This Is Not Part of Superia's Plan

From her hidden base, Superia and Doctor Doom surveilled the battle. Sue Storm looked young, energetic, physically and mentally faster than she had been for years—the Fantastic Four's MILF became a teenage blonde bombshell. Nor did that go unnoticed.

"Elevated heart rate, cortisol levels," Doctor Doom's gravelly voice intoned from behind his mask. He stood stiffly, arms folded before his chest, while Superia remained seated. "And the eyes—the young heroes are attracted to her. Especially that young Spider-Man, Miles Morales. He has only recently turned 18. Was that part of your plan? To entice a younger Susan Storm into an affair?"

"No," Superia said. She held her fingers steepled before her, mind already working new angles. She did not need to tell Doom that her plan was to make the Invisible Woman one of the founders of Femizonia. He did not need to know that her regression in age was all part of a ploy to extend Sue's reproductive capabilities, so that her daughters would one day rule a future that Doom himself would not live to see.

"But I can work with that."

"So, uh, you doin' anything after?" Miles asked, as S.W.O.R.D. hauled away the last of the Skrulls. "I was thinking maybe we could split a pizza..."

"I'm married," Sue Storm gently reminded him. "What would my husband think if one of my co-workers took me out on a date?"

Sue had her hands on her hips, which did little but emphasize her younger, fitter form. Gone were the stretch marks, the slight sag to her boobs. She could feel the uniform hug her ass and no longer feared it would reveal the beginning of cellulite or middle-age spread; just taut, toned cheeks fit for a teenage Olympic gymnast.

"Who said anything about a date?" Miles said smoothly. "I was thinking, y'know, something friendly..."

An older Sue remembered other teenagers with "only friendly" intentions. She'd had to fight off interests from a few of them back when she and Reed were still courting. Then her stomach rumbled. The bottomless teenage metabolism that seemed to require constant, often ill-advised, feeding.

Well, why not? Sue Storm thought. It's just a pizza.

"Okay," she said. "Let's go to Fanucci's. Best slice in the Five Burroughs."

With a smile, the wall-crawler wrapped his arm around her waist, flung out an arm, and a line of webbing shot out to a nearby building. With a leap like the proportionate strength of a spider, they were off swinging through Manhattan—and it was all Sue could do to avoid giving a whoop as the air blew past her face, and she clung onto that tight, warm body for dear life.