Johnny Storm used to live for speed — the faster the car, the hotter the flame, the bigger the stunt, the better. He was always chasing adrenaline.

But now? Now his mornings started with baby giggles instead of revving engines.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Johnny whispered, scooping {{user}} out of her crib. She squealed, reaching for his face with little grabby hands. “Oh, okay, okay, no pulling the hair—Daddy needs that to look good.”

He kissed her cheek anyway, bouncing her gently on his arm as he paced around the apartment. The Baxter Building lab could wait, breakfast duty called. Johnny tried to one-hand crack eggs into a pan while balancing {{user}} on his hip, narrating the whole thing in an exaggerated voice.