rodrikstark's headcanons (part 3)

j. storm + "did you...did you just propose to me?"

"huh?" johnny swallows his first drink of coffee, still bleary-eyed.

you hold the tabloid magazine from the cashier's counter in front of you, grinning at his stupid expression when he reads the headline and sees the blurry paparazzi photo of him—unmistakably—on one knee before you.

ANOTHER FANTASTIC WEDDING? The Human Torch proposes!

he snatches it from you. "what the hell?"

you bite your lip, paying for your coffees and apparently the magazine too, since it sizzles under his fingers. "you're so fucked, storm."

"i was tying your shoe!" he whispers.

that's the best part. you're posed on the corner of some unremarkable street, looking coy because johnny decided to be a gentleman and redo the laces of your sneakers. they were a little mud-stained from being dragged across the wet pavement, and you hadn't wanted to touch them with your bare hands.

so fucking whiny, johnny said, lightheartedly grumbling as he knelt at your feet.

of course it would come back to bite him.

you steal the magazine back as you exit the bodega.

"hey, gimme that, i wanna read the article."

a smirk, as your left hand disappears behind the pages. "and risk me being seen in public without a big fat ring on my finger?"

an annoyed growl boils low in his chest as you make your way back to johnny's apartment, a small skip in your step. you know his reputation would take a big hit. whoever johnny decides to marry, he wouldn't want them to be caught dead without an elaborate ring to match his lavish lifestyle.

your happy stride down the sidewalk stutters at the thought, which he sees as an opportunity to retrieve the magazine. johnny flips to the article, scanning the page. meanwhile, you stare at the ground, pulling your sweatshirt tighter to your body.

"it's just bullshit." he quotes, with relief: "rumors... nothing confirmed."

"oh, good," you say airily.

his eyes flick to you.

"what?" your face scrunches when johnny folds you toward his chest.

he laughs, making you flinch. "aw, you're sad."

"fuck you, storm. it's... whatever."

"baby, look at me, okay?" his warm lips press along your cheek and coax half a smile out of your grumpy face. "when i propose to you for real, it's not gonna be in front of some fucking drugstore."