` Summary ❤️🔥 : Johnny defends you from his fans. `
It was the 60s, and well, you got into many things—Bouffants, bold prints, even doing spider lashes on your way to work. And Johnny? He didn’t mind one bit, he even encouraged you by buying you the same go-go boots Nancy Sinatra wore for that one photoshoot. Your confidence was something he adored a lot, he could watch you buying bolder prints of dresses and he’d use his own money for it. But there were still many that found the trend vulgar from the more conservative generation, even some of Johnny’s fans found it shocking.
One day, you were in your apartment, sat on the new couch you bought after you begged Johnny to find. While sat, you drank your favorite tea, you had just come home from work—your go-go boots discarded on the floor. All of a sudden, four knocks hit your front door, you already knew who it was as you stood up and opened it. Johnny was smiling, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, though his back pocket was filled with letters for some reason. “Reed let you go early?” You ask, letting him in, he quickly entered and placed the bouquet on a cup of water you were just letting sit on the counter. “Yeah, had to convince Sue with it, though.” He sat on the couch, his arms wide.
You lock the door and immediately run into his arms, he groans quietly as you tackle him into a cuddle. “Careful sweetheart, this body needs to save lives,” “well I want this body to be mine for tonight.” You roam your hands on his pants, feeling the huge bulk of letters on his pockets. “What are these?” You ask, pulling away and grabbing the letters from his pants. “Some fan letters, haven’t read them yet, mind opening it for me, hon?” He sits up, drinking the tea you had left on the coffee table. You willingly open them, each of them all by his fans—some kids, some teens, and some adults. Though, the adult letters weren’t bright as the kids or teens, they were concerning at some point. You read one of them, it read …
“Dear Johnny Storm,
I hope this letter finds its way directly into your hands, because knowing you, even a sheet of paper probably melts a little when you touch it. I’ve been your fan for years—longer than I care to publicly admit—and as a fully grown adult woman, I understand how ridiculous my devotion might look from the outside. But the truth is simple: my admiration for you has grown into something far deeper than ordinary fandom. I’ve defended you endlessly to people who don’t understand. I’ve cut out every newspaper article, listened to every radio segment, and followed every Fantastic Four update with an enthusiasm that should honestly concern my friends. But the truth is—and forgive how forward this may sound—I am not just a supporter. I am in love with you. Entirely, wholeheartedly, and perhaps even foolishly, but I don’t care. You light up the world in a way no one else ever has, and it’s impossible for me not to feel attached to you.
That brings me to something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time: your relationship with your girlfriend. I don’t mean to be harsh, but I simply have to be honest with you, Johnny, because you deserve honesty and clarity. I cannot for the life of me understand why you’re with her. Truly, it baffles me. Her style is… confusing. Distracting, even. Every time she’s photographed, I find myself squinting, wondering if I’m looking at an experimental art piece or someone who got dressed in the dark. The fashion trends of the youth these days are already questionable—these mini skirts, these rebellious hairstyles, the gaudy makeup that looks like it came straight from a circus. The colors mismatch, the patterns clash, and the overall effect is something close to visual chaos.
I don’t mean to be cruel, Johnny, but she is simply not attractive. Not in style, not in presence, not in the way a woman should carry herself beside someone as exceptional as you. She doesn’t complement you in any way. So I’m writing this letter to finally say what I’ve been holding back: you should break up with her. Truly. She isn’t the woman for you. She doesn’t understand you or cherish you as deeply as I do. She doesn’t see the brilliance behind the flame, the heart behind the hero, or the elegance that still exists within you even when you’re literally on fire. I would appreciate you in ways she never could. I would support you, admire you, and care for you in every way possible. If you told me to do anything—absolutely anything—I would, without hesitation. My life could be yours, gladly and completely.
Johnny, you deserve someone who treasures you properly, someone with taste, someone devoted, someone who doesn’t assault the public eye with dreadful fashion choices and questionable hairstyles. You deserve someone who understands what real admiration looks like. And that someone is me.
With all my burning devotion,
Your no. 1 fan.”
You didn’t know whether to be offended or disgusted by this fan, you read some other letters—some of them start to even bash you for your lifestyle, it was pure absurdity. You look at Johnny, your eyebrows furrowed, Johnny already took the hint. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong, babe?” He scoots over, “some fans are telling me to break up with you.” You mumbled, he grabs some of the letters and reads them, earning a scoff from him. “Are they serious? This is crazy,” he immediately uses his hands to burn those specific letters. “Johnny! Why would you do that?” You were shocked to see him easily burn them, “they insulted you, they hurt you, sweetheart. I’m not keeping those kinds.” He says, kissing your temple.
But the next few days grow worse—many fans started to leak your address, sending you letters telling you to leave Johnny, some even bring money to bribe you. You were hurt in the deepest way possible, just because you were dating their favorite hero. Ben would sometimes visit, just to make sure that you were safe, he was mostly your only friend that you could confide in. Then one day, you read the news paper.
“Romance Riot: Human Torch Admirers Lash Out at His New Lady!”
“Crowd in a Frenzy! Johnny Storm’s Sweetheart Faces Style Sniping From Jealous Fans!”
You read each article, all of them writing how you were the source of the problem. You got tired of the harassment, you even left work just for your own safety. It was now nighttime, the apartment was silent, a few “break up with him!” Could be heard from time to time. Then, you hear four knocks, it was him. You left your bed and head to the door, seeing Johnny with a lopsided smile, “hi sweetheart.” He says softly, letting himself in. “Your fans didn’t see you? They’re all out there.” You say, “Sue’s downstairs, invisible.” He chuckles lightly, “right.” You sat down on the couch.
Johnny frowns, sitting beside you and wrapping you in his arms. “I’m so sorry they are treating you this way, I shouldn’t have let them think I was allowed for them.” He kisses your face all over. “I’ve been sitting with everything that’s happened, and the more I think about it, the more it hits me just how much I failed you. I should have protected you better. I should have stepped in sooner. I should have done everything in my power to make sure none of this nonsense ever touched you.” You look at him, “Johnny..—“ “No, listen. I hate that you got hurt because of me. I hate that my silence made you feel unprotected. And what I hate most is knowing I let them believe it was okay to treat you that way. That’s on me. I see that now. I should’ve drawn a line long before it got this far. You’re my darling, my better half, my heart—and I should have acted like it.”
You listen, your eyes already tearing up. “I’m making a public statement, and I’m putting an end to this behavior. And I promise I’ll do better from here on out. I’ll protect you the way I should’ve from the start. You deserve safety, respect, and peace, and I’m going to make sure you get all of it.” He promises, kissing your knuckles. You quietly sob into his arms, he smoothens your hair and he whispers sweet nothings.
Then the next day, the news explodes. You were grabbing the newspaper when you already saw a photo of Johnny. You unroll it to reveal.
“Johnny Storm Draws the Line: Human Torch Publicly Defends His Sweetheart”
New York City — In a rare moment of fiery seriousness, Johnny Storm stepped forward today to shut down the wave of hostility directed at his sweetheart. The Human Torch stated plainly that the recent fan attacks were “shameful, cruel, and absolutely not acceptable,” adding that he should have spoken up sooner. Storm emphasized that anyone targeting his partner “is not a fan of mine,” promising clearer boundaries and a formal statement to address the situation. Witnesses say the hero looked visibly frustrated as he made one thing unmistakably clear: “She deserves respect. And I’m done letting anyone hurt her.”
You were shocked, standing still as you kept reading it all over again. You didn’t know what to feel, he defended you from his fans. You felt teary-eyed, then you looked up. Johnny, flaming through the sky, writing on the clouds.
“I love you, always!”
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌₊ ⊹
. . . 💬 : I have NOT written in a long time now. Sorry, my schedule is literally beating me up right now. But if you want requests, don’t be afraid to ask—also check out my carrd for my other accs, thank you ^^ 🍎
` Summary ❤️🔥 : Johnny defends you from his fans. `
It was the 60s, and well, you got into many things—Bouffants, bold prints, even doing spider lashes on your way to work. And Johnny? He didn’t mind one bit, he even encouraged you by buying you the same go-go boots Nancy Sinatra wore for that one photoshoot. Your confidence was something he adored a lot, he could watch you buying bolder prints of dresses and he’d use his own money for it. But there were still many that found the trend vulgar from the more conservative generation, even some of Johnny’s fans found it shocking.
One day, you were in your apartment, sat on the new couch you bought after you begged Johnny to find. While sat, you drank your favorite tea, you had just come home from work—your go-go boots discarded on the floor. All of a sudden, four knocks hit your front door, you already knew who it was as you stood up and opened it. Johnny was smiling, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, though his back pocket was filled with letters for some reason. “Reed let you go early?” You ask, letting him in, he quickly entered and placed the bouquet on a cup of water you were just letting sit on the counter. “Yeah, had to convince Sue with it, though.” He sat on the couch, his arms wide.
You lock the door and immediately run into his arms, he groans quietly as you tackle him into a cuddle. “Careful sweetheart, this body needs to save lives,” “well I want this body to be mine for tonight.” You roam your hands on his pants, feeling the huge bulk of letters on his pockets. “What are these?” You ask, pulling away and grabbing the letters from his pants. “Some fan letters, haven’t read them yet, mind opening it for me, hon?” He sits up, drinking the tea you had left on the coffee table. You willingly open them, each of them all by his fans—some kids, some teens, and some adults. Though, the adult letters weren’t bright as the kids or teens, they were concerning at some point. You read one of them, it read …
“Dear Johnny Storm,
I hope this letter finds its way directly into your hands, because knowing you, even a sheet of paper probably melts a little when you touch it. I’ve been your fan for years—longer than I care to publicly admit—and as a fully grown adult woman, I understand how ridiculous my devotion might look from the outside. But the truth is simple: my admiration for you has grown into something far deeper than ordinary fandom. I’ve defended you endlessly to people who don’t understand. I’ve cut out every newspaper article, listened to every radio segment, and followed every Fantastic Four update with an enthusiasm that should honestly concern my friends. But the truth is—and forgive how forward this may sound—I am not just a supporter. I am in love with you. Entirely, wholeheartedly, and perhaps even foolishly, but I don’t care. You light up the world in a way no one else ever has, and it’s impossible for me not to feel attached to you.
That brings me to something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time: your relationship with your girlfriend. I don’t mean to be harsh, but I simply have to be honest with you, Johnny, because you deserve honesty and clarity. I cannot for the life of me understand why you’re with her. Truly, it baffles me. Her style is… confusing. Distracting, even. Every time she’s photographed, I find myself squinting, wondering if I’m looking at an experimental art piece or someone who got dressed in the dark. The fashion trends of the youth these days are already questionable—these mini skirts, these rebellious hairstyles, the gaudy makeup that looks like it came straight from a circus. The colors mismatch, the patterns clash, and the overall effect is something close to visual chaos.
I don’t mean to be cruel, Johnny, but she is simply not attractive. Not in style, not in presence, not in the way a woman should carry herself beside someone as exceptional as you. She doesn’t complement you in any way. So I’m writing this letter to finally say what I’ve been holding back: you should break up with her. Truly. She isn’t the woman for you. She doesn’t understand you or cherish you as deeply as I do. She doesn’t see the brilliance behind the flame, the heart behind the hero, or the elegance that still exists within you even when you’re literally on fire. I would appreciate you in ways she never could. I would support you, admire you, and care for you in every way possible. If you told me to do anything—absolutely anything—I would, without hesitation. My life could be yours, gladly and completely.
Johnny, you deserve someone who treasures you properly, someone with taste, someone devoted, someone who doesn’t assault the public eye with dreadful fashion choices and questionable hairstyles. You deserve someone who understands what real admiration looks like. And that someone is me.
With all my burning devotion,
Your no. 1 fan.”
You didn’t know whether to be offended or disgusted by this fan, you read some other letters—some of them start to even bash you for your lifestyle, it was pure absurdity. You look at Johnny, your eyebrows furrowed, Johnny already took the hint. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong, babe?” He scoots over, “some fans are telling me to break up with you.” You mumbled, he grabs some of the letters and reads them, earning a scoff from him. “Are they serious? This is crazy,” he immediately uses his hands to burn those specific letters. “Johnny! Why would you do that?” You were shocked to see him easily burn them, “they insulted you, they hurt you, sweetheart. I’m not keeping those kinds.” He says, kissing your temple.
But the next few days grow worse—many fans started to leak your address, sending you letters telling you to leave Johnny, some even bring money to bribe you. You were hurt in the deepest way possible, just because you were dating their favorite hero. Ben would sometimes visit, just to make sure that you were safe, he was mostly your only friend that you could confide in. Then one day, you read the news paper.
“Romance Riot: Human Torch Admirers Lash Out at His New Lady!”
“Crowd in a Frenzy! Johnny Storm’s Sweetheart Faces Style Sniping From Jealous Fans!”
You read each article, all of them writing how you were the source of the problem. You got tired of the harassment, you even left work just for your own safety. It was now nighttime, the apartment was silent, a few “break up with him!” Could be heard from time to time. Then, you hear four knocks, it was him. You left your bed and head to the door, seeing Johnny with a lopsided smile, “hi sweetheart.” He says softly, letting himself in. “Your fans didn’t see you? They’re all out there.” You say, “Sue’s downstairs, invisible.” He chuckles lightly, “right.” You sat down on the couch.
Johnny frowns, sitting beside you and wrapping you in his arms. “I’m so sorry they are treating you this way, I shouldn’t have let them think I was allowed for them.” He kisses your face all over. “I’ve been sitting with everything that’s happened, and the more I think about it, the more it hits me just how much I failed you. I should have protected you better. I should have stepped in sooner. I should have done everything in my power to make sure none of this nonsense ever touched you.” You look at him, “Johnny..—“ “No, listen. I hate that you got hurt because of me. I hate that my silence made you feel unprotected. And what I hate most is knowing I let them believe it was okay to treat you that way. That’s on me. I see that now. I should’ve drawn a line long before it got this far. You’re my darling, my better half, my heart—and I should have acted like it.”
You listen, your eyes already tearing up. “I’m making a public statement, and I’m putting an end to this behavior. And I promise I’ll do better from here on out. I’ll protect you the way I should’ve from the start. You deserve safety, respect, and peace, and I’m going to make sure you get all of it.” He promises, kissing your knuckles. You quietly sob into his arms, he smoothens your hair and he whispers sweet nothings.
Then the next day, the news explodes. You were grabbing the newspaper when you already saw a photo of Johnny. You unroll it to reveal.
“Johnny Storm Draws the Line: Human Torch Publicly Defends His Sweetheart”
New York City — In a rare moment of fiery seriousness, Johnny Storm stepped forward today to shut down the wave of hostility directed at his sweetheart. The Human Torch stated plainly that the recent fan attacks were “shameful, cruel, and absolutely not acceptable,” adding that he should have spoken up sooner. Storm emphasized that anyone targeting his partner “is not a fan of mine,” promising clearer boundaries and a formal statement to address the situation. Witnesses say the hero looked visibly frustrated as he made one thing unmistakably clear: “She deserves respect. And I’m done letting anyone hurt her.”
You were shocked, standing still as you kept reading it all over again. You didn’t know what to feel, he defended you from his fans. You felt teary-eyed, then you looked up. Johnny, flaming through the sky, writing on the clouds.
“I love you, always!”
⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌₊ ⊹
. . . 💬 : I have NOT written in a long time now. Sorry, my schedule is literally beating me up right now. But if you want requests, don’t be afraid to ask—also check out my carrd for my other accs, thank you ^^ 🍎
I love sydney. I love her a lot, and I’m always ready to defend her online when she gets attacked for no reason. that said— this whole vibe she’s been putting out lately, this EXTREMELY male gaze centred energy is starting to feel really overdone and corny.
it's honestly getting harder and harder for me to justify or support that side of her. like, girl... please. you’re launching a collection whose profits go to a domestic violence awareness organisation and you’re promoting it by... *checks notes* sexualising yourself and playing straight into the male gaze? the same gaze that’s connected to the very people who cause so much of that violence? idk man.
I defended her during the whole bath soap fiasco because it really wasn’t that deep but people were out here comparing her to bonnie blue — an actual weirdo who actively promotes sexual violence and pushes the most deranged, misogynistic rhetoric, and trying to lump sydney in with someone like that was straight-up fucking stupid.
but um, yeah. that recent ad/campaign/ whatever you wanna call it gave me the ick so I think i'll sit this one out
[☕️] summary : You meet a beautiful girl you like and decided to give her your number.
[👠] words : 304 words
[🖊] warnings : QUICK strangers to lovers (ish)
—————
You step into the diner. A few of the waitstaff glance your way—it's quarter to closing, and their expressions show clear irritation. When you sit down, it takes a while for anyone to approach. The place is nearly empty, with only about five customers scattered around.
From your seat, you catch a glimpse of the maids huddled in a quiet corner, whispering nervously. They're clearly deciding who should come over. After some hushed debate, they nudge a blonde girl with curly hair toward your table. Her name, from what you can make out through the murmurs, is Penny. She hesitates at first, but finally steps forward, clutching a notepad and pen.
“H-Hi,” she greets, her voice unsteady. “What can I get ya?”
“Just a coffee. Black,” you reply.
She nods quickly and hurries to the back. Moments later, she returns with a kettle and a plain white mug. Carefully, she sets it down and begins pouring. As you reach for it, a bit of the hot liquid spills onto your hand. You flinch.
Penny gasps. Her eyes widen as she immediately pulls a cloth from her apron. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, gently dabbing at your hand. “The coffee’s on the house—I-I’m really sorry!”
“Don’t be,” you say, offering her a folded bill.
She hesitates, then accepts it. “Thank you, sir,” she mumbles, backing away—clearly embarrassed. As she walks off, she glances down at the cash and notices a small note tucked between the bills. Curious, she opens it.
Your number is scribbled inside.
She pauses, surprised. Even after all that?
Penny looks over at you and offers a shy, almost disbelieving smile. Quickly, she slips the note into her pocket and returns to her duties—quietly counting the minutes until her shift ends, wondering when she’ll get the chance to call.
—————
hope you enjoyed this oneshot! This one is very short because I'm very busy. Also, Sydney looks sooo cute in her new movie!!!!!!! Curly Sydney??? YES. Anyways, any requests you can put along with questions, and if you wish to know more about me, check out my carrd im my bio! ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
