Sue Storm Gets Lip Fillers On Her Way Home

It stuck in Sue Storm's head. "Fill out those lips." The Invisible Woman had never thought of doing anything like that. She had seen some of the women who'd had lip fillers. Usually they'd had other "work" done, and Sue had come to recognize the particular look of those women. A little too similar to each other. High cheeks, puffy lips, skin too tight, faces oddly immobile.

But not all of them. Sue had seen a few models with more modest pumped-up lips. It had still given them a look that Sue had sometimes privately thought of as "cock-smoking"—just that slight permanent pout, that constant look as if she was ready and eager to suck something. It was a level of pure allure, the promise of wantonness.

Sue Storm saw the outline of the Baxter Building ahead of her. Yet her feet took her a few blocks west, into a small, nondescript bodega. There was an old, dark-skinned man with a steel-grey beard in an ancient shoeshine booth in the back. Sue walked up to him and said:

"I need a Tuesday touch-up."

He touched a button. The chair folded upwards, revealing a stairway down. Sue stepped into the secret S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, one reserved mostly for undercover agents who needed a quick disguise.

"Agent Storm-Richards," an older Asian woman in a labcoat said in a clean space that looked like a dentist's office. There was a single chair there, tools carefully tucked into the wall. Suitable for tattoos temporary and permanent, piercings, dye jobs, even mild cosmetic surgery. "What can I do for you?"

"I need some modest lip fillers," Sue Storm said.

The doctor nodded. Not an unusual request for undercover work.

"Sit," she said.

Sue sat. Her head rested against the cushioned back. A nervous excitement started in her stomach, and she fought the desire to squirm as the doctor washed her hands and gloved up. She returned with a mask on, and holding a syringe.

"This is a local anesthetic," she explained. Four tiny pinpricks, sharp but no worse than the average dental visit. Swiftly, Sue's lips went numb. She fought the urge to lick them.

Another needle.

"Synthezoid collagen," she said. "No immune response, won't form nodules, but it'll be permanent unless dissolved. Will cause bruising, but we can run the dermal regenerator."

Sue nodded.

More pinpricks. Even with the anesthetic, there was pain. Pressure. Sue could feel the vermillion, the upper pink part of her lips, puff out. It felt oddly as if she had been stung by a bee, like inflammation. Only it would not go away on its own.

The dermal regenerator was a small device on a mechanical arm attached to the back of the chair. Sue sat there for twenty minutes. The doctor brought the mirror up so that Sue could evaluate her face.

It was still her, but the lips were definitely more prominent. Beestung. Sue wasn't sure she exactly liked the new look. Though momentarily about asking for them to be dissolved immediately. Then she remembered what Dr. Stone had said, and she tried on a smile.

I definitely look like I'd smoke a pole, Sue thought. It was a thought that excited her in a way she hadn't imagined.

"Good," Sue said. "Thanks."

Then Sue Storm was back on the street, headed home. Wondering what her family would think.