A/N: This was a request by sweet enswimmer! I hope I got everything in here that you wanted, and I hope you like it! The request involved a reader named Emily (sister to Tony Stark) a crossover with the Fantastic Four team, a flirty Johnny Storm, jealous husband Steve Rogers, among many other adorably fluffy things! 

Words: 4.5K

"What's up, losers?"

Two heads turn up at the sound of your voice echoing out into the wide, wide laboratory of the upstairs of the Avenger's Tower in downtown New York. Your brother, Tony Stark, shakes his head as you waltz in.

"If we're both losers that automatically makes you a loser by association."

Bruce Banner adds, "You do spend a lot of time with us, Emily."

You plop down a bag of McDonald's fast food on the table between paperwork piles that the two dweebs work on. You shouldn't call them names, because you love them firstly, but mainly because you're in the same league: you're a brainiac dweeb, too. Tony knows it's true; it's why he's got to remind you.

"Yeah, whatever. At least I'm not single," you boast with a smirk. Sliding into your favorite chair you pull out your tablet and get ready to jump back in on your work.

"Hey! That's not fair," Tony gripes. "You know I'm still sensitive talking about Pepper."

"Whatever, Antonio. It's been a year."

Tony scowls at Bruce who quietly chuckles at hearing you spit out his full name. "Can it, Green Bean."

With a laugh you take a short spin around your spinning chair before rolling over to sit between the two science nerds. "Anyway, where are we on the permits? Can we do the tests yet or not?"

Your brother scoffs. "Seriously, Em? Since when have you known me to wait for a permit to do something." He rolls his eyes and you chuckle in response.

"Mr. Stark," Friday announces into the room. "You have a call."

"A call? From who?" Tony hardly looks up from his tablet screen. You try to look over his shoulder and he gives you the whole thing—letting you take the lead.

"Mr. Richards, sir."

"Richards? Who the fuck is Richards?" Tony turns towards you to ask. You know everything he doesn't, which is a trait he oftentimes appreciates (and, sometimes, becomes annoyed by).

"Reed Richards," you reply without looking away from the charts on the tablet. When Tony's face is still one of confusion you promptly add, "He's the stretchy one. You called him Laffy-Taffy to his face and made him mad. One of the Fantastic Four fellows that you get annoyed by whenever they take up your "time" saving people on TV."

"Ah! Yeah! I remember that guy," your brother exclaims with pride as if he's come to the conclusion himself. Bruce snorts a tight-lipped laugh before getting distracted again.

"Should I put him on the line, sir?" Friday asks.

"Sure, sure. But put him on my personal—I don't wanna distract these two from any breakthroughs." He waves a hand in the air because he's unable to talk without moving some part of his body, it seems. He's been that way since you were just a newborn babe and he was thirteen.

Tony grabs his cell phone and begins pacing the floor. He lingers by the window for a short while, not even caring to look out at the beautiful scenery, and you munch on some over-salted fries and tap your greasy fingertips on the tablet screen. It's not until Tony's done with the call and walking back over to the lab bench that you realize he's frowning.

"What was that?" Bruce beats you to the punch in asking.

"Not quite sure," Tony replies. "Laffy-Taffy says he needs our help with something."

"Seriously?" you question in disbelief. The two men look at you cluelessly. "Come on, you guys. You don't find that a bit strange? He's one of the smartest people in the world. Why would he need our help?"

"We're smart too, Emily," Tony defensively boasts. He crosses his arms in front of his glowing chest. "Smarter than you give us credit for, actually."

"I'm just saying," you speak slowly to be heard reasonably, "It's either got to be something really awful and world-threatening, or he wants something else out of us besides our ingenuity."

Bruce shrugs lamely—glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose. "Maybe he wants to sleep with one of us."

The off-beat comment by the usually quiet guy has you in a fit of giggles and tears brimming in your eyes.

"Well," Tony replies with a snort as he snatches up the rest of your French fries, "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"What do you mean?" you ask, calming down from your giggle fit.

"I invited them over," Tony answers simply.

"Who? The whole team?" Banner pipes up. He doesn't seem to like the idea at all.

"Yeah. What's wrong with that? Listen, we know they can't be too bad. They've been working their asses off underground trying to stop Hydra."

"But where were they when we needed them in Sokovia? Reed didn't even return your calls."

Tony shrugs at your point. "I guess I'll just have to ask him in person, it seems."

...

When you make the walk to the lab next it's two days later with your other half Steve Rogers close at your side. His steps match yours as you stride down the hall and his ears tune in to hear your voice over the sound of your heels against the linoleum.

"...I tried telling Tony that they were here for something bigger, but of course he doesn't believe me until he sees it himself."

Steve shakes his head. "Your brother is stubborn." His blue eyes dart from the path towards the lab to your face momentarily. "But not nearly as stubborn as you are, Emily."

You scoff. "Don't act like you don't love it." You pause outside of the laboratory doors with crossed arms—eyeballing Steve with a slight smirk on your face.

Steve chuckles. His hand sneaks to your waist where he tugs you closer to press a chaste kiss to your highlighted cheek. "One of the many things I love about you, sweetheart."

Before you can respond you're being interrupted.

"Is this the right place? I'm looking for the Fantastic Four/Avengers meet up, but I feel like I've just stumbled into a teen make-out party."

Steve, never one for PDA, blushes and moves away. Sam's standing a few feet off with a quiet Bucky on his tail. Sam's voice is of course the one you just heard.

"Shut up," you laugh. Getting back to business, you point at the closed door. "Did you guys do your homework?"

Bucky nods. Sam... well, Sam nods, but you're not convinced.

"What is it, Sam?" Steve asks with a sigh. He's clearly not convinced either. "Didn't you read the files on them that we sent you? Emily even went the extra mile and added pictures just for your amusement."

"Oh I saw the memes, appreciated them greatly." Sam nods enthusiastically. "I just don't understand why we all gotta be here to meet these jerks. What do they even want from us?"

"That's what we're here to find out," Steve answers surely. He looks to you to take the lead. Hand on the doorknob he only turns it when you give him a nod of approval—then pushes it open and steps back for you to step into the lab first.

You're not sure what you expect to see, but what you find is your brother standing at the center of the lab opposite of his Fantastic Four counterpart, Reed Richards, and a half a dozen faces seated on cushiony couches turn up at your entrance. On one half of the room Nat's already arrived with Banner and Wanda on either side of her. The other half of the lab, on a couch identical to the other, has three strangers: a woman with bleach blonde hair, an orange tinted man carved of stone, and a cocky looking bloke with his legs stretched out and his hands behind his head. He seems to smirk when he sees you enter the room on your loud clicking heels.

"There she is," Tony breathes—sounding almost relieved. "Nice of you to show up, sis." Tony's eyes move to the rest of the team as they file in behind you. "Good: you brought your groupies."

None of the men trailing behind you deny being a groupie. Instead, they follow you into the lab at your command—taking up the rest of the couch while you stand near your brother and Reed Richards at the center of the suite. There's a big window overlooking the city behind you.

"Emily Stark." You stick out your hand to the dark haired man that stands taller than your older brother. He has less wrinkles and larger eyes, too.

Reed shakes your hand and then Steve's, who stands directly beside you. "Captain Rogers, Miss Stark, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Reed's voice is slightly deeper than you imagined it would be. He gestures to his small team who sits on the sofa. "These are my colleagues: my wife Sue, her brother Johnny, and Ben Grimm."

At their introductions they each nod.

You spare them a moment of polite smiling before looking back to Mr. Fantastic himself. "What's this all about, Richards?"

Tony chuckles. "I told you there'd be no messing around once she got here."

"Alright, let's get to business then." Reed gestures for Sue to bring something closer. That's when she comes over with the scorched leather satchel. She unwraps it from around her neck before passing it over to you. You're smarter than to open it without caution, so you tediously peek into it before realizing that it's nothing more than another piece of alien artifact. You pull it out of the satchel the rest of the way so that your brother, partner Steve, and teammates can all see.

"It's a hunk of metal," Sam quips from his seat.

"It's one hunk of alien metal from a Hydra base filled with millions of dollars' worth," Sue explains. Her voice, too, is a lot silkier than expected. "And we need your equipment and alien expertise to figure out if it poses any threats, and if it does, help to get it out of Hydra's hands."

Steve looks to you. You raise a brow, he nods, and it's like a whole conversation has been shared in the single glance. If anyone catches onto the silent interaction nothing is said.

Tony shakes his head. "No."

"No?" Reed repeats doubtfully.

"That's what I said, Charleston Chew." Tony stuffs his hands into his pockets and walks away. He lingers by the window for dramatic effect. You only cross your arms and bite your tongue. "You didn't help us when we asked for it, why should we help you now?"

"Because," you pipe up before anyone can the other team can, "This is Hydra. This is bigger than your ego, Tony. It's bigger than Reed's, too, or he wouldn't be here asking for help." At this your brother glances back at you—listening intently. It's clear you've made the decision that he's lagging on. "We'll help you," you say to Reed and his team. "But let's be clear, this is a joint operation under the Avenger's lead. We have the resources that you need, and you'll be assisting us in the matter—not the other way around."

Your unwavering tone, tightly pursed red-painted lips, and outstretched arm looking for a seal to the deal brings a wave of distinct attraction into Steve's veins.

He's not the only one.

Johnny Storm, leaning his elbows on his knees a few paces away, can't stop his eyes from roaming over every bit of your poised posture in tight black jeans, stiletto heels, and grapefruit colored blouse. It's when Johnny watches his team leader shake your hand, agreeing to your terms that you've just set for the whole room, that he sets his goal to get you to himself by the time they leave the tower tonight.

...

"You seem to know a lot about that alien stuff."

Your head turns back to locate the source of the voice that's broken your train of thought. You're at one of the lab tables with the alien tech broken apart and spread out ahead of you.

"Well, I did receive a doctorate in Alien Biology and Warfare," you reply to the young man rooted beside you now. If you recall, they call him the human torch. And if you're not mistaken, he's been giving you the sexy eyes from across the room since you entered a few hours ago. Now, with his team members at different tables and yours in front of the big screens dissecting the bits carefully, he seems to be taking his chance in approaching you. You have to admit, Johnny boy is rather cute despite his try-hard haircut and much too tight skinny jeans. He has a similar shaped face to Steve, but has an air of haughtiness about him that your soulmate appropriately lacks.

"Smart and beautiful? I'll be damned." Johnny gives his head a soft shake. Before you can protest he's come around to lean his lower back against the corner of the table you work on. He blocks your way without paying much attention to the fact that he's doing it. "It really is an honor to meet you, Miss Emily Stark. I've heard so much about you—your beauty and your brains, but none of the stories really do you any justice from what I can see."

Steve's been lingering by the windows with Bucky for the past few minutes because he's not of much use in the science-department of this big thing. So he's been watching carefully as his teammates and friends interact with the strangers of the Fantastic Four league. Now, as he can clearly see, Johnny Storm is closing in on his girl with clear intent in his eyes and a boyish-banter attitude about him.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't bother the hell out of him to see: especially when Johnny Storm compliments you, and you only smile and say, "Thank you. The pleasure's mine, Mr. Storm."

Johnny sticks out a hand—correcting his posture suddenly. "Please, call me Johnny. No formalities—we're friends." There's a tilt to his lips that makes you chuckle. Poor kid thinks he has a chance.

"Sure," you reply with a firm shake of his hand.

Johnny's grip lingers a bit too long for Steve's liking, and so do his eyes on your hips as you turn away once again. Steve rolls up his sleeves as if readying for a fight before Bucky clears his throat beside him.

"Easy, man. He hasn't done nothin' yet."

"You—you kidding me?" Steve whispers angrily. "He's been making eyes at Em all night!"

Bucky shrugs incredulously. "No one knows you two are together, man. You can't really blame the poor kid. Hell, I had eyes for her when I first met her, too." Bucky stops as if realizing he's just said this—watching Steve's own eyes go a bit wide. "Forget I said that, man. The point is—she's a catch. Can't blame him for setting his eyes on her when he has no idea she's with you."

Steve huffs under his breath, "Fine, fine." He crosses his arms and continues glaring on at the scene. "But if he tries anything, I'm not making any promises on if he's making it out of here alive."

Bucky chuckles. "Whatever you say, jackass."

...

Johnny Storm has suddenly developed a suspicious interest in the ways of alien technology over the past few hours he's been here. He's asked to help you along with the dissection of the right side of the thing while your brother and Reed work on the left. Deciding that civility would be smarter than breaking his little ole heart, you agreed—passing him a scalpel and pair of goggles. Now, as it nears well past midnight, everyone has decided to wrap up for the night. Most of the respective teams have already retired. The only ones who remain are Tony, Reed, you, Johnny, and Steve. The others sleep in bedrooms your brother graciously offered them for the night so that research could pick back up again in the early morning.

"Thanks again for letting me follow you around like a lost puppy tonight, Emily." Johnny smiles as he passes back the borrowed goggles.

You toss them onto the table carelessly. "No worries." Actually, it was a bit of a pain in the ass to work so closely to him. Not only did he talk nonstop the whole night, he kept trying to slip compliments and pet names into the conversation that you'd skillfully maneuver around or avoid confronting.

"I think we make a pretty good team," Johnny says. He's still got that cute smile on his face that makes you wanna smile back at. While he may be a tad annoying, he's still just a kid in your eyes.

"I suppose we do," you tediously agree. Out of the corner of your eye you can Steve lingering. He's pretending to rifle through papers that he can't read—he's rotten at understanding equations, yet he acts as though he's busy while he's clearly listening in to what the notoriously flirty Johnny Storm is saying to you. You'd have to be blind to not realize that Steve's been jealous all night. Keeping your relationship with Steve secret had been a mutual decision for your safety. It's rather entertaining to see the notoriously level-headed Captain America harboring jealousy, even if when you admit it to yourself you do so rather selfishly.

"Hey," Johnny begins in a lower voice than before. He cocks his head to the side and moves his chin to get a better angle at looking at your face a few inches lower. "How about you get breakfast with me tomorrow before we meet with the rest of the team?"

"Breakfast?" you repeat with a raised brow.

"A breakfast date," Johnny rephrases confidently. "You and me, a corner booth, maybe a stroll around the park," he goes on with a little charming grin, "Maybe I can hold your hand and loan you my coat when you get too cold." You feel his fingers brush yours on the tabletop. "And if I'm really lucky," his voice gets even lower as his lips close in on your ear, "You'll let me kiss you like I've been wanting to all night long." His breath fans past the curtains of your hair and warm your neck—bringing blush to your cheeks and a nervous skip to your pulse.

Your eyes, without ever meaning to, dart across the floor to where you last saw Steve. Sure enough: there he stands. His knuckles are white as he holds a stack of papers and glares at you and Johnny with enough animosity to make you feel insanely guilty for enjoying his jealousy all night.

Johnny, not as blind as you've credited him to be, notices your gaze. He looks back in the Captain's direction—cluelessness written across his youthful face. It's not until he properly gets an eyeful of Steve's stiff posture, steaming red forehead, and bulging veins on his arms does he seem to come to realization that the reason Captain America looks so murderous is because he's standing so close to you.

"Oh, damn," Johnny hurriedly gives your body room. He drops his hand from atop yours on the table and stuffs them into his pockets instead. "Are—are you two...?"

"Married," Steve snaps from the other side of the room. His booming voice startles everyone—including Tony and Reed. They snap their necks up to watch the scene.

You smile sheepishly at the Storm boy. "I'm sorry, Johnny..."

"No, no, no, I'm—wow, I had no idea." Johnny shakes his head and takes a couple more steps away. Steve's come up to your side to snake a tight arm around your waist. "I had no idea, I swear."

You crane your neck back to see Steve glaring down at Johnny with such aggravation in your eyes it makes you mad. You push his arm off of you, suddenly tired of this side of him, and snap, "Loosen up, Cap."

Steve gawks at your annoyed expression. He lets his arm fall from your waist as you shimmy to get him out of your personal space. Then, looking like a riled up hound, he stomps out of the room. Of course you follow him—you're his wife. You excuse yourself from the lab to meet your husband in the elevator before he can take it all the way up to your shared room.

"What the hell was that, Steve?"

"Me?" Steve laughs humorlessly. "Emily, you let that snotty-nosed kid hit on you all night. What were you doing?!" He points at you with a finger.

You smack his finger away from where it points at your chest. "I couldn't very well tell him to stop because I was married to you," you argue. "You're the one who wants it to be some big secret."

"You didn't have to tell him that we were married! Were you trying to make me mad? Because it sure worked!" Steve's yelling now.

You are too. "No! It's not my fault you can't deal with the consequences of your own stupid decision!"

The elevator makes an abrupt stop on your floor. You get out, thinking Steve's going to follow and resume the fight, but he huffs and pounds his fist against the button board. You stick your foot into the slot between the two doors and snap, "Where the hell are you going?"

"I need fresh air." He grits his teeth. "I'll be back later, Stark."

God—there he goes again, calling you by your last name when he's pissed. You wonder why he's so hung up about the fact you didn't take his last name if HE WAS THE ONE WHO SUGGESTED IT! You're sure it's just something else he uses against you when he's mad, because there's nothing else you've ever really done to be "bad".

With a loud groan you turn and stomp into your apartment suite. It's not until you hear the elevator disappear that your posture slackens and your hands reach up to tug at your hair. Defeated and tired you lug your body to the couch—picking up a fluffy throw pillow and stuffing your face into it to let out a loud, frustrated scream.

...

"How is it?"

You glance at the carton of the limited edition Ben and Jerry's Tony's brought up to your room. "It's pretty good." Your brother came up after watching security footage of Steve marching out of the building a quarter to three. Now, an hour later, your doting brother is huddled beside you under the blankets of your couch watching the second Pirates of the Caribbean movie alongside you.

Tony takes the carton from your hands. He sticks his spoon into the dark brown mixture. Licking it off, he grimaces. "I don't like it."

"Then give it back," you laugh lightly. Looking back at the TV screen you get a glimpse of the time. A lump forms in your throat. "It's so late," you point out softly. The urge to cry is trying to get the better of your grown-woman form.

"You know how dramatic Cap can be," Tony says gently. "He probably just went on a run."

You wipe your eyes with the back of your pajama shirt sleeve. You refuse to go to sleep until he comes back or at least calls. You haven't texted him yet, but you know he's mad—he needs space.

"Steve was right. I should've pushed Johnny off of me," you take another bite of ice cream between words, "I knew it was hurting Steve's feelings."

"Well..." Tony tries to figure out how to make you feel better. "It's in your DNA to want attention. It's a Stark thing." You glare at his lack of helpfulness. "Sorry, it's all I could come up with." He reaches over to smooth down your hair. "He'll be back," Tony's voice is suddenly softer as he tries to reassure your biggest fear—Steve Rogers getting fed up and leaving you. "He'd be a stupid fuck-up not to."

Then, as if on cue, your husband's voice floods the room. "Emily?"

Your head turns back. The motion causes one of your trapped tears to stumble down your cheek. Steve, standing in the doorway in the same clothes as he wore all day before, sighs when he sees your red eyes and puffy cheeks. "Em..."

Tony rolls his eyes. He sits up from the couch. "About damn time, Rogers." He makes his way to leave the room to let you two lovers work it out. He pauses by Steve on his way. "You two need to talk." Glaring, he threatens, "Watch yourself, Capsicle, or you and your shield will be living under the damn bridge."

Steve swallows stiffly as he looks at you, his wife, cuddled up insecurely on the couch with misty eyed. Your brother disappears and Steve comes farther into the room.

"I'm sorry."

You're not sure who's said it first, but it comes from both pairs of lips at nearly the same time.

Steve shakes his head, "No, I'm the one who should be sorry, doll." He takes a deep breath and comes around the couch to block the TV. He kneels in front of you. "I was being immature."

"I was, too," you reply softly. "I should've just told you how I felt instead of making you suffer through watching someone else hit on me."

"What you felt?" Steve repeats. His adorable head tilts to one side.

"I don't want to be your secret wife any more, Steve. I don't want to hide it anymore. I want to wear my ring and hold your hand for the whole damn world to see," you sniffle—feeling a few more delicate tears fall. Steve reaches out to brush them way before you can do so yourself. "I'm sorry it's not what we agreed to, but I just..."

"I want that, too." Steve cups your face in his hand. "I thought it was just anger at that Johnny kid before, but then I saw him at the park and... and he apologized. He told me he had no idea, and I know he didn't. And even still, I was angry. But I wasn't angry at him: I was angry at me. I realized that I'd made a mistake in thinking it was best for us to keep hiding."

You move your hands out of the blankets to hold Steve's chilled, pale cheeks. "I love you." You lean your face until your forehead rests against his. You breathe in his scent and smile softly as his fingertips delicately scratch your scalp.

"I love you too, darling." Steve tilts his chin—capturingyour lips in a soft, reassuring kiss. When he pulls away, still on his knees,he reaches into his back pocket for the little silk bag that he must've snaggedfrom your nightstand table on his way here. Out of it he pulls your diamondstudded ring: the one with the little pear shaped sapphires and stunning silverband. He doesn't have to say a word: only smiles as you give him your left handand let him slide the ring onto your finger. It's there permanently this time,there's going to be no taking it off. And after he's secured that ring on yourhand Steve's climbing up next to you on the couch—pulling you into his lap,wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, and holding you against his chest.Staying awake until well past sunrise even after you've fallen asleep beforethe end of the movie just so he can spend a few more conscious minutes in yourlove, because as far as Steve's concerned: a hundred years with you could neverbe enough. Because you're his, and he's yours: through any storm to come.