hope you enjoy this part too! also not proof read....
Dinner should have ended an hour earlier.
That was the conclusion you came to somewhere between Ben insisting everyone take seconds “or I’m offended” and Johnny trying to argue that dessert should count as a second dinner because “it’s a separate course with its own emotional purpose.” It wasn’t one big moment that kept you there—it was a hundred small ones stacked on top of each other. Conversations that drifted, stories that stretched, people who didn’t seem in any hurry to get up from the table.
And somehow, neither were you.
At some point you had ended up standing at the sink, sleeves pushed up slightly, rinsing plates like you’d done it a hundred times before. It wasn’t intentional—you hadn’t walked in thinking you’d stay long enough to help clean up—but the rhythm of it just… made sense. Pass the plate, rinse, set it aside. Ben handled the heavier stuff with the kind of ease that made it obvious he’d done this plenty of times. Sue moved around the kitchen like she could do it blindfolded, drying things off and putting them away before you even realized you’d handed them over.
Johnny, on the other hand, was being… Johnny.
“You missed a spot,” he said, leaning just a little too comfortably against the counter near you.
You didn’t even look up. “I didn’t.”
“You did. Right there.” He pointed at the plate in your hands with far too much confidence for someone who had, moments ago, tried to put a wet plate directly into a cabinet.
“You tried to put a wet dish away,” you reminded him.
“That was one time.”
“That was five minutes ago.”
“It still counts as one time.”
You turned just enough to hand him the plate. “Top shelf.”
He took it without argument, which was already suspicious, and reached up to place it where you said. “You’re very bossy for someone who doesn’t live here.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re controlling.”
“I’m helping.”
“You’re judging me again.”
You finally glanced at him. “I’m always judging you.”
He paused, like he was considering that. “…I respect the honesty,” he said after a second, nodding like that settled something for him.
You turned back to the sink, but the corner of your mouth had already betrayed you.
Cleanup didn’t take long after that, mostly because Ben refused to let it. The second the last dish was done, he practically clapped his hands together like he’d completed a mission. “Alright, that’s enough. Kitchen’s closed.”
Sue laughed softly, drying her hands. “You say that like you’re running a restaurant.”
“I take this seriously,” Ben replied. “People gotta eat right.”
Johnny leaned back in his chair like he’d personally contributed to the entire meal. “I supported the process.”
“You ate cereal before dinner,” Ben shot back.
“That was pre-dinner preparation.”
“That was sabotage.”
You shook your head slightly, grabbing your bag from where you’d set it earlier. “Thank you for dinner,” you said, meaning it. “It was really good.”
“It better have been,” Ben said, already pleased with himself.
Sue stepped a little closer. “You sure you don’t want to stay? It’s late.”
You checked your phone again, mostly out of habit this time. “I should probably go. I’ve got enough to sort through tonight as it is.”
You had just adjusted the strap of your bag when Johnny spoke. “You’re not leaving.”
You stopped.
Turned slowly.
He was standing a few feet away, dish towel still in his hand like he’d forgotten he was holding it, expression completely serious in a way you hadn’t seen much of yet.
“…I am,” you said.
He shook his head immediately. “No, you’re not.”
Sue blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Johnny—”
He walked past you before she could finish, disappearing into the kitchen for half a second to toss the towel aside, then came right back like this had been his plan the entire time.
“We’re not gonna let a gorgeous lady walk out there alone at this hour,” he said, like it was obvious. Like everyone else had missed something important.
There was a brief pause where the room just… looked at him.
Ben glanced at Sue.
Sue looked at Johnny. “…You just thought of this now?” she asked.
Johnny ignored her completely. “I’ll drive you.”
You opened your mouth to respond but he was already moving. “Come on.”
You stood there for a second, processing the fact that he had just made a decision on your behalf and was now acting like it was non-negotiable.
“I didn’t say yes,” you called after him.
“You didn’t say no,” he shot back over his shoulder.
“That’s not how that works.”
“It is tonight.”
Sue gave you a look—half apology, half something that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Get home safe.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “I will.” And just like that, you were being ushered toward the elevator.
Johnny pressed the button before you could argue again, leaning back against the wall like he hadn’t just hijacked your exit plan.
“You know I can get home on my own,” you said, crossing your arms slightly.
“Yeah,” he replied easily. “I know.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
He shrugged. “Because I said I would.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is to me.”
You looked at him.
He didn’t look away.
The elevator doors opened, and you stepped in first this time, the quiet hum of the descent filling the space between you. It wasn’t awkward, exactly—just different from the rest of the day. Less back-and-forth, more… awareness.
You caught yourself glancing at him once, then immediately looked away when he noticed.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
He smiled a little, like he’d already decided he was right. “You were.”
You rolled your eyes, grateful when the elevator finally reached the garage.
The space was quieter down there, the sounds of the building fading into something softer. Your footsteps echoed slightly as you followed him across the floor, and it didn’t take long to spot the car.
Of course it was the convertible.
Of course it was clean.
Painfully clean.
Johnny reached it first, unlocking it with a quick click before walking around to your side and pulling the door open.
You stopped.
Looked at him. “…You’re being weird.”
“I’m being nice.”
“You’re never just nice.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s accurate.”
He leaned slightly against the door, waiting. “Get in the car.”
You hesitated just long enough to acknowledge that this was, objectively, a bad habit to start.
Then you got in anyway.
The engine started smoothly, and within seconds you were pulling out of the garage and into the city. The air was cooler now, the streets quieter than they had been earlier, and with the top down, the breeze moved easily through the car, carrying the faint noise of the city with it.
For a while, neither of you said anything. Not because there was nothing to say, just because neither of you rushed to fill it.
“You don’t have to do this,” you said eventually, eyes on the road ahead.
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
He shrugged, one hand steady on the wheel. “Because I wanted to.”
That answer sat there for a second. Simple. Annoyingly simple. You shifted slightly in your seat, glancing at him before looking away again. “You’re not what I expected.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been getting that vibe.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
You looked at him again, more directly this time. “You do?”
“Yeah,” he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ve been writing about me like I’m an idiot for two years. Must be weird realizing I’m not.”
You exhaled softly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
There was a pause. Not the uncomfortable kind though, it was more of a “there’s something unfinished” pause.
“I still think you make questionable decisions.” You said, voice breaking through the city noise.
“Of course you do.”
“You cancelled an interview to wax your car.”
“It needed waxing.”
You shook your head, but this time you didn’t argue further.
Johnny didn’t push it either.
The city lights passed over both of you in quiet flashes, and for once, neither of you seemed in a hurry to turn the moment into something louder.
Which, somehow, made it feel even more noticeable.
The drive didn’t feel as long as it should have.
Somewhere between the quiet of the streets, the steady hum of the engine, and the fact that neither of you seemed particularly interested in filling the silence with pointless conversation, time slipped by in a way that was almost inconvenient. You found yourself noticing small things instead—how easily Johnny handled the car, one hand resting loosely on the wheel like he’d done this a thousand times, how the city lights reflected off the windshield in quick flashes, how every now and then he’d glance over like he had something to say, then decide against it.
You gave directions when he needed them, kept your voice even, your tone neutral, like this was just another ride, just another part of the day.
But it wasn’t and you both knew it.
When he finally pulled up outside your building, the car slowed smoothly before coming to a stop along the curb. The engine stayed on for a second longer than necessary, like neither of you was in a rush to break the moment.
“Well,” you said after a beat, adjusting the strap of your bag, your voice just a little quieter than it had been before. “This is me.”
Johnny nodded once, glancing up at the building before looking back at you. “Nice place.”
“Yeah, it does the job.”
There was a pause. A real one this time. Not the easy kind you’d had in the car, not the comfortable silence that came from not needing to talk. This one sat between you, heavier, more aware of itself. You could feel it in the way neither of you moved right away, in the way the night seemed a little quieter than it should have been.
You reached for the door handle, then hesitated for half a second before pushing it open and stepping out. The air was cooler outside, the sounds of the city softer but still there, distant traffic, a car passing by, someone laughing somewhere down the block.
Johnny got out too.
Of course he did.
You closed the door behind you, turning slightly as he walked around the front of the car, stopping just close enough that you had to tilt your head a little to meet his eyes.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said.
“Yeah,” he replied, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Anytime.”
Another pause.
You adjusted your bag again, more out of habit than necessity. He leaned back lightly against the side of the car, hands slipping into his pockets, like he was trying to play it casual and not quite pulling it off.
“You’re not writing about this, right?” he asked after a second.
“About you driving me home?”
“Yeah.”
You considered it. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you do anything worth writing down.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “So I should just stand here and be normal.”
“That would be a start.”
He looked at you for a second longer than necessary, like he was about to say something else, something that didn’t fit into the usual back-and-forth you’d been doing all day. And then he stepped a little closer. Not a big movement, not obvious, just enough to shift the space between you.
You felt it immediately. The way the conversation dropped off. The way your brain, for once, didn’t have a quick response ready. The way your attention narrowed, focused entirely on him standing just a little too close, looking at you like he was trying to figure something out in real time.
Johnny wasn’t smiling anymore, not in the usual way.It was quieter than that, more uncertain, almost nervous and that was new.
You didn’t move for a second or two. Long enough for the moment to settle in properly. Long enough for the thought to cross your mind that this was a bad idea. Long enough for him to lean in just slightly—
Not all the way, not enough to make it obvious. Just enough to make the intention clear. And that was when you stepped back. A small step, but enough. Like you wanted to lean in but somehow you just couldn’t.
“It’s getting late,” you said, your voice steady, even if your timing wasn’t exactly accidental. “You should probably go.”
Johnny stopped.
Not abruptly.
Just… paused like he was recalibrating.
“Yeah,” he said after a second, nodding once, the easy tone slipping back into place like it had never left. “Yeah, you’re right.”
You held his gaze for a moment longer, just to make sure the shift had settled. “Drive safe.”
He let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh under it. “Always do.”
You nodded once, then turned before you could overthink it, walking toward the entrance of your building without looking back. You could feel his eyes on you for a second—maybe two—before the door opened and you stepped inside.
And just like that—
It was over.
Or at least—
That moment was.
Outside, Johnny stayed where he was for a second longer than he meant to, staring at the door like it might open again.
It didn’t.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before turning back to the car, already shaking his head to himself.
“…Okay,” he muttered, half to the empty street. “Yeah. That’s fine.”
It wasn’t.
But he got back in the car anyway.
Johnny Storm did not slam the car door.
He would like everyone to know that.
He closed it with intention— very controlled,just a little harder than necessary—but not a slam. There was a difference, and he cared about that difference a lot more than anyone else ever would. The sound echoed slightly in the Baxter Building garage anyway, bouncing off the concrete walls in a way that made it feel louder than it actually was.
He stood there for a second after, keys still in his hand, staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing.
The garage was quiet this time of night. No movement, no voices, just the faint hum of the building somewhere above and the soft ticking of the engine cooling behind him. Normally, he liked it down here—liked the quiet, the space—but right now it just gave him too much room to think.
And that was the problem.
“…Okay,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it fall back down. “That’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine.
He started walking toward the elevator, his steps a little quicker than usual, like he had somewhere urgent to be. He didn’t. He just didn’t want to stand still long enough for his brain to catch up with him.
It caught up anyway.
Because of course it did.
The moment replayed without permission. The way you had paused, eyes dropping to his lips for a moment (or did he imagine that?). The way you hadn’t moved right away. The way it had felt like—just for a second—that maybe you were ready to cross the ‘professional’ line and just lean in a little more–
And then—
“It’s getting late.”
He pressed the elevator button harder than necessary.
“Drive safe.”
The doors opened with a quiet chime, and he stepped inside immediately, turning to lean back against the wall as the doors slid shut. The mirrored surface in front of him caught his reflection—slightly wind-messed hair, jaw set just a little tighter than usual—and he frowned at it like that might help.
“…I wasn’t even gonna—” he started, then stopped himself, squinting slightly. “Okay, I was gonna.”
He let his head fall back lightly against the wall “…But that’s not the point.”
The elevator hummed as it moved upward, and for a second he considered just staying there. Letting it go up and down a few times until his brain decided to cooperate again.
It didn’t.
The doors opened onto the main floor, and Johnny stepped out still mid-thought, running a hand over his face like he could physically wipe the last ten minutes away.
“She didn’t even—like, I wasn’t rejected,” he said out loud, already walking into the living area before he even registered who was there. “That wasn’t a rejection. That was… timing.”
The room was quiet in that comfortable, end-of-the-night way—soft lighting, the low hum of whatever Reed had left running in the background, the faint clink of something being set down.
Three heads turned toward him, ready to hear another lovesick speech from Johnny, which happened more times that week than ever.
Sue was curled slightly into the corner of the couch, a book open in her lap that she clearly hadn’t been reading for a while now. Ben was sprawled out across an armchair like he had claimed it hours ago and had no intention of moving. Reed stood near the table, holding a small device that looked like it required his full attention and was currently getting none of it.
They all looked at Johnny. Then, almost in sync, they glanced at each other. Then back at him.
“…What happened?” Sue asked slowly, closing her book but keeping her finger tucked between the pages.
Johnny didn’t slow down. “Nothing happened.”
“That sounds like something happened,” Ben said immediately, pushing himself up just a little.
“Nothing happened,” Johnny repeated, pacing now without really meaning to, his steps carrying him from one side of the room to the other. “Everything was fine. Great, actually. Fantastic. Best interview of the week.”
Reed tilted his head slightly, still holding the device in his hand. “Statistically, you’ve only conducted one interview this week.”
“That’s not the point,” Johnny shot back, waving a hand in vague dismissal.
Sue shifted forward a little, setting the book aside completely now. “Johnny.”
He stopped pacing for half a second, then immediately started again. “She laughed,” he added, like that was the important part.
Ben sat up more fully at that. “She laughed?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said, nodding, like he was presenting solid evidence. “At me.”
Ben squinted slightly. “At you, or because of you?”
Johnny frowned. “That’s the same thing.”
“It is absolutely not the same thing.”
Johnny ignored that, already moving on. “It was a real laugh, though. Not that fake polite one she does when she’s being… you know. Professional.”
Sue raised a brow. “You’ve categorized her laughs?”
“I notice things,” he said defensively, like that was a completely normal sentence.
Ben let out a quiet, amused breath. “Yeah. We can tell.”
Johnny kept going like no one had interrupted him. “And then I drove her home. Which, by the way, I didn’t have to do. That was me being a good person. A gentleman, even.”
Sue nodded slowly, clearly following. “Right. And then what?”
“And then nothing,” Johnny said again, louder this time, like repeating it would make it more convincing. “That’s what I’m saying. Nothing happened.”
Ben leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You just gave us a full play-by-play and somehow skipped the part where something clearly happened.”
“Nothing clear happened,” Johnny corrected, stopping in the middle of the room and turning toward him.
Ben held up his hands. “Alright. Then what unclear thing happened?”
Johnny opened his mouth.
Paused.
Ran a hand through his hair again, realising how stupid he’s gonna sound. “…I leaned in,” he admitted.
The room went still for exactly one second.
Then–
“Oh my God,” Sue said, sitting up straighter.
Ben’s reaction was immediate. His face split into a grin so fast it was almost impressive. “You leaned in?”
“It wasn’t a full lean,” Johnny said quickly, already trying to fix it. “It was like—a partial lean. A situational lean.”
“A situational lean,” Ben repeated, his voice already giving out from holding back laughter.
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
Johnny hesitated again. “…She said it was getting late.”
There was a beat.
And then Ben lost it. Not subtle. Not quiet. Full, unfiltered laughter that echoed through the room as he leaned back again, shaking his head.
“That’s not funny,” Johnny said immediately, even though it very clearly was.
“That’s a little funny,” Ben managed between breaths.
“It’s not funny,” Johnny insisted, pointing at him like that might help his case. “It wasn’t even—she didn’t reject me. She just… redirected the situation.”
Sue blinked slowly, finally speaking up. “Redirected.”
“Yes,” Johnny said, nodding like that made perfect sense. “She didn’t stop it. She just… paused it.”
“For what?” Ben asked, still grinning. “A sequel?”
Johnny ignored him, pacing again. “It wasn’t a rejection. It was timing.”
Reed, who had been quietly observing this entire conversation with mild curiosity, finally spoke up. “It appears she exercised agency in the interaction, and you respected that.”
Johnny turned to him, incredulous. “…That’s not helpful.”
“It’s accurate.”
“I don’t need accurate right now.”
Ben laughed again, wiping at his face. “So let me get this straight—you drive her home, things get a little—what did you call it—situational?”
“There was a moment,” Johnny corrected.
“There was a moment,” Ben repeated.
“Yes.”
“And then she shuts it down.”
“She does not shut it down,” Johnny snapped. “She pauses it.”
Sue pressed her lips together, trying not to smile again. “Johnny…”
“I’m serious,” he said, running both hands through his hair now. “She didn’t say no.”
“She didn’t say yes either,” Ben pointed out.
“That’s not the same thing.” Johnny crossed his arms, shooting Ben a glare that wasn’t exactly in the scary category.
But Ben really didn’t have a care in the world, enjoying Johnny’s suffering. “It’s pretty close.” He said
Johnny exhaled sharply, dropping down onto the couch like he’d finally run out of energy to argue standing up. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him.
“I was doing fine before this week,” he muttered.
“No, you weren’t,” Ben said immediately.
“I was thriving actually.” Johnny pointed out, looking like he was regretting even being born so he would not have had to live this week.
“You were eating cereal before dinner.” Ben crossed his arms.
“I always do that and you know it, Ben.”
Sue stood, picking up her book again but clearly still listening. “You’re not going to let this go.”
“I am,” Johnny said.
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re talking about it.”
“I’m explaining it.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You are pacing, arguing with three people, and analyzing the tone of ‘drive safe,’” she said calmly. “You are spiraling.”
Johnny turned his head slightly, still looking at the ceiling. “…It felt loaded.”
Ben made a noise that was half laugh, half disbelief. “It’s not loaded. That’s a normal sentence.”
“Not the way she said it.”
“How did she say it?” Sue asked, humoring him.
Johnny sat up slightly, attempting to mimic your voice and failing immediately. “‘Drive safe.’ Like—like that.”
Ben stared at him. “…That was just you saying it.”
“It’s different in context,” Johnny insisted.
Sue shook her head, laughing quietly now. “Go to bed, Johnny.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re overthinking.”
“I’m not overthinking.”
“You’re replaying a goodbye.” Sue shot him a look. A look that Johnny knows from childhood actually, women can be so scary sometimes.
Johnny paused. “…Okay, maybe a little.”
Ben grinned. “Yeah. Thought so.”
Johnny leaned back again, quieter this time, staring up at the ceiling as the room settled back into its earlier calm.
“…She laughed, though,” he said after a second.
Ben didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. You’re done for.”
Johnny closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. “…I’m not done for.”
Safe to say Johnny did not sleep well that night.
Saturday morning did not start the way Johnny Storm wanted it to.
To be fair, he hadn’t had a plan. He just assumed—without saying it out loud, without even fully admitting it to himself—that there would be… something. Another day. Another excuse for you to walk through the doors like you had all week, notebook in hand, already judging the place before you even said good morning.
Instead, what he got was H.E.R.B.I.E. rolling into the living area at 9:12 a.m. with a soft series of beeps and a message projection that immediately ruined his entire mood.
Sue saw it first.
Of course she did.
She was already up, sitting at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee and a tablet in front of her, reading through something that looked work-related but was probably just her pretending to have a quiet morning. H.E.R.B.I.E. beeped twice to get her attention, then projected the message in a clean, polite format that felt entirely too cheerful for what it was about to say.
“‘Thank you again for the opportunity,’” Sue read aloud, her voice neutral at first. “‘The week-long feature has concluded successfully, and we have more than enough material for publication. We truly appreciate the Fantastic Four’s cooperation and hospitality.’”
There was a pause.
Then—
“‘We will be in touch if any follow-up is needed.’”
Another pause.
Sue lowered the tablet slowly. “…Oh.”
Ben, who had just walked in mid-sentence with a piece of toast in his hand, stopped halfway to taking a bite. “What?”
Sue looked up at him. “The interview’s done.”
Ben blinked. “Done done?”
“Done done.” Sue nodded.
Reed, who had been halfway through explaining something to absolutely no one in particular, paused. “That aligns with the expected timeline.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ben muttered.
There was a beat of silence where everyone was a little taken aback.
And then, from somewhere down the hall. “No.”
All three of them turned.
Johnny stood there, just inside the doorway, hair still slightly messy, t-shirt thrown on like he hadn’t bothered to fully wake up yet. He looked like he’d just walked in on the worst possible timing—which, technically, he had.
“No,” he repeated, slower this time, like maybe saying it twice would undo what he’d just heard.
Sue watched him carefully. “Johnny…”
“That’s not—no,” he said again, stepping further into the room now, shaking his head like the message on the screen had personally offended him. “That’s not how that works.”
Ben raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Johnny said, gesturing vaguely at the projection like it was the problem, “it’s been a week, sure, but like—a week week. Not a ‘we’re done, never coming back’ week.”
Sue blinked. “That’s exactly what a week-long interview is.”
“No, it’s not,” Johnny insisted immediately. “There’s always… follow-up. Revisions. Clarifications.”
Reed, ever helpful, nodded slightly. “The message does indicate the possibility of follow-up if necessary.”
Johnny pointed at him. “Exactly. See? If necessary.”
Sue tilted her head. “You’re focusing really hard on that one sentence.”
“Because it matters,” Johnny said. “It means she could come back.”
Ben took a bite of his toast, chewing slowly as he watched this unfold. “Or it means they’re being polite.”
Johnny looked at him. “They’re not just being polite.”
“They are literally being polite.”
“They’re leaving the door open.”
“They’re closing the door politely.”
Johnny exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “No. No, this is—this is temporary. This is a break. Like… intermission.”
Sue stared at him for a second. “Intermission.”
“Yes.”
“Of a newspaper article.” Sue nodded very slowly, brows raised.
Johnny didn’t hesitate. “Exactly.”
Ben almost choked on his toast.
Reed adjusted his grip on the device in his hands, clearly trying to follow the logic. “That is not typically how editorial processes function.”
“Well, maybe it should,” Johnny shot back.
Sue set her coffee down, folding her arms now. “Johnny, the interview is over.”
“No, it’s not.” He said immediately, like saying it would manifest you back to the building, in your heels, the stupid little notebook you have with the New York Times logo on it, ready to write whatever machine operation Reed explains to you about, whatever Sue shows you in her office, whatever Ben tells you about the Excelsior. About how Johnny is chaos in human form and how much you get irritated with him.
“It is.” Sue slightly softened, seeing the devastated look on her brother’s face.
“It’s not.” Johnny shook his head in disbelief, crossing his arms, which if you were there, you would’ve took a note about how the sleeves stretched over his biceps, for personal purposes only of course.
“It is.” Sue said clearly.
Johnny turned in a small circle like he was looking for a different answer somewhere else in the room. “She didn’t even—like, she didn’t say goodbye properly.”
Ben frowned. “She left your building yesterday.”
“That’s not a goodbye,” Johnny argued. “That’s—logistics.”
Sue pressed her lips together, trying not to smile again. “You drove her home.”
“That was also logistics.”
“You stood outside her building talking.”
“That was… post-logistics.”
Ben leaned back against the counter, clearly enjoying himself now. “And then what happened?”
Johnny froze for half a second. “…Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Ben’s rocky face was adorned with a grin.
“She said ‘drive safe.’” Johnny shrugged very casually, like he didn't lose sleep over those two words last night.
Ben looked at Sue. “He’s still on that?”
Sue nodded slightly. “He’s very focused on it.”
“It felt loaded,okay?” Johnny insisted again, like that explained everything.
Ben shook his head, laughing under his breath. “You are unbelievable.”
“I’m being realistic,” Johnny said.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being logical.”
“You called this an intermission,” Ben reminded him.
“That’s a valid term.”
“For a play. Not a newspaper article.”
Johnny threw his hands up slightly. “Why is everyone acting like this is over?”
Sue stepped a little closer, her tone softer but still very clear. “Because it is, Johnny. She got what she needed. That’s how this works.”
He looked at her. Really looked at her. And for a second, there wasn’t a comeback, no joke, no argument, nothing that shaped Johnny the way he is.
“…Oh,” Johnny said, quieter this time, and somehow that was worse.
Ben straightened slightly, the amusement fading just a bit. “Hey,” he said, not unkindly. “It’s not like she disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Johnny let out a small, humorless laugh. “Might as well have.”
“She’s a journalist,” Sue added. “She’s going to write the piece. You’ll see her again eventually.”
“That’s not the same,” Johnny said.
Reed, still trying to contribute something useful, nodded. “You will be featured prominently in the article.”
“That’s not helping,” Johnny muttered.
There was a brief silence, then Johnny moved.
He just walked past them, slower this time, heading toward the couch like he’d suddenly lost whatever energy had been fueling him five minutes ago. He dropped onto it, leaning forward slightly with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had done something to him.
“…She laughed,” he said after a second.
Ben sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “We know.”
“No, like—a real laugh,” Johnny continued, like this was new information. “Not the fake one. The real one.”
Sue softened just slightly. “Johnny—”
“And then she said it was getting late,” he added, like he couldn’t help himself.
Ben closed his eyes briefly. “You’re gonna be on this all day, huh?”
“I’m not on anything,” Johnny said immediately. “I’m just—thinking.”
“You’re replaying it.”
“I’m analyzing it.”
“You’re overthinking it.”
“I’m understanding it.”
Sue walked over, sitting on the arm of the couch. “What are you understanding?”
Johnny leaned back slightly, staring up at the ceiling again. “That it wasn’t a no.”
Ben groaned. “Oh my God.”
“It wasn’t,” Johnny insisted. “It was a ‘not right now.’”
“Or,” Ben said, opening his eyes again, “it was a ‘goodnight.’”
Johnny turned his head. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“You’re making it worse.”
Sue shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re unbelievable.”
Johnny let out a long breath, dragging both hands down his face before dropping them back into his lap.
“…She’s not coming back,” he said finally.
No one answered right away.
Because for once—
There wasn’t a joke to make.
Ben shifted slightly, quieter now. “Not for the interview.”
Johnny nodded once.
“…Yeah.”
Then, after a beat—
“…That’s fine….that’s completely understandable.” Johnny suddenly cheered up, throwing his hands up.
Sue and Ben glanced at each other, very concerned but tried not to show it as Sue spoke very carefully, “Are you sure?..”
“Obviously! Yeah! She did her job, her job is done, she left! That’s how jobs work right?” Johnny almost yelled out, very suspiciously acting normal, which was not normal at all.
“Johnny Storm can go to hell, who even cares about Johnny Storm! I can reject Johnny Storm all I want!” Johnny kept walking towards the elevator, very much psychotically talking to himself, imitating you, leaving Sue Ben and Reed looking even more concerned than before, which should not have been possible.
“WHO EVEN REJECTS JOHNNY STORM??” With that the elevator doors closed.
The weekend passed in a way that no one in the Baxter Building enjoyed witnessing.
Johnny Storm, usually loud, restless, and incapable of sitting still for more than five minutes, somehow managed to do the exact opposite. He wasn’t dramatic about it—not in the obvious, over-the-top way everyone expected from him—but that almost made it worse. He lingered. He hovered. He started things and didn’t finish them. He stopped eating Lucky Charms, which was serious. At one point, he opened the fridge, stood there for a solid minute, and then closed it without taking anything out.
He tried to act normal.
He failed.
Sue noticed immediately, of course. Ben noticed and chose to be entertained for the first few hours before it got a little sad. Reed noticed in the sense that he paused mid-sentence once, looked at Johnny for a long moment, and then quietly continued what he was doing as if he had reached some internal conclusion.
By Sunday night, even Johnny had run out of ways to pretend he wasn’t thinking about it.
And then—
Monday morning arrived.
The Baxter Building lobby was busier than usual, deliveries coming in, people moving through the space, the quiet hum of the city fully awake again. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a stack of newspapers sat near the entrance, freshly delivered, the bold black lettering of the headline visible even from a distance.
Upstairs, H.E.R.B.I.E. rolled into the living area with purpose, a neat stack of newspapers balanced carefully on its tray. It beeped twice, announcing its arrival like it knew this was important, then placed the papers down on the table with surprising precision.
Sue looked up first, Ben followed, and Reed glanced over.
Johnny, who had been leaning back on the couch in a way that suggested he hadn’t slept enough, didn’t move at first.
Sue reached for the top paper and immediately went “Oh.”
That got his attention. Johnny sat up, now more invested.
“What?” Ben asked, already stepping closer.
Sue turned the paper slightly so they could all see.
Front page.
Right there, front and center:
THE FANTASTIC FOUR: A WEEK INSIDE THE WORLD’S MOST EXTRAORDINARY TEAM
Under that was your name.
Johnny stood up slowly this time. Not doing anything.
Ben let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”
Sue’s eyes moved quickly over the page, already scanning, already taking it in. “It’s… long,” she said, a little surprised.
Reed adjusted his stance slightly, leaning in just enough to read over her shoulder.
Johnny didn’t say anything. He just reached for another copy, opened it and started reading.
The Fantastic Four: A Week Inside the World’s Most Extraordinary Team
For decades, the Fantastic Four have stood at the intersection of science, heroism, and public fascination. To the world, they are icons—figures defined by their achievements, their powers, and the countless lives they have saved. But beyond the headlines and the spectacle, there exists a quieter, more human reality. Over the course of one week, I was given unprecedented access to the Baxter Building, not as a bystander observing from a distance, but as a guest within their daily lives. What I found was not simply a team of extraordinary individuals, but a dynamic built on trust, discipline, humor, and an unspoken understanding of responsibility that extends far beyond what the public ever sees.
Reed Richards, often described as one of the greatest scientific minds of our time, operates in a world that moves several steps ahead of everyone else. His work is not performative; it is constant, meticulous, and deeply rooted in a desire to solve problems most would not even recognize. Observing him in his own environment reveals a man less concerned with recognition and more focused on progress, often losing track of time in pursuit of answers that could reshape entire fields of study.
Susan Storm, by contrast, embodies control in its most refined form. As both a leader and a strategist, she navigates each situation with a clarity that balances empathy and authority. Whether coordinating responses or managing the internal dynamics of the team, her presence is the foundation that allows everything else to function as seamlessly as it does. Her ability to maintain that balance is not accidental—it is practiced, deliberate, and essential.
Benjamin Grimm is, in many ways, the connective force. While his strength is undeniable, it is his consistency that defines him. He brings a grounded perspective to a team that often operates in extremes, ensuring that no matter how complex the situation becomes, there is always something steady to return to. His role is not just physical—it is emotional, and it is vital.
And then there is Johnny Storm.
Public perception has, for years, painted him as the most unpredictable element within the team—a figure defined by confidence, impulsivity, and a tendency to prioritize spectacle over precision. That perception is not entirely unfounded. Storm is, at times, exactly as chaotic as he appears. He makes decisions quickly, speaks without hesitation, and operates with a level of confidence that can easily be mistaken for carelessness.
However, to reduce him to that alone would be an oversight.
Over the course of this week, it became clear that beneath that outward persona is a level of awareness and capability that is often overlooked. In his own workspace, away from the immediate demands of public attention, Storm demonstrates a technical understanding of his abilities that is both deliberate and refined. The systems he develops to regulate and enhance his output are not the result of guesswork, but of trial, adjustment, and persistence.
More importantly, there is a consistency in how he engages with those around him that does not align with the image he is often given. Whether in moments of collaboration or in quieter interactions, there is a sincerity in his presence that suggests intention rather than accident. He is, without question, aware of how he is perceived—and rather than rejecting it entirely, he chooses when to lean into it and when to move beyond it.
That distinction matters.
Because while it is easy to focus on the moments that draw attention, it is the ones that do not that define him more accurately.
To observe the Fantastic Four as a whole is to understand that their strength does not come from any single individual, but from the way they function together. Each member brings something distinct, something necessary, and it is in that balance that they succeed. Their work is constant, their responsibilities significant, and their impact undeniable.
Spending a week within their space offers a perspective that cannot be captured from the outside. It reveals not just what they do, but how they do it—and why.
In a world that often reduces complexity to simplicity, the Fantastic Four remain a reminder that the truth is rarely that straightforward.
And for that opportunity, I am both grateful and aware of how rare it is.
For a few seconds after the last page settled, no one said anything.
Not because they didn’t have something to say—because they very clearly did—but because the whole thing had landed a little harder than expected. The room stayed quiet in that weird, in-between way, like everyone was still catching up to what they had just read.
Sue was the first to move, lowering the paper slightly as she let out a soft breath. Her expression had shifted somewhere between impressed and a little emotional, which she was trying very hard to keep under control. “That was… really good,” she said, and this time there was no professional tone to it, no polite filter—just honest appreciation.
Ben leaned back, holding his copy a little farther away like that might help him process it better. “I mean, I knew I was great,” he said, nodding slowly as he reread a line, “but this? This is like… official. This is ‘frame it and show people’ kind of great.”
Sue laughed quietly. “You would frame it.”
“I’m absolutely framing it,” Ben replied without hesitation. “This is going on a wall. Maybe multiple walls.”
Reed, who had been reading at a steady, focused pace, adjusted his grip on the paper and nodded. “It is a highly accurate and well-structured account,” he said. “She maintained objectivity while incorporating nuanced observations of each individual’s contributions. That is not an easy balance to achieve.”
Sue glanced at him with a small smile. “That’s your way of saying you liked it.”
Reed considered that for a second, then nodded once. “Yes.”
Johnny still hadn’t said anything.
He was standing a few steps away from them, completely still, his attention locked on the same section he had been reading for the past minute. He hadn’t flipped the page. Hadn’t moved on. Just… stood there, reading it again like he didn’t quite trust it.
Ben noticed first.
Of course he did.
His grin softened just slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching Johnny like he was waiting for it. “You good over there?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Johnny didn’t look up right away. His thumb traced the edge of the page, slow, absent, like he was anchoring himself to it. “She wrote about me,” he said finally, and there was something in his voice that made Sue glance over immediately.
“Yeah,” Ben said, softer this time. “She did.”
Johnny shook his head a little, like that wasn’t the point. “No, I mean—she actually wrote about me.” He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh but not quite. “Not like—‘this guy caused a traffic jam and called it strategy.’ Not like that.”
Ben couldn’t help it. “You did do that.”
Johnny didn’t even react, which was how everyone knew this was serious.
“She didn’t call me anything,” he continued, still staring at the page. “No ‘public nuisance,’ no ‘problem,’ nothing. She just—” he paused, squinting slightly at the line like he needed to confirm it again. “She just… described me.”
Sue stepped a little closer, her expression softening in a way that was dangerously close to teasing but not quite there yet. “You expected her to drag you.”
“I expected consistency,” Johnny muttered. “This is not consistent.”
Ben leaned back again, shaking his head. “Man’s upset he didn’t get roasted.”
“I’m not upset,” Johnny said immediately. “I’m confused.”
Reed glanced over briefly. “That is a reasonable response to an unexpected positive evaluation.”
Johnny pointed at him without looking away from the paper. “Exactly.”
Sue folded her arms, watching him now with clear amusement. “You’re reading the same paragraph over and over again.”
Johnny finally looked up, just for a second. “I’m verifying.”
“You’re memorizing it,” Ben corrected.
Johnny ignored him, dropping his gaze back down. “She said I was aware,” he said, almost like he couldn’t let that go. “She said I choose when to lean into it.”
Sue nodded gently. “Because you do.”
Johnny let out a small breath, shaking his head again like that somehow made it less real. “She noticed that.”
Ben smirked. “Took her long enough.”
Before Johnny could respond H.E.R.B.I.E. beeped from a distance. They all looked over as it rolled forward, another single newspaper balanced neatly on its tray like it had been waiting for the right moment to interrupt.
It stopped directly in front of Johnny, beeped once. And then just… stayed there.
Johnny frowned slightly. “What is that?”
H.E.R.B.I.E. nudged the paper toward him again.
He took it, still half-distracted. “It’s the same—” he started, flipping it open without much thought, already expecting to see the same layout, the same pages—
And then, right near the end he stopped. “…Wait.”
His fingers paused on the page, his expression shifting just slightly as something caught his attention. There, tucked neatly along the margin, was a small yellow square that definitely had not been part of the printed article.
He stared at it for a second, like he was making sure it was real. Then, carefully—much more carefully than anyone in the room had ever seen him handle a piece of paper—he peeled it off.
His eyes dropped to the handwriting, simple, clear and very much not part of the newspaper.
not professionally but coffee?? :) ###-###-####
Johnny blinked, trying to process what he was looking at, a math equation or your number.
Behind him, Ben leaned over the back of the couch, trying to see. “What is it? Why are you standing like that?”
Johnny didn’t answer right away. His thumb pressed lightly against the edge of the sticky note, holding it in place like if he let go, it might disappear. Then, very slowly, he looked up, grinning ear to ear like he just won the lottery, which he kinda did. “She didn’t say no,” he said, almost to himself.
Sue immediately covered her mouth, turning away slightly like she was trying not to laugh too hard.
Ben did not bother trying. “Oh, you’re finished,” he said, pointing at him like this was the funniest thing he had seen all week. “It’s over for you.”
Johnny didn’t argue, snap back or even joke, he just looked back down at the note again, like he needed to read it one more time to be sure.
And then–
“…I’m getting coffee,” he said.
Ben laughed even harder. “That fast?”
Johnny shrugged with the smuggest smile ever, already grabbing his jacket like this had become a mission. “I’m efficient.”
Sue shook her head, smiling. “You’re gone.”
Johnny didn’t deny it. Because judging by the way he tucked the sticky note carefully into his pocket like it was the most important thing he owned, he absolutely was.
“NOBODY CAN REJECT JOHNNY STORM!”
“SHUT UP” Sue, Reed and Ben yelled after him.
