older!rockstar!eddie munson x older!housewife!reader
SUMMARY: A slow day filled with love between you and your husband.
WARNINGS: fluff. reader being a housewife. set in the present day. two mentions of reader and eddie having college aged kids. eddie being grey. two oldies loving each other. farm life.
W/C: 1.1K
A/N: first fic in forever. glad to be back, hope everyone is well!!
The sun had barely risen above the horizon, sending only soft spills of gold on the dewy grass of the farmhouse, when the animals started their day. The rooster, Oz, per usual served as an alarm clock to the others — his shrill crow waking the sleep dazed animals, their beady eyes blinking as they began their day.
Inside, the light filtered in slowly, painting light stripes on the two bodies who lay next to each other.
Unlike the animals, you didn’t need Oz to know when to start the day. Decades of living on a farm tended to build up a pretty hefty internal alarm clock. Though, the rooster did take part in laying that foundation.
You came to your senses slowly. First, a grey fog spreading over your dream. Then, the sound of your own, involuntary hum. Eyes fluttering open and, finally, the feeling of your body pressed up against Eddie’s.
You didn’t dare to press your cheek against his chest to feel his warmth, feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, hear the soft rumble of his snores. You knew where that led to. To not dealing with the animals.
So, with a stretch you got up. First stop, bathroom. Second stop, animals. Third stop, coffee on the patio.
Third stop, coffee on the patio — 7:56 AM
You were curled up on the outdoor sofa, mug in one hand, pencil for the sudoku puzzle that lay in your lap, in the other. The kids always said it made you look like a “Hallmark grandma” which, God, you were not ready for. Thankfully (or hopefully) the kids were smart enough to not have kids of their own in college. Fingers crossed.
Just then, the soft padding of feet on wooden floors followed by the door sliding open.
Eddie.
“Mornin’,” he rasped, rubbing his sleep stained face with one hand as he made his way over to sit down next to you, setting his own mug on the coffee table with a soft clink.
“Morning, honey,” you smiled, reaching over to fix his hair. “Sleep okay?”
Still long, still curly. But now, a striking shade of silver that spoke volumes of time passed.
“Mhm,” he hummed, leaning into you with a yawn. “How ‘bout you?”
“Decent. Got the animals sorted out… Might need a wash today, some of ‘em,” you mumbled, opening your arms to pull him closer.
“Mm, I’ll do that.”
No over-the-top sweetness. No sugar-coated words. Just the quiet intimacy of two people who have spent decades with each other. The “boring” life that was like a balm to two old souls who have seen it all. Who didn’t need excitement to love each other.
“And I made use of that juicer you got me. Figured some fresh orange and lemon would be nice with breakfast," your lips grazed his forehead as you spoke.
“That’s a full productive day ‘fore I even woke up, sweetheart.”
“As always.”
Truthfully, the years of being a housewife made you find comfort in the hustle and bustle. Even if it wasn’t anything like it used to be before — height of his fame, his tours, in the mix with you staying home with the kids. The fast paced chaos, though, turned into slow mornings with slow movements, paired with the ability to stop and take a breath.
“Might pop into the studio today, ‘f you don’t need my manual labour,” Eddie smiled, straightening up to take a sip of his coffee.
“Oh, yeah? You writin’ new stuff?”
“Just got a few ideas. Might be good to get the juices flowin’. Even if all my songs will end up ‘bein about you again.”
Your lips curled up into a smile at his words that never failed to charm. Even after all this time of being his muse.
“Don’t sell yourself short, honey, I’m sure you got some… Not autobiographical ideas up there.”
“So… That a no on the manual labour? ‘Cept for giving the cows a good wash. Bet Princess smells like hell.”
“She does,” you snorted. “And no. Don’t think we have anythin’ major to do ‘round here these days, anyways.”
“Well, I’ll drop off around lunch, probably. Give a shout if anything changes.”
First stop, finish coffee. Second stop, breakfast. Third stop, wash the cows. Fourth stop, studio. Fifth stop, get back home.
Fifth stop, Eddie coming back home — 7:12 PM
The house was dimly lit when he made his way back in. The vanilla candles that were burning, mixed with the meal being pulled out the oven.
The soft clink of dishes had mixed, too, with the sound of Appetite for Destruction spinning on the record player which your son had called “vintage” recently — leaving both you and Eddie deeply offended.
And a little intimidated at how quickly time had passed.
Yet, you were both still here.
Him, still causing chaos, while being a dutiful husband who was mindful and did his part. And yes, he’d gotten to the age where “good husband” sounded way more metal than “rockstar”.
And you, still holding everything down. For him, for yourself, for both of you together, for your family… Just differently now. Allowing yourself to take a moment. To stop when he suggested you should rest. The kind of thing that comes with age and your body pleading to slow down.
“There she is,” Eddie beamed when he saw you tinkering away in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.
“Have a good session?” you asked, relaxing into his hold as you took your oven mitt off.
“Mhm… Couldn’t wait to curl up with you, though.”
“Think it’s time to admit you’re becoming a homebody, Ed,” you smiled, craning your neck to look up at him.
“Pfft, absolutely not.”
“Uh-huh…”
He simply smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. Followed by another. Then another. Then one more, for good measure. Just to see a smile on your face.
“And what’s that for?”
“To thank you for this dinner.”
And everything else. You knew that. And you knew just how aware he was of everything you’ve done and continue to do. But most importantly, you knew how grateful he was for it.
He showed it. Every single day.
And that mattered more than you could say. It helped everything you did stay a choice which was made out of love, rather than a sacrifice.
“C’mon, help me set the table,” you detangled yourself from him to grab the plates.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, seamlessly falling into step beside you.
omg hi anon!! i know i haven't been active on here at all, but life has been so, so hectic lately. BUUUT i do have a blurb idea that'll probably be written and posted this weekend just to get back into the groove of things. i've missed being on here too!! 🖤🖤
being a jq fan is a full time job actually. every time a movie of his is supposed to come out, people start to hate on it like clockwork. it happens with literally every movie he's in. and once the movie does come out, it's always really silent from those people.
(note: i'm not saying people aren't allowed to not like something or have negative opinions about something but maybe we can turn our thinking caps on and wait for the movie to come out to form an actual opinion, whether that be positive or negative)
(also note and maybe a hot take: when these discussions come up anytime a biopic is coming out, it doesn't make sense to me why people are laser focused on the looks and expect actors to look exactly like the person they're potraying. a resemblence is important, sure, but actors are, in most cases, playing actual legends who have left an impact on the world in one way or another. if the only way you'll remember a legend by is their looks, it's missing the entire point)
SUMMARY: Your boyfriend's favourite job is making you smile.
WARNINGS: fluff. johnny being a flirt. a fight being resolved. reader being upset. the word stupid being used a lot.
WC: 1K
A/N: a short little blurb anon requested A LONG TIME AGO. my official return to tumblr after life kicked my ass. hope u like this.
It was stupid — unbearably, impossibly stupid. The kind of stupidity that drags itself into your skin and settles in your bones with its ugly head rearing inside of your gut.
Johnny.
Your Johnny.
Johnny, the genius, who could probably rearrange the flow of time while eating lunch, but also clearly not genius enough to understand why a subtle flirtation thrown at someone else would upset you.
You.
Johnny’s girlfriend, you.
So, you glared and kept your mouth shut for most of the day. If he could be stupid, you could be immature. In fact, being immature would be your God given right in this situation.
“You can’t hold this over my head forever,” Johnny said noncommittally, still tossing the football in the air, just to catch it and do it all over again.
Stupid, you thought once more.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
“You can’t tell me I can and can’t do, Johnny—”
“Technically, you’re telling me what to do—”
“I would say telling you not to flirt with other women is a reasonable request, Johnny!” the words stumbled out before you could stop them, the harsh tone cutting through his room as your hands came up to your face out of sheer frustration.
“C’mon, sweetheart, I wasn’t flirting, flirting,” his weak defense served only to intensify the anger that was rushing through your veins at the speed of light.
“Because that makes it so much better, Johnny,” you shot him a glare, at the way that he was standing there with his stupidly nice shirt that fit him stupidly well and the stupid, round, baby blues and the stupid pout that usually made you want to kiss him senseless, but not now. No, you wouldn’t let him have that kind of privilege.
“Hey, baby…”
“Stop that,” you all but groaned at the sight of his intensifying pout.
“I’m sorry, baby, really,” his voice a soft coo, his hands on smoothing down your arms as if placating a scared animal.
“Johnny—”
“No, hey, listen to me, okay? I’m sorry. I don’t think about those things, I just end up doing them and it doesn’t mean anything,” Johnny said softly, bending down in an attempt to meet your gaze.
“Doesn’t make it a whole lot better,” you mumbled out, stubbornly refusing to look at him.
Because you knew.
Deep down, you knew that he didn’t mean it, not like that. He technically wasn’t even flirting. That takes intention, right? He couldn’t help the fact he was basically born charming.
But you were still upset.
You had a right to be.
“I won’t do it again, baby, I promise. I’ll think about what I’m saying next time. Hell, I’ll wear a sign that says ‘I have a girl’,” he tried again.
“Not funny, Johnny.”
“I’m serious. I’ll plaster it all over myself.”
God, you wished you were stronger. You wished that a higher power wasn’t tugging your lips up into a reluctant smile. Because he saw it. And if Johnny knew how to do anything? He knew how to exploit those little weaknesses of yours just to get you smiling more.
“Baby, I’ll wear a ring and have everyone thinking we’re married—”
“Johnny—”
“No, no, hear me out,” he started, in that matter-of-fact tone because he knew he got you, hook, line and sinker. “I wear the ring, we’re not married and when people ask? I’ll just tell them I’m married to you, but you’re not married to me yet.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Nope, totally serious,” he grinned, bending down to look at you properly. “There she is. Where’s that smile?”
“Stop it, ‘m mad,” you said, trying so hard to keep that lovesick grin off your face.
“Oh, you’re right, you’re so mad,” he faux pouted, nudging his nose against yours. “And you’re so scary, baby.”
“Shut up.”
“Nuh-uh,” Johnny tutted stubbornly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You think I would dare to pull that stuff again? Look at you, all broody. I’m terrified, honey.”
“But I’m serious, Johnny. You can’t just—”
“And I’m serious, too. I won’t do it ever again. Scout’s honor.”
As you were about to open your mouth to protest once more, because just if you were smiling that didn’t mean that you still weren’t upset, Johnny lifted you up into his arms easily, making you let out an undignified sound of surprise from the back of your throat.
He sat down on the bed, settling you down on his thigh as he cradled your head to his chest.
“C’mon, sweetheart… I’ll take you somewhere fancy so you can get all dressed up and have all the newspapers talking about my gorgeous, gorgeous girlfriend,” he punctuated his words with a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek.
You looked up at him through your lashes, “I’m still upset.”
“I know. And you’re the prettiest girl in the world when you’re upset. The prettiest girlfriend who’s my wife but I’m not her husband.”
“Shut up,” you grumbled, trying to hide the smile on your face.
“‘s true. Gonna be kept on a leash from now on. Gonna call you the old ball and chain. And you have no idea how much ‘m going to enjoy doing that.”
You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips, hiding further away into his chest.
“There she is,” he said triumphantly, placing a loud, over exaggerated kiss to your hairline. “C’mon, you wanna go out and show everyone how leashed I am?”
“And where to?”
“The choice is yours, m’lady.”
“The new jazz bar downtown that opened up.”
Oh, now, it could be a spoonful of diamonds
It could be a spoonful of gold
But just a little spoon of your precious love
Will satisfy my soul
Women die for that spoonful
Yeah, and men cry for that spoonful
The soft music wrapped around you, where you sat across Johnny. You noticed the stares, the glances, the blatant checking out... But you also noticed the one and only thing Johnny was noticing.
You.
With your hand cradled in his, his soft lips reverent on your wrist.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Amidst the remnants of a forgotten childhood, dreams too big for such a small boy to carry, and a final thought that burns more than any wound, Eddie understands — with the cruelty of someone who no longer has time — that perhaps he never proved to the world that he was anything more than an easy joke.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Eddie as a kid (his pov), allusion to bullying, child emotional distress, themes of grief and loneliness, mentions of blood and injury, heavy angst, major character death, afterlife imagery.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3,5K
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: A glimpse into Eddie's childhood based on "I Started a Joke" by Bee Gees.
I never forgot their laughter, as if I were some kind of attraction they could point at and laugh at each other.
That day I had arrived later than usual; Wayne had forgotten to wake me — courtesy of never having taken care of anyone but him during all these years — and consequently had also forgotten to prepare my breakfast.
I hurried through the brightly lit corridors, my worn-out, old backpack swinging violently on my back, threatening to burst open and scatter my belongings on the floor. My secondhand shoes clattered against the polished porcelain floor — I hadn't even realized the soles could come loose again, and I wouldn't have Wayne to glue them back on — and the noise echoed throughout the building. My clothes, which I'd gotten in one of the donations at my uncle's work, looked brand new, but anyone looking closely would know they were secondhand — like everything in my life, my clothes, my shoes, my family.
My disheveled, tangled hair whipped against my skin as I ran to reach my classroom, my chubby cheeks flushed red from the physical exertion while sweat trickled down my temples and pooled on my jaw.
Finally, after running an entire marathon, I reached the classroom door where the teacher was ready to close it and let me out.
“Wait! Mrs. Prescot!” I shouted breathlessly, gasping with exhaustion. “I’m still here, please wait!” She paused and opened the door, stepping out of the room and staring at me intently as I bent over and placed my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I didn’t notice her gaze on me — too busy trying to get air back into my lungs— as if I were an insignificant insect disturbing her peace, those merciless eyes that analyzed my tattered clothes and old backpack, the same eyes that measured my worth and judged my character based on what I wore and what I carried, and not on who I truly was. An innocent child full of dreams.
“You’re late, Munson.” Scorn. I still didn’t understand why everyone seemed to say my name in the same cold, almost disgusted tone. I straightened up and looked into Mrs. Prescot’s eyes, seeing only harshness and ruthlessness directed at me. At the time, I thought it was a natural reaction from a teacher scolding at a student. Later I would realize that that look was present in almost everyone I encountered.
“I’m sorry… My uncle forgot to wake me up and I overslept.” I explained shyly, my eyes falling to the floor, my hands going to my back as I swayed my little body from side to side. “Don’t let it happen again.” She took a few steps back and made room for me to enter the classroom. “Sit in your seat.” I gave a toothless smile in thanks and hurried to sit at my desk, careful not to trip over my classmates’ feet; it had happened a few times and the teacher hadn’t been too happy about me disrupting the class.
“Well, as I said before we were interrupted,” numerous pairs of eyes turned to me and I shrank back in my seat, “today we’re going to do a different activity.” The teacher went to the board and began writing right in the center of it.
“What do I want to be when I grow up?” was written in large letters in the middle of the blackboard. Mrs. Prescot turned to the class and began to explain. “What do each of you want to be when you grow up? Today’s activity will be that: each of you will come up here to the front and say what you want to be when you grow up, and then we will discuss each other’s answers.” She walked back to her desk and pulled out her chair, sitting comfortably. “We’ll start in alphabetical order. Andy Miller, you can come up here to the front of the class.” She called the first child.
Andy wanted to be a doctor like his mother; he wanted to save people and make a lot of money.
Blake wanted to be an engineer like his father and build tall buildings that reached the sky.
Denise wanted to be a ballerina like a girl she saw on TV.
Eddie wanted… What did I want?
My hands started sweating as I thought about what I wanted to be. I wanted to be like Uncle Wayne, strong and hardworking, but everyone always said they wanted to be like their parents or someone on TV. I want to be different.
My small teeth were now biting the tip of the pencil that my sweaty, trembling hands held. I remembered the movies I watched about astronauts discovering planets and defeating monsters, about heroes saving entire cities from danger and being good guys. I remembered the singer with the funny quiff who occasionally appeared on television.
“Eddie Munson, you can come to the front of the class.” Finally, my turn. I put down my pencil and stood up from my desk. With a confident smile and hopeful eyes, I walked to the front of the class and cleared my throat before speaking.
“My name is Eddie Munson, and when I grow up I want to be… someone important.” I smiled toothlessly and proudly before continuing. “Like an astronaut who discovers planets, a famous singer with cool hair, or… or a hero who saves many people.” Silence. Pure and absolute silence.
And then the laughter began. Everyone was laughing loudly as if I had told the best joke in the world, and of all the faces I looked at, only one remained serious. Mine.
‘I started a joke which started the whole world crying’
I didn't understand why everyone was laughing. I hadn't told any joke, so why were they all laughing as if I had? And why had my little heart started to ache like that? Why did I feel so much smaller than I already was?
I kept looking at all those faces laughing so hard that tears were streaming down their cheeks, my eyes searching for some sign or clue that would tell me the reason for the laughter as I remained standing in front of the class.
“You idiot!” One of my classmates said, stopping his laughter. “You can’t be any of those things, you have to choose something that suits you.” He explained, and I turned my head to the side, confused.
Before I could properly process what he meant, the teacher spoke up and explained it to me in another way. “Eddie, you need to choose a real job like your friends have, something that suits you and is… appropriate for you. How about… a mechanic?” She suggested it with what I thought was sympathy, but it was just to emphasize my humiliation that day.
Feeling strange and overwhelmed by an emotion that seemed too big for my small body, I nodded, looking at the floor, and forced myself to speak again.
“My name is Eddie Munson, and when I grow up I want to be a mechanic.”
‘But I didn't see that the joke was on me oh no’
After that moment in the classroom, I withdrew into myself and let that strange feeling grow. I kept my head down in every class and barely spoke to my classmates, reliving those laughs in my mind again and again, and each time my heart felt like it was tearing to pieces inside my chest.
From time to time I would massage my chest and close my eyes, hoping and begging for that strange pain to disappear completely.
Lunch break came faster than I expected, I barely noticed the time passing. I got up from my desk and went straight to the bathroom, stared at my reflection in the mirror, and lifted my shirt to check if I had any injuries on my left side. Nothing. No bruises or scratches, but why did it hurt so much if I couldn't see anything?
If it hurt that much, shouldn't there be a bruise to prove it? Maybe if there was a mark, someone would believe me if I said something was wrong.
I washed my hands at the sink and went back to the classroom to get my lunchbox, then made my way to the cafeteria. When I got there, I was met with stares and whispers from my classmates, they pointed to where I was and laughed again. That strange pain returned, and this time it felt like someone was squeezing my little heart from the inside. It hurt again… right in the middle of my chest, like someone tiny had climbed inside me and was squeezing my heart with both hands, trying to see if it would break.
I turned my back on them and ran away, went where I wouldn't be seen, and collapsed on the ground with my hand on my chest.
I ate my snack alone in a secluded corner, far from everyone, huddled up and sad. Even without understanding how my name became their favorite joke.
I kept waiting for them to tell me it wasn’t true… that I wasn’t a joke. But no one came, so I just ate in silence and pretended the food didn’t taste like my tears.
'I started to cry which started the whole world laughing'
I was so caught up in my sadness that I didn't notice when some teachers and monitors looked at me as if they found my small, isolated, and desolate figure amusing.
I didn’t understand why they smiled… I thought grown-ups were supposed to help, not look at me like I was something funny. It made the sadness feel even heavier, like maybe I really was meant to be laughed at.
Leaving school was no different, more stares and laughter, whispers and murmurs directed at me as if I were the latest joke. I kept my eyes on the ground, wishing the sidewalk would open up and hide me, because it felt like everywhere I went, someone was waiting to laugh first.
I walked towards the trailer park and thought about how I wanted to be different, if I were a real hero, everyone would like me. If I were someone important… maybe people would smile at me for real. Maybe heroes don’t get laughed at on the way home. I kept wishing I could wake up tomorrow as someone braver, brighter, bigger — someone they couldn’t ignore.
I wish that someday, maybe, I could be a hero to everyone. I wanted to one day save everyone and keep them safe.
When I got to the trailer, I saw Wayne asleep on the couch and the rest of the place messy and dusty. I wanted him to be awake, I wanted him to ask about my day, I wanted him to make that pain go away.
I wanted many things, but above all, I wanted someone to care… and Wayne did. He always did. But sometimes it felt like the whole world was louder than his kindness, and I kept wishing one single kid — just one — would look at me the way he did.
I sighed in disappointment and went straight to my room, dropped my backpack on the floor, and sat on my bed looking out the window, the immense blue sky staring back at me. My vision slowly began to blur, and when I realized it, tears were streaming down my cheeks like a raging river that had broken through its dam, with no sign of stopping. Maybe if my mommy were still here, none of this would have happened; maybe she could take all this pain away from me, but she wasn't here. Wayne said she had gone to heaven and couldn't come back, and even now, looking intently at that vast blue expanse, I couldn't see her.
I kept staring at the sky until my eyes burned, hoping I’d catch even the tiniest shadow of her. But the clouds didn’t move for me, the blue didn’t answer back, and it hurt to realize that heaven must be too far away for little kids who miss their moms.
“Mommy,” I whimpered as more tears streamed down my face, my lower lip trembling with the intense pain I felt. “I need you, Mommy. It hurts so much, I don’t know how to make it stop, please come down here for a little bit, I promise I won’t tell anyone, Mommy…” Horrible sobs escaped one by one, my whole body shaking with the intensity of my painful crying.
I waited after saying that… I waited as if perhaps heaven would hear me if I cried enough. But the room remained silent, the sky didn't open, and I felt as if my words had simply fallen to the floor beside me.
The noise of movement in the trailer's living room made me turn my head toward my bedroom door, alarmed. Wayne was probably waking up from his nap and would be coming into my room soon. He couldn't see me like this.
I looked back out the window and brought my small hands to my eyes, wiping away any trace of my wet tears.
I scrubbed my face as fast as I could, the way kids do when they’re trying to erase sadness with their palms. I didn’t want Wayne to worry… he already worked so hard. So I sniffed, swallowed the last pieces of my crying, and tried to make my voice small and quiet again.
‘I looked at the skies, running my hands over my eyes.’
I grabbed my favorite comic book that was always under my pillow and pretended I was reading. I opened it to a random page and stared at the colors without really seeing them, trying to look normal — like heroes and monsters on paper could drown out the ache in my chest if I just pretended hard enough.
A knock on the door echoed through my room, followed by my uncle's voice. “Eddie? I'm leaving for work now. I left mac and cheese in the oven for you, eat it if you're hungry. I'll be back at nightfall.” He didn't open the door, just stood on the other side and spoke as he always did before leaving. “Okay, Uncle, I'll be fine,” I replied quietly.
“Right… If you need anything, go to Mrs. Parks' trailer, I asked her to keep an eye on you if I'm late.” When his footsteps faded, the whole trailer felt too big again — too quiet, too easy for the sad thoughts to crawl back in. I clutched my comic tighter, wishing I felt as brave as the heroes inside it. Wayne always tried to make sure I wasn’t alone… but the moment the door clicked shut, it felt like all the light went with him.
One day… one day I’m gonna be a hero, I just know it. Maybe not the kind in my comics, but someone brave enough that people finally stop laughing when I walk by. And when that day comes, they’ll see I wasn’t a joke at all — I was just a kid who needed a little time to prove I mattered. Maybe heroes don’t get to stay long… but if I ever become one, I hope it’s enough for someone to finally say my name without laughing.
That memory hit me like a moving train, and I smiled through tears and blood as I stared at the dark, lifeless sky of the upside down. I guess I did become a hero… just not in the way little me imagined.
I looked into the eyes of the one holding me, bleeding out for a town that had always hated me and always would. There was no outrunning what I was meant to be — not their hero, not their villain, just the boy they laughed at who finally stopped running.
"I didn’t run away this time, right?” I whispered, the words wobbling with pride as my breath grew heavier and the world dimmed at the edges. Dustin’s eyes locked on mine — wide, shaking, pleading with everything he had for me to stay, to breathe, to fight. And in that look, in that terrified kind of love, I finally saw it… the thing I’d wanted since I was a kid hiding in cafeteria corners: I had become someone important.
And finally… finally, I felt like I could go. The fear slipped away, the pain quieted, and all that was left was the warmth of knowing I mattered to someone. I let my eyes fall half-closed, managed a small smile, and breathed out the only truth I had left: "I love you, man."
'Till I finally died which started the whole world living'
'Oh if I'd only seen that the joke was on me'
'Oh no that the joke was on me'
When I opened my eyes again, everything was quiet. No monsters, no blood, no smoke — just the soft hum of cicadas and the warm Indiana summer air. I was standing in the old playground near the trailer park, the one with the rusty swings and the crooked slide.
For a moment I just blinked, confused. Why was I here? Why did everything look smaller, brighter… almost like it used to?
I took a step forward, dirt crunching under my shoes, and the world smelled like cut grass and Kool-Aid — like the days before anyone knew my name well enough to turn it into a joke.
And that’s when my chest clenched, not with pain, but with something like… recognition.
Why would the afterlife look like the place where I first learned to hurt? Why would it look like home?
A soft sound rustled behind me, not footsteps, not the creak of the swings, but something warm, something familiar, something my heart remembered before my mind could catch up.
"Teddy-bear…?"
My whole body froze. No one had called me that in years. No one had whispered it like a secret meant only for me.
A soft breeze swept past me, carrying something sweet — the smell of vanilla lotion and laundry soap — a scent I hadn’t known I remembered until it wrapped around me like a hug.
Then I heard it again.
That voice.
That tiny tremor of warmth that once tucked me into bed and chased monsters out of my closet.
“Teddy-bear… come here, sweetheart.”
The nickname hit me so hard my knees almost gave out. I turned slowly, afraid this was another cruel trick, afraid it would vanish like all the good things in my life usually did.
The playground behind me blurred as I focused on the figure standing just a few steps away.
She looked exactly like in my memories, but softer — like the edges of her were made of light. Her hair fell around her shoulders the way it used to when she leaned over me to say goodnight. Her smile was small, gentle, almost apologetic, the kind of smile that said I’m sorry I couldn’t stay without needing any words.
Her eyes — God, her eyes — were the same warm brown that made the world feel less scary when I was little. They shimmered now, glossy with love I had spent years trying to remember.
She opened her arms just a little, the way moms do when they’re waiting for a kid to run into them. And for the first time since I was old enough to understand what being alone meant… I didn’t feel alone at all.
“Come here, Eddie,” she whispered, voice breaking like she’d missed me just as much. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She stepped closer, her hands trembling like she was afraid I might vanish.
“Eddie…” she whispered, tucking a curl behind my ear the way she used to when I was just a little boy with scraped knees and too-big dreams. “You’ve always been my hero. Since the very beginning. You were all that ever mattered in my world.”
The words hit me deeper than any monster’s claws ever could.
My throat tightened. My vision burned. No one had ever said that to me — not like this, not with this kind of truth.
I fell into her arms, small again in a way only a child could be, and she held me like she’d never let go this time. Like heaven itself had wrapped around us.
And for the first time in forever, the ache in my chest went quiet.
The heaviness, the fear, the loneliness — all of it slipped away like shadows at sunrise.
In her warmth, in her voice, in the place that looked like the childhood I never got to keep…
Eddie Munson finally rested — not just in peace, but in love
tagging some mutuals: @ali-r3n @sweetpeapod @keeryhours @corrodedlover @hydegapin @mediocredreams
pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader
(modern au)
word count: 4.2k
summary: after a pretty perfected bedtime routine, you spend most nights alone. tonight is different. eddie is here and there’s no way he’s letting you out of his arms — at least not until he has to leave, so better make the most of it.
chapter cw: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, forced proximity, mutual pining / yearning, this chapter contains smut, hand job, fingering, unprotected p in v, breeding kink, hints at multiple rounds, dom!eddie, slightly possessive!eddie, dirty talk, use of pet names, fluffy angst, emotional hurt / comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, mentions of physical violence — pls let me know if i missed any!
psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.
For many moons now, nighttime has been a struggle.
While the world outside turned to quiet, you were wide awake for hours on end, a crying baby in your arms. Hushed rocking, gentle shushing, and whispers of pleas for just a few minutes of uninterrupted sleep. That’s been your life ever since Messer was born, if not longer considering the last few months of your pregnancy consisted of midnight bathroom runs and snack breaks at three o’clock in the morning.
Navigating through twilight hours, between exhaustion and devotion to the little boy in your arms, has felt both impossible and still, by far the best thing you have ever done.
As Messer got older, and bedtime routine became less about soothing his cries and more about storytelling, endless cuddles, and secrets shared by his star lamp, you came to terms with this new phase of life.
The late nights didn’t vanish entirely. Separation anxiety, bad dreams, late night potty runs. There’s also the occasional tantrum about going to bed in the first place since, in Messer’s own words, “I’m a big boy now, mama.”. You mostly tackle it all on your own. Single parent, master of multitasking, and a professional toddler negotiator.
“Big boys need sleep too, my love.”
Wayne, of course, always ready to step in at any time, helps when needed. Still, you and Messer are a team. Nighttime warriors. A force against the world, and every shared late-night whisper, every gentle hug in the dark, is a reminder of your unique and unbreakable bond.
Tonight, your bedtime party welcomes one more. Eddie.
The bedroom, usually open to just you and the curly-haired toddler, feels different now. The rockstar’s presence brings you an overwhelming sense of peace, subtly overshadowing the usual chaos of your nightly routine, and for once, you feel like you might not be fighting this battle alone — even if he’s leaving, unsure when he’ll be back, at least you know he will come back.
Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, a guitar propped beside him, watching with a tender smile as you tuck Messer in, placing a soft kiss to his forehead before you whisper a gentle, “Goodnight, lovey.”.
Thoughts of his impending departure cast a faint shadow over his heart. It’s an all too familiar ache. His world is demanding and unpredictable, and currently, a fucking shitshow. He tries not to dwell too hard because tonight, tonight is all about his family.
Picking up his guitar, he begins to gently strum a whispered rendition of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’. His voice is a low rumble, completely hypnotising. His eyes are fixed on his kid, whose lashes are fluttering shut, a tired smile on his precious face. He’s out like a light before Eddie can finish the song.
With a soft thud, closing the door behind him, the rockstar reaches for you. One arm slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him, while the other cups your cheek. Chocolate-buttons search your gaze in the dim light of the hallway, a faint smile present on his lips.
“We make quite the team, sugar.” Eddie says, and you nod.
The night is young, and for the first time in a long time, you don't feel the need to rush it. Wrapped in his warmth, you’re content. You can stand here for hours, if it means being close to him. The father of your child, the man you’re probably in love with.
Eddie looks down at you, and a smile spreads across his face, one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. A Duchenne smile. Real, and you can’t help return the expression. Happy he’s here, thrilled he’s finally holding you like this. When he leans forward, mouth catching yours, you meet the kiss with an equal measure of longing.
He’s not gentle, or hesitant. The kiss is confident and deep, itching with a hunger that’s been suppressed since New York — because, even though you've both been intimate with other people in the years that passed, those encounters do not compare to what you share with each other. The fucking fireworks, the devotion. His tongue swipes yours. Strong hands pull you closer, and you melt against him, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.
The house stills because at this moment, nothing else matters. You and him. Him and you.
Lips locked, the rockstar lifts your feet off the ground and you wrap around him, just as his hands slide down the curve of your ass, holding you tight. He carries you to your bedroom, tongues dancing together, fighting urgency, and you’re floating. Cascading through the milky way. The gentle pull of your garments as you rub against him is like a current, carrying you through constellations, until he gently lowers you onto the bed, only now breaking the kiss.
His face inches from yours, brown locks flooding your field of vision. You’re smiling, because of course you are, and Eddie’s on cloud nine too. He’s dreamt about this moment, when he’d find you again, get to kiss you again. When he’d be able to take you to bed, since, at the end of the day, he’s still just a man.
“We can stop if you want.”
You shake your head. “No. I want this, Eddie. I want you.”
After the sentence slips, he’s kissing you again. Down your jaw, one hand around your neck, squeezing. The kisses are slow and deliberate. His mouth trails upwards again, until it reaches your earlobe, teeth nipping at the cartilage. He rolls his hips into your clothed cunt, enticing a soft moan to fill the air, all while your hands travel up his shirt, splaying flat on his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath.
He parts from you. Only to reach backwards, for the neckline of his top, and he pulls the garment over his head with ease, tosses it aside. He then catches your lips once more, famished, as your fingers trail down his abdomen. You work the zipper of his jeans, while his strong hand lands on your tit, squeezing, ruffling the material the tank you changed into before Messer's bedtime routine.
Pulling the cotton down slightly, metal rubs along lace. Imprints of his hot breath tickle your soft skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine, as Eddie drags his mouth down your neck, towards your bust. Leisurely, he licks along the muscle, between the orbs, while his fingers pry them free from the confines of your bra. Squirming beneath the man, you gasp, back arching, eyes rolling to the back of your head, when his teeth pinch a reddened nipple, before taking it whole.
With a shaky hand, you free his rock-hard cock, taking the member in your grasp. And you tug, thumb swiping the pre-cum from his tip. Eddie groans into your tits and his reaction only fuels your resolve. Tightening your grip on his dick, you rub and pull, up and down. A little erratic because you’re completely distracted by Eddie, sliding your trousers down your thighs.
“I’m gonna fuck you so damn good, baby.”
Voice hoarse, yet still thrilling. He shoves his digits inside of you, through the material of your panties, and you bite your bottom lip to stop a moan from escaping. Your arousal coats him, the thin layer of cotton doing nothing to stop it from happening, then he slides the underwear aside and tells you — orders you — to touch yourself, with his dick.
You do as you’re told, coaxing a hushed, “Good girl.”, before his lips are on yours, once again.
Rubbing the tip of his cock between your folds is a special kind of torture. The feel of his skin against yours, the closeness. Knowing you’re painting him in your sleek juices before he’s even entered you fully. Knowing he likes this just as much as you, if not more. Thick in your grasp, pulsating, you continue to pump him, wanting him to break.
“I’m clean,” Eddie mumbles, forehead pressing to yours.
“Me too,” you say quietly, then add, “And I’m on the pill.”
“I don’t give a shit about that, sugar.”
And he pushes his cock into your wetness, freeing himself from your grasp.
Eddie catches the moan that threatens to escape you with his own mouth. Tongue breaching your teeth with ease, instantly dominating. You can feel him pull out of your dripping cunt, only to thrust back in, deeper this time. In agonisingly slow strokes, he repeats the action, pushing back and forth as you tremble underneath him; each movement creating gasps of pleasure.
He trails hungry, sloppy kisses along your jaw, stubble grazing your skin like it did earlier, during your treehouse date. Beard burns incoming. Red patches of skin that shamelessly tell everyone, you belong to this man wholeheartedly, and if that’s not enough proof, the messy hickey he’s currently leaving on your neck, should do the trick.
“Fuck,” he drawls. “Baby, you take me so well. This pretty pussy is made for me.”
Long fingers wrap around your neck. Hiding the bruising purple beneath his palm, the rockstar squeezes. Your tits are pressed into his forearm, pointy nipples snag against him with the created friction.
Increasing speed, his thick member slams into you, as you circle your hips, grinding against him, meeting each thrust. A lewd, smacking sound echoes around the room, still subdued because, even though you’re both equally lost in this sensation, you still care about potentially being heard. Then again, there’s not a lot of time to think about anything other than his dick buried deep inside of you, sliding in and out.
Clothes barely off, hasty movements, and stifled moans. It’s chaotic, it’s raw. It’s out of this fucking world and Eddie’s thanking his lucky stars, that they brought him back to you. That he gets to touch you like this again, feel you writhe beneath his weight. Feel your pussy hug his dick perfectly, like you’re made for him and only him.
He wants to fuck you deep into this mattress, so your muscles ache, remember him when he’s done. Mostly though, he wants to fuck you for all the years you’ve been apart. A wicked apology, of sorts. He’s here now, and he’s all yours.
“Oh, Eddie.”
His name is like a hum, a melody that only sounds this beautiful when it seeps off your tongue. The sound makes his dick twitch between your aching walls and he rolls his hips again. He fucks you deeply, roughly, craving to hear you say it while you come undone. His fingers dig into your neck as he bites down on your shoulder to stop his own groans of pleasure (because he knows they’ll be too loud, too ecstatic).
The tighter your pussy clenches around his throbbing cock, just aching to explode, the harder he pushes into you. Your hips buckle with each strong thrust, orgasm building rapidly and Eddie gets his wish, his name slipping off your tongue, again. That’s when he pins you to the bed by your throat, careful to avoid your windpipe in the process. His mouth finds your ear, and when his hot breath hits your skin, a shiver tingles down your spine.
“Eddie.”
“That’s it, baby. Let go for me.”
Nails digging into his bare back, you grip to his muscled frame, like a lifeline, afraid that if you do as he says, you might lose yourself altogether. He’ll take your heart with him, cut it out of your chest once you reach your most vulnerable state, and keep it in his pocket until he returns weeks, or even months, later. And maybe it’s too late to second guess your current situation, but rational thinking went out the window the second he kissed you earlier.
So you fall.
“Eds.”
The rockstar looks up, gaze catching yours. He offers a slight smirk, then his face etches in care because he’s seeing you, really seeing you, for the first time in years. The memory of that night in New York flashes in his mind. It cracks at the seams, revealing a hint of something vulnerable underneath. Three words he’s felt, but has been quite afraid to say.
“Sugar, I–”
“Yes, fuck, I’m— Shit.”
Chasing that sweet release, you arch your back.
He’s watching your face, analysing the waves of pleasure that appear in the crinkle of your eyes, the way you bite your bottom lip. The way your nails scratch along the skin of his back, and the way you’re writhe underneath him, as you cascade into an orgasm that rolls through your entire body.
Eyes locked, Eddie continues pushing. His thrusts are incredibly sharp, rapid. His movements don’t die down. They’re deliberate, running your rapture out, until he’s exploding too, just as your hips buckle and one last moan escapes your parted lips.
After a few thundering heart beats, while you hold each other’s bodies, relishing in the heat of the moment, the rockstar slips out of you and a small river of mixed juices trickles down your inner thighs. Eddie glances between your bodies, then slips his hand below, coating his fingers in the blend. You shudder at his delicate touch, then watch, in a blissful state, as he licks his digits clean.
“You taste even better when you taste like me.”
Smiling playfully, you repeat the action, and Eddie’s browns turn lustful once more when your fingers enter your mouth. You sigh around them, exaggerating slightly for his entertainment, before releasing with a gentle pop.
Before you can utter a single word, he’s kissing your smirk away. Urgent, yet caring. Quickly, he works on completely removing the rest of your clothes, and his too, so that when he rolls you both over, he can admire your naked, glistening body in the moonlit room.
“Jesus,” he exhales, thumb tracing along your hip bone. “You’re fucking perfect, sugar.”
You smile down at him, palms of your hands pressing into his tattooed torso. He positions himself between your sticky, wet pussy, and slowly pulls you down onto his cock. A sigh breaches your lips, as you anchor yourself to him, fingers touching his shoulder blades, eyes glued to the dark ink spilled over his chest.
With every roll of your hips, you can feel his thick shaft come back to life, hitting that spot deep within you perfectly. He fills you so well, like he’s made for you. Like you’re made for him. You had that same thought back in New York, in the hotel bed of your dreams. Eddie did too. Preaching a seemingly simple word into your ear until you saw stars: yours.
“Fuck, baby. This pretty pussy is going to ruin me.”
“Mhm. Eddie, oh.”
His grip on you tightens. “Shit, sugar. Ugh— I know I keep repeating myself,” he pants, “But you’re fucking perfect and you’re all mine.”
You nod.
“Yours.”
A LITTLE BEFORE
“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Eddie asks, wandering browns glued to your frame, following your every move while you gather last night’s clothes off the hotel room floor.
You’re holding the large duvet against your naked body, feeling slightly embarrassed about what transpired between you and the rockstar, since morning light brings with it a new sense, a new point of view. Not that you regret anything. Eddie Munson is unlike any man you’ve ever met, and the way he made you feel, well, you’ve never been able to reach such highs. You’re suddenly just shy.
He’s him. You’re you. Different worlds. Theory proven by his naked form splayed out on the bed without care, while you cling to the white material as if your life depends solely on this sheet.
“I can’t,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “I need to develop film from last night, then edit the digital photos.”
“You could work from here,” he offers, hopeful.
“I don’t have my laptop.”
You hate how the excuse sounds like you don’t want to spend time with the brunette man because the truth is quite the opposite. There’s a longing inside your chest to cuddle into him, inhale his scent, and never leave this damn bed. Unfortunately, what you want and what you can take are opposite ends of the spectrum. He’ll be leaving soon anyway, for another night in a different city. You’ll be back at the venue, photographing some other star.
Again, you remind yourself: different worlds.
The rockstar nods, disappointment flooding his veins, then drops his feet to the floor.
Bare back facing you, Eddie reaches for his boxers while his mind runs circles, analysing your current cold shoulder. Maybe he was wrong about you. Maybe you’re just like every other chick that’s landed in his bed, only after bragging rights. The ‘I slept with a rockstar’ train has always been popular, and even though you don’t seem like the type to go after a seat, maybe the opportunity was too good to pass up.
He curses under his breath. It’s quiet, breathy, but the sound reaches your ears nonetheless and you instantly feel guilty. Despite your new-found anxieties, it’s been a while since you’ve felt this relaxed. Happy, even. The mirror on the wardrobe door shows a fresh face — truly, when was the last time you slept in this late? All thanks to the man behind you. He deserves to know that. Even if you were to never see Eddie again, the brunette rockstar should know you’re not another groupie.
“I’m sorry,” you say, turning on your heel, then approaching the foot of the bed.
Eddie turns, stands, and you do your best to hold his gaze as he saunters towards you — for one, he’s definitely more intimidating in the daytime, when there’s no shadows to hide his true fucking beauty, and two, his boxer briefs really do leave little to the imagination.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sugar.”
Strong arms envelop around you and the white duvet, and a gentle kiss is placed on your crown. You let go of the sheet, returning the warm embrace.
“I don’t want you to think last night didn’t mean anything to me.”
He pulls back slightly, placing one hand on your face, while the other runs up and down the outline of your spine. Your fingers tangle themselves in the light ringlets at the back of his neck, as he pulls you closer.
“I don’t think that,” he reassures.
You nod. “Okay. Good.”
His kiss is tender. It melts away your inhibitions, and instead, it fills your soul with sizzling energy. Crackling, like logs on a fire. The warmth spreads to your fingertips and you cling tighter to the man in front of you.
“I’d like to see you again,” the rockstar mutters against your parted lips, then kisses you again, hoping to convince you that exploring this thing between you is worth the risk.
Yes, his job is demanding. Long hours, crazy fans, the overall chaos of the trade. He’s on the road a lot too and long distance almost never works out, but Eddie is sure you’re worth the hassle. He’s convinced there is something about you, a quality that fits his lifestyle. You ground him. He hasn’t figured out how, but he wants to. He wants a lot with you, and he’s never felt this way about anyone.
So imagine the smile on his face when you say, “I’d like that too.”.
Then imagine the gut-wrenching disappointment when you don’t call.
A LITTLE AFTER
Later — much later — after pulling orgasms from one another in many imaginative ways, you lay in each other’s arms, recounting stories, memories in whispers. In between quiet giggles and hushed conversations, Eddie kisses you gently, just because he can. He’s dreamed of it for years, to hold you like this, trace your lips with his whenever he feels the urge, and he’s finally relishing the opportunity to claim what is his.
You smile into him, every time, since you still quite can’t believe any of this is real. That he’s really here. Not only in your bed, but in this life you’ve created and craved for him to find ever since you found out about the pregnancy. Against all odds, despite the many tears you shed while wondering if, in the end, keeping Messer from him was a good idea, Eddie Munson beat every blockade. He found his kid, and he found you, all over again.
“This is new,” you say, pointing to the carefully shaded dagger on his right bicep.
Eddie looks at the tattoo in question, arm flexing.
“Yeah.” He sits up slightly. You follow suit. “Got a couple more since we last saw each other. Think you can find them all?”
It’s a modest tease. A playful game that he half expects you to deny, but you pull your top lip between your teeth, in a show of concentration, and wrap your fingers around his wrist. You pull his arm closer, and while his adoring, mahogany gaze burns into your frame, you begin to point out the ink.
Starting with his right arm, you note, “This ram skull is new. The matchsticks, the smiley face.”
Adjusting position, you drop the wrist you’re holding and lift his left arm into view instead. Then, you continue, “The moth and the D & D die. This playboy bunny logo.”
Your fingers trail to his chest. Eddie’s still watching, a mix of awe and surprise etched into his features because, even though he’s noted every little detail about you that’s changed since New York, he didn’t think you’d care enough to notice what’s different about him.
“Four-leaf clover. Love, written backwards. This chain with the rose, and these numbers here.”
His hand finds yours, interlocking just as you trace along the numerals located over his heart. You look up to meet his gaze and suddenly, your own blood-pumping muscle is thundering inside your chest. The game feels serious all of a sudden. Like you’ve unlocked a secret he’d been keeping.
“That’s the day we met,” he says quietly and your brows string together in disbelief.
“You have the date we met tattooed on your body?”
In an attempt to answer your question honestly, his lips part. Unfortunately, the three words he’s been holding back never make themselves known because a phone starts to vibrate somewhere on the floor, hidden under a pile of clothes. Eddie almost tells you to ignore it, lord knows he wants to, but the tremors persist and with a heavy sigh, he scrambles to locate the device.
It’s his. Smithie’s name illuminates the screen. Rolling his eyes, the rockstar ends the call without entertaining a conversation, but the phone just rings again.
“You should answer it,” you say. “Might be important.”
“You’re more important,” Eddie tells you simply. “He can wait.”
Blood rushing to your cheeks, you smile at the brunette man, then you lean forward slightly to peck his soft lips.
“Answer the phone, Eddie.” You murmur against him.
Eventually Eddie relents, sliding an index finger across the screen before pressing the device to his ear. Distorted, but you can hear his agent sputtering nervously on the other line, without giving the rockstar a chance to get a word in edge-wise.
When Eddie moves to stand, quickly sliding his boxers on, phone pressed against his shoulder, you start to panic. When he runs a hand through his hair, down the worried look on his face, you hop out of bed too. Getting re-dressed is nowhere near as fun as getting naked, especially in these strange circumstances. You try to remain calm, mainly for his benefit, because the rockstar looks like he’s about to faint.
“Yeah,” he sputters, “Thanks, man.”
And before you get to ask what’s wrong, he passes you the phone. Your gaze instantly drops to the bright screen and your heart drops.
Eddie Munson Faces Jail Time
‘It’s only been a few days since the world buzzed with headlines of the Corroded Coffin frontman's secret child. We welcome Eddie Munson back to the front page with another story of his debauchery. Sources close to the star reveal news of a fight that occurred a few months ago, in New York. Allegedly, Eddie Munson could not contain his fists and, presumably under the influence, knocked out the eldest son of Robert Myers, the great city’s mayor. Robert Junior Myers—’
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your head to meet the sad eyes before you. You can’t keep reading. Primarily because you know how the story unfolds, you’ve heard it first-hand from the rockstar, and you don’t need to see how the press may have twisted what actually happened. The second reason, the one behind the tremble of your hands as you give Eddie the phone back, is a little more… convoluted.
“You didn’t tell me it was the mayor’s son,” you say in a barely-there whisper.
Eddie shrugs, then his shoulders drop in defeat.
“What does it matter? Smithie told me the charges were dropped, and suddenly they’re not. That’s the real issue. Who I fought doesn’t really matter anymore.”
“He’s my ex,” you sputter, then briefly cover your mouth with your hand, catching a quick breath. “Robert Junior is my ex boyfriend.”
as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3
story masterlist
tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know:
SUMMARY: Your boyfriend helps you put a name to your feelings.
WARNINGS: 18+ mdni. mentions of porn magazines. mentions of masturbation. eddie and reader establish their d/s dynamic. no smut. reader working through her insecurities. implied religious trauma. pet names (baby, sweets, sweetheart, darling girl). eddie being a perv (just a little).
WC: 2.1K
A/N: part of the grind you down universe, but can be read by itself.
A gloomy Sunday night settled over the town, rain pattering lightly against your windows in a rhythmic pattern while the scent of your mom’s expensive vanilla candle breezed through the room comfortingly.
It was an unfamiliar feeling — a Sunday being so soothing, bringing you a warm kind of fuzziness instead of the usual dread that pooled in your gut. And all because of him. Always because of him.
Eddie. Your Eddie.
All he had to do was breathe in your direction for you to feel the calm wash over you, placate you. You couldn’t name it, didn’t necessarily want to name it either. It was just what having a boyfriend felt like, you thought. A normal reaction everyone had.
Although, then again, when you thought of the cheerleaders and their jock boyfriends, they didn’t seem like that. They seemed loud, catty. Not something you ever wanted to be with Eddie. You wanted to be good.
You weren’t sure how this urge transpired or why it’s been there since the first time you met Eddie. But you knew it wasn’t your brain wiring and rewiring so you could be liked, like usually. It wasn’t about making yourself seem bigger than you felt, making yourself have bite that you didn’t have, pretending to be unbothered. It was just an overwhelming urge to be good clawing at your entire body, begging to be let out.
To do good. Behave. Like a dog on a leash.
And part of being good was to stop comparing your life to the people who made you miserable. To stop thinking they were worth more just because. Eddie’s orders.
He made sure his words echoed in your head all the time. Not that he had to put a tremendous amount of effort in his attempts, considering the onslaught of little notes that you kept in a box under your bed. Ones you looked at whenever things got too heavy to bear and he wasn’t around. Whenever you needed to feel that pull on your neck, guiding you to where you’re supposed to be.
‘Hey, you want to go out sometime? –E’
‘Any guy snatch you up yet? –Eddie’
‘A declaration of love to the prettiest girl in the world and the coolest girlfriend ever’
All with some sort of doodle beside or under them. All left not because he felt you needed them but because he wanted to. His greatest mission, as he said, was to make you happy.
And he succeeded, in ways even you couldn’t understand.
The other reason for your tranquility was your plan, which was simple — stay at your place because your parents were out of town for God knows what time this month and skip school tomorrow.
He padded around the living room, in nothing but grey sweats, ensuring ‘maximal comfort and minimal getting up’. Snacks and food laid out, one too many bottles of beer and a plethora of horror movies on stand-by.
Your gaze swooped over him, in all his glory as you lay there, wrapped in a blanket.
“Comfy?” Eddie asked, looking at you through his lashes as he placed last touches on the whole set-up.
“Mhm,” you hummed, unwrapping the blanket from around yourself and holding one corner up. “Cold without you, though.”
“Cold? Under all that?” an amused smile graced his handsome features, his eyebrow quirked up.
“Freezing, actually,” you grinned up at him.
“Unfair. That’s straight up manipulation,” he gestured to your smile.
“What?” you feigned innocence, batting your eyelashes, making him groan and trudge over to you.
“Christ,” he placed you on his lap once he seated himself. “That better, baby?” he asked, chapped lips coming to press a kiss to your hairline.
“Much,” you mumbled, tucking your head under his chin, letting the calm wash over you entirely.
“Pretty girl.”
“Hm?” you hummed, looking up at him.
“Oh, no, that wasn’t a question,” Eddie grinned. “Just a statement.”
“Dork.”
“And what are you missing there?”
“Handsome dork,” you corrected with a roll of your eyes, but the smile gave you away, moving to peck his lips softly
You felt him smile against your lips, his calloused hands pushing your hair back.
”Missed you, sweets.”
“Missed you too, Ed.”
“Yeah? How much?” he rasped out, his gruff voice almost sedating you.
“A lot,” you smiled, nose touching his.
“Yeah? C’mere then,” a faux grunt left Eddie’s lips as he pulled you to straddle him. “There you are.”
Your head settled on his chest as you just let yourself be.
No bad thoughts, no endless stream of what-if’s that stuck to the front of your mind like a spider web. Just Eddie.
Only Eddie.
You didn’t think you even felt yourself being present in these moments. Only him. Your sweet guy, his solid form, his cold hands that he warmed on your skin.
You were there, almost as a by-stander. A ghost, outside of your body. Not connected, unaware, unknowing of all the bad experiences that led you here. That led you to be like this. Unknowing of all but him and the pastor’s voice which echoed in your head during situations like these.
Because you finally understood. Understood what it meant to be connected, to believe, to feel; have faith.
“The book of Ephesians, chapter four, verses twenty-two to twenty-four read:
To put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.
God knows your struggles, but through Him you can be reborn.”
Eddie knows your struggles. Eddie is making you be reborn.
“Sweets?” his gentle voice brought you back up, just a little as his hands guided your head upwards, guided your gaze to meet his. Like a dog on a leash.
“Hm?”
“You listenin’ to me?”
“Oh, sorry… Zoned out a little, Ed.”
“Well, I was telling you about buying the new strings.”
“That’s nice, Ed,” you hummed, cuddling into him, seeking his presence; his solidity, the smell that was so undeniably him — the body spray he used, the faintest smell of cigarettes and weed. It was so Eddie. “‘m glad you finally got them.”
“Mhm… Hey sweetheart? Can I talk to you about something?”
His tone was soft, but his words sent an immediate alarm bell in your head.
“Yeah, what’s up?” you asked.
“Uh… You just kinda… Zone out a lot on me… You can tell me if you’re bored.”
“Wh— No, no, Eddie, I promise it’s not that. God, it’s really not that,” you scrambled to explain, eyes wide and a hint of guilt pooling in your gut. And a smidge of insecurity.
That this was too much. That you were too much. That maybe you were a selfish person.
Because of all the people in the world, Eddie was the one who deserved being listened to. And you couldn’t even give him that.
“Then what is it?”
“Um… ‘s hard to explain…” you trailed off, pursing your lips in thought. You knew he deserved an explanation, no matter how bad it was. “I just… Feel safe, I guess… Kinda zone out a little. Like… ‘m not really there, if that makes sense.”
And to your shock, he had that grin on his face. The one that screamed ‘I know something you don’t’.
“What?” you raised your eyebrows.
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he laughed. “You are my favourite person in the world.”
“Is this a making fun of me situation or…?”
“No, no, of course not,” his hands came to cup your face soothingly. “Tell me more about this.”
“‘s stupid,” you grumbled.
“No, hey, c’mon. It’s just me, baby. Wanna understand.”
“Um… I guess… I dunno, like… I just wanna listen to you.”
“Mm,” Eddie hummed, the pads of his thumbs rubbing the apples of your cheeks. “I think I know what you mean.”
“You do?”
“Read about it,” he said simply, making your brows furrow.
“Where?”
“Where do you think, sweetheart? I’m a guy.”
“...Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Why does that surprise you?”
“I just… I don’t see what porn mags have to do with… This.”
“Because you, darling girl, want to submit to me. That’s a pretty big deal in porn mags.”
“Yeah, but… It’s not exactly a sex thing… Well, not right now at least,” you looked up at him again, seeing that confident, borderline cocky glint in his eyes.
“Doesn’t have to be, sweetheart. It’s more of an every day thing, really. Or so I heard. I don’t know how truthful porn mags are.”
“Every day thing?”
“Yeah— Jesus, sweetheart have you ever owned—”
“No,” you cut him off. “I use my imagination if you have to know,” you said, that familiar edge of defensiveness creeping up into your voice, despite the heat rising up your neck at the unexpected turn of the conversation.
And you knew, to expect the unexpected with Eddie. That nothing should surprise you. And however comfortable you were with each other from the start, you really didn’t think sex and porn magazines would be something you discussed after having sex once. But it was Eddie. Your Eddie. Your Eddie who was so rightfully comfortable in his skin that taboo or awkwardness never existed. Not with him. Not with the two of you.
“Alright, alright,” he retreated.
“So… How does that work? Since you’re the expert on this.”
“Well from what I do know… One person is in charge, rules are in place, and punishments.”
“Right…” you trailed off, trying to soak the information in. And more importantly, process.
Because clearly, you can’t get all your education from books. A lot of it came from R rated media, apparently.
And to try and hide how much you liked it. To have rules, to be expected to obey. To feel like this at all times.
“So? What’s the verdict?” Eddie asked, hands now stroking your hair.
“I like that,” you mumbled.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah… Do you?”
“Sweetheart,” he laughed. “I have the most beautiful girlfriend in the world who wants to submit to me. What’s not to like about that?”
“Yeah, yeah.. What about the punishment thing? How does that work?”
“Well, from my highly intelligent research, it’s mostly just… Sexual stuff… But we can figure things out on our own terms, sweets. I think it’s way too early into our relationship for me to be belting you.”
The matter-of-fact tone he used to say that made you giggle. And just maybe store away the image of that for later. For other purposes.
“Little freak,” he teased, pressing a kiss full of adoration to your temple. “How do you know about belting and not about following rules all the time?”
“Excuse me for not being aware of the fact that there’s a label for my feelings.”
“Altered state of mind,” he corrected, making you roll your eyes.
“So… How do we do this, then?”
“Just our own way, I guess. We can do our own research, set up our rules, experiment with the punishment stuff. Just take it slow, y’know?”
“Yeah… That sounds good.”
“Yeah? Want some rules now?”
“Yeah, I’d really like that,” you grinned, your expression matching the excitement that bubbled up in your chest.
“How about…” he pursed his lips in thought. “We keep it light and simple for now? You just gotta take care of yourself. Eat, drink enough water, get enough sleep. How does that sound?”
“Ed, you don’t even do that.”
“Yeah, but you’re you. Do what I say, not what I do. I want you to be nice and healthy.”
“Alright.”
“That’s my girl.”
“So, what if I miss one of those things?”
“Well, you tell me and we figure it out, I guess. A lot of trial and error until we figure out what works for us, sweets.”
You just smiled up at him, cuddling further into him.
Because however brash Eddie could be, you knew he cared. For everyone. For you. You knew how big his heart was.
And you were lucky enough to be the one who gets it. To be the one taken care of by him.
And you knew that however much it would be good for you, it would be good for him too. That the part of you that craved being taken care of, craved being seen and held, was the same part of him that craved being the one to take care; seeing and holding. To finally have control over something in his life.
SUMMARY: Your boyfriend takes your virginity and all your bad thoughts with it, too.
WARNINGS: mdni smut 18+. virgin!reader. virgin!eddie. unprotected sex. mentions of blood. eddie licking blood. reader is insecure. brief mention of reader catastrophizing. implied subspace/reader doesn't know she's in subspace.
WC: 3.5K
A/N: part of the grind you down universe.
“We’re going to get you. We’re going to get you. Not another peep. Time to go to sleep.”
Linda’s voice echoed through the trailer, the TV light flickering over your and Eddie’s faces.
His arm was wrapped around you, tucking you into his side. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him mouth along the lines like he knew them by heart. He did. You were acutely aware of every single meeting point between your bodies, the constant presence grounding you, keeping you away from straying too far in your mind.
Like a dog on a leash, you thought. And he was your owner. Pulling you away from the deep forest and the rough terrain, guiding you to where you needed to be.
“The guys loved the ticket you made,” Eddie’s voice pulled you out of your analogies.
“You showed them?” you asked, craning your neck to look up at his face. His handsome features, with those big eyes and perfect teeth—
“‘Course I did. Gotta show off what my girl made for me,” he stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, before he refocused on the movie.
My girl. He never asked you to be his girl, but you didn’t think he needed to, anyway. He made his intentions clear. You were his. His girl. He even showed you off to his friends when you weren’t there.
But that tiny voice inside your head screamed differently. Maybe he’s stringing you along, maybe they laughed at your gift.
It was a hard habit to kick, assuming the worst at all times. It serves its purpose as a highly messed up, but highly functional soothing ritual. If your mind goes through all of the horrible things that could happen, nothing could shock you. Or disappoint you too much. And you knew you never got what you wanted so if you just assumed the worst, if you wished it your way, ran through every combination of possible humiliation, then it was bound not to happen. After all, all your bad moments came when you were not expecting them.
And a big part of you felt guilty, because of all the people in the world, Eddie was the only one who didn’t deserve to be assumed about in that way. He was never anything but sweet and gentle.
God, your thoughts yelled at you. Maybe there was something inherently evil about you. There had to be in order to project these things to the only person who was kind to you.
“Sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice pulled you out once more, “You’re in your head again.”
Not a question. A statement. Because he knew all your tells. Of course he did. He learned them by heart in such a short period of time that it made you swoon. Yet, it also added onto the guilt bubbling up inside you.
“Oh? Um, ‘s nothin’, really,” you said, not meeting his eyes.
His finger hooked on your chin, pulling your head up, gently coaxing you to look at him.
“Don’t give me that, c’mon.”
“I don’t want to burden you, Ed,” you sighed, leaning into his palm which was now on your cheek.
“Burden me? What do you take me for, sweets? I’m your boyfriend, am I not? ‘s what boyfriends are supposed to do, or so I heard.”
Boyfriend. Your boyfriend. Yours. Yours. Yours.
You knew you had to tell him. It’s only fair if you do. Even if the selfish part of you wanted to keep all your problems locked inside your head, where they’re safe, you knew that’s not how relationships worked.
You knew he would worry anyway. He always does. So you could stand being uncomfortable for a few seconds if it meant at least telling him what he’s worrying about, to stop him from wondering and theorizing.
“It’s stupid,” you muttered, “I know it is. Just me… Being all conspiratorial, I guess.”
“About what?”
“You never really asked me to be your girlfriend. Not that you had to, I know—” he cut off your attempt to hurriedly explain yourself.
“Shit, sorry, sweetheart. This is new to me, y’know? ‘M not exactly familiar with all the do’s and the don’t’s,” he said, other hand coming up to your face as well, rubbing your cheeks gently, making you relax.
“No, no, I know. Just bad thoughts, I guess. I know you didn’t mean anything bad.”
“In my head, you’ve been my girl since our first date,” he said softly, voice almost a coo, “Can I ask you now, but we both pretend I asked you then?”
You let out a soft snort, looking at him adoringly.
“Sure,” you said, “But I don’t think people usually get into relationships on the first date.”
“It’ll make our anniversary come sooner,” he grinned, “And we’re not most people, are we? Most people don’t sleep over on the first date either.”
Jesus Christ, he was unreal. Just a touch and a few sweet words and he unraveled the complicated web of thoughts in your head.
“I s’pose you’re right,” you smiled softly.
“So, will you? Be my girlfriend?”
“Yes,” you said, your voice unable to be anything other than a gentle whisper.
You were so gone for him.
He smiled, leaning down to place a feather-light kiss on the apple of your cheek, followed by two more.
“And you gotta tell me, okay? When something’s botherin’ you, no matter what it is. Deal?”
“Deal,” you said, tilting your head up to peck his lips.
He hummed against your mouth, peppering you with kisses, showing no sign of letting go.
“You’re.. missin’ the… movie,” you mumbled between pecks.
“Don’t care,” came his response, slotting his mouth against yours properly.
Your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he tried to pull you closer awkwardly, due to the two of you sitting shoulder to shoulder, bodies turned uncomfortably.”
“Shit, c’mere,” he said, hauling you onto his lap, “Comfy?” he asked, hands smoothing over your thighs as he looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah,” you responded breathlessly, heat building up in your stomach embarrassingly fast, just from the tone of his words.
He didn’t respond, just slotted his mouth against yours once more.
You brushed his hair back as he licked at your bottom lip, guiding you to open up for him. He tasted like Marlboro’s and your Dr. Pepper that he snuck a few sips of. Not that you minded. God, you’d give him anything he wanted.
You licked his tongue messily while his hands smoothed up your thighs until he settled them on your hips, squeezing the supple flesh in appreciation.
Christ, how was he so good at this? You thought as you moved on his lap to get closer to him, leaving you to slot right against his hardening cock, making him groan.
Both his sounds, and the feeling of him everywhere sent a ripple of arousal through you, your thighs clenching around his.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, the sound muffled by your lips, “This okay?” he asked, hands moving to your ass, grinding you against him.
“Mhm,” you whined out, the friction making you preen.
He panted, pulling away from your lips and trailing kisses down your neck, licking at your pulse point. His hands left your ass, sneaking under your shirt and up to your bra, squeezing your tits through it.
“Mm, don’t stop, baby,” he moaned out when your hips stalled as he stopped guiding you.
You obeyed, rolling yourself against him. The way your clit caught against the seam of your jeans made you moan weakly, the sound going straight to his cock, feeling him twitch under his clothes.
He clumsily nipped at your neck, shoving his hands inside your bra to pull at your nipples. Your high-pitched moan encouraged him to detach his lips from you, to look at your face.
“Shit, sweets, you’re so pretty,” he moaned, “Can I take this off, baby? Please?” he asked, pushing at your bra cups with his knuckles.
“Yeah, yeah,” you breathed out, heart beating wildly.
This was actually happening, your brain screamed at you as he pulled your shirt off, your hips still grinding against his.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned as he took a moment to just look at you, before his hands slid to your back, trying and failing to unclasp your bra.
You see the embarrassed blush on his cheeks and it makes your heart melt a little. You would probably coo at him on instinct, if it wasn’t for the pleasure rolling off of you in waves.
“Here,” you said, reaching back to do it yourself.
The sheepish expression was wiped off his face the second he saw your tits, mouth immediately latching onto your nipple with a drawn out moan, while his hand made sure that the other one wasn’t left out.
Your back arched into his touch with a sharp gasp falling from your lips.
“Fuck, Eddie,” you whined, rubbing yourself against him faster, pussy clenching around nothing as you felt his cock twitch and jump in his jeans.
He let out a whimper from the back of his throat, coating you in his saliva before he pulled away briefly.
“Sweetheart— God, fuck— You wanna get under me?” he panted out and all you could do was nod, words leaving you completely.
He laid you out on the couch, hiking your leg up on the backrest before settling over you, his forearms caging your head in as he leaned down to kiss you.
“So pretty,” he mumbled, desperately humping against you.
You whined against his lips, hips moving to meet his rhythm, hands pulling at his shirt needily.
You wanted it off.
He took the memo, reluctantly moving away, just enough to make quick work on his shirt, before slotting over you again, this time holding himself up with one arm, as the other danced over the button of your jeans.
“This okay? We don’t hav’ta do anything, baby”
“I want to,” you said, your own hands dancing over his pale chest.
“Lift your hips a little,” he ordered softly while unbuttoning your pants.
You obeyed, planting your weight on the leg that was resting on the backrest and using it to lift up.
He shimmied your jeans and panties down below your ass, letting out a soft curse under his breath before pushing your hips back down carefully. His hand brought your leg down, setting your feet in his lap so he could rid you off your clothes completely.
“Christ, sweetheart,” he marveled when your clothes were discarded, spreading your legs once more to stare at the wetness that caught on the soft thatch of hair.
Your whole body burned in arousal and nervousness alike as you watched him watch you.
“Gonna have to tell me what feels good, sweets,” he murmured, running two fingers along your folds, making you shiver.
“That?” he asked, “Show me where, baby. Wanna make you feel good,” his voice cracked with need.
Your hand shakily led his to your clit, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure, the bud twitching against his fingertips.
“Like this?” he asked, pressing his fingers a little too harshly while he made circles on your nub.
A wince leaves your lips, reaching out to stop his hand.
“Little easier…” You said softly as you guided his hand to make gentle figure-eight’s on your clit, before he had time to feel bad for hurting you.
“Sorry, baby,” he punctuated his words with a gentle kiss to your cheek, doing his best to follow.
“‘s okay, feels so good, Eddie,” your voice a needy whine.
“What about here?” he asked, finger circling over your entrance which was steadily clenching and unclenching, pushing out the wetness that dribbled down, “Inside? You touch yourself there?”
The question makes your cheeks burn, as you shake your head no.
“We don’t have to if you’re not ready, sweetheart.”
“I do. I really want to, Ed, but um… Maybe we need a towel, y’know, for the blood,” you babbled nervously, hoping he wouldn’t be grossed out.
But this was Eddie. You should’ve known and you shouldn’t have let out a surprised yelp when he lifted your hips up and put his own shirt under them, mumbling something about not being crazy to leave even for a second.
“Are you sure?” you asked, a little embarrassed by the prospect of getting blood over him and his shirt.
“Relax, baby,” he cooed, slowly pushing his finger in, eyes trained on you, following every reaction.
Your breath stuttered, eyes screwing closed. It felt foreign, but not unwelcomed.
“Okay?” Eddie checked in, his finger slowly moving in and out.
“Yeah… Yeah, keep going,” you moaned out as his thumb came up to rub your clit like you showed him to, coaxing you to open more.
Another moan slips past your lips, reaching blindly for his cock. Once you did, you flattened your palm against him and rubbed, hoping that it was the right thing to do.
“Oh– Fuck, sweetheart. Don’t do that,” he hissed, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling your hand away.
You opened your eyes, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Bad?” you managed to ask through a half-sigh, his finger still steadily pumping in and out of you.
“No, sweets. Real fuckin’ good, would’ve made me jizz my pants.”
The words make you clench around his fingers, a drawn-out mewl falling from your lips as your back arched.
“Can I put another one in, pretty girl?”
“Mhm, yeah, yeah.”
Eddie leaned down to kiss you sloppily as he pushed another finger in, interchanging the angles inside your gummy walls.
“Oh my God,” you moaned against his lips when he hit one particular spot that made you see stars.
“Right there?”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing his tongue past your lips, his fingers speeding up.
Your hips bucked desperately against his hand, the only thought on your fuzzy mind was Eddie.
How good he was making you feel, how you wanted more. How you wanted him to fuck you.
“Eddie, please,” you beg desperately.
“What, sweets? What d’ you need?” he asked, not stopping his ministrations.
“Need more— Fuck… Want you, please.”
“You sure, sweetheart? We don’t have to,” he said for the umpteenth time. It would’ve made your heart melt in any other situation, but now you just needed him. Desperately.
“Please, Eddie, just— Need you so bad.”
“Fuck, baby… I don’t have a condom. Wasn’t really planning on… Well, this.”
You whined, a pout forming on your lips.
“‘S fine, right?” you panted desperately, trying to latch onto any excuse. “You can jus’ pull out, right?”
“You sure, baby?”
“Mhm, please, just do somethin’”
“Okay, okay, I got you,” he said, pulling his fingers out of you gently.
You grimaced when you saw the red streaks adorning them, an embarrassed blush spreading on your cheeks.
“Sorry ‘bout that.”
He scoffed and your eyes widened when he licked his fingers clean, humming at the taste of blood.
Yet still, you couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth at the sight, as you laser-focused on him. Gaze bouncing from his face, to his tattoos and finally, to him pulling down his pants and boxers.
Your mouth watered at the vision before you. Eddie, giving his long, veiny cock a few pumps with his ring adorned hand, bottom lip between his teeth, his tip red and angry.
“Okay, okay,” he breathed, caging you in with his forearm as he leaned back down, his other hand leading his cock to your leaky entrance.
“We can stop at any time, ‘mkay? And you tell me ‘f it hurts. I’ll be gentle.”
“O-okay,” you said, feeling a little jittery now, despite still wanting it. Wanting him.
You let out something between a yelp and a squeal when you feel his fat tip pushing past your walls, the feeling more intense than when his fingers fucked you.
A lot more. You felt so full already and he hadn’t even started.
He stilled, rubbing your scalp soothingly.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just… Need a second. ‘S so much.”
“Okay, baby. However long you need.”
First breath in. Hold. First breath out. Second breath in. Hold. Second breath out. Third breath in. Hold. Third breath out. Fourth breath in. Hold. Fourth breath out. Fifth breath in. Hold. Fifth breath out.
“Okay, you can move,” you said softly, gently pulling his face closer to yours.
You gasped sharply when he filled you completely, stretching your walls. You felt a slight pinch, but the dominant feeling was the one of being full. Of your head being empty and only feeling him, his cock.
Eddie let out a long moan, head falling down to your shoulder as he tried to stop himself from cumming already.
“Shit— Fuck— God, sweets— Need a minute”
The sound of his broken voice, utterly wrecked, made you clench impossibly around his girth, the feeling making his whole body tense.
“Mm— Gotta, gotta stop doin’ that, sweets, gonna make me cum,” he panted into your shoulder.
Not that you’d mind. You were already embarrassingly close too from this whole ordeal. His hands, his words, him filling you so nicely, making you cock-drunk.
“Mmm, me too, need— Jus’ a little bit more, Ed, please, ‘m almost there,” you babbled mindlessly, your pussy contracting rhythmically, like the thrum of a heartbeat.
“Yeah? Yeah? God, you’re so tight. So wet an’ warm— Fuck,” he moaned, beginning to move his hips sloppily, fingers coming down to rub your clit.
“Ohmygod!” you squealed, hips bucking up, “‘m so full, Ed, feels so good.”
“You feel so good too. Fuck, baby, so-so good. M’ sweet girl. Thought about this so much,” he admitted, driving his cock into you harder, his balls slapping against your ass.
“Me too,” you whined out, eyes scrunched closed as your pussy made lewd, wet sounds which echoed throughout the living room.
Eddie groaned at that, his stomach tensing as he rubbed your clit faster.
“Fuck— Fuck, baby. Y-you touch yourself and think of me?”
“Mhm, mhm,” you nodded desperately, hands sliding down his back as you felt the familiar tightness in your core.
“Oh shit, sweets, fuckfuckfuck.”
You were both gone, letting out moans and whines, babbled words and incoherent sentences as you just felt each other.
You felt the orgasm creep up on you, your whole body tensing, before the coil snapped, making your whole body shake.
Eddie whimpered in your neck at the sensation, his body trembling.
“Fuck, sweetheart— Fuck, can you— Mmm— ‘m gonna cum, baby, gotta-gotta pull out, are you all done?” he babbled as he fucked you through your orgasm.
“Yeah, yeah, Ed.”
He hissed as he pulled out of you, jerking his tip in quick, harsh motions.
You just stare, wide-eyed, wanting to remember every moment of it as he drew his head back with a loud curse before spurting on your stomach.
He crashed against you, both of you panting together.
After a minute or two, he pressed a kiss to your cheek and wordlessly got up. You would’ve asked if you trusted your voice, if your throat wasn’t dry.
He came back in record speed, carrying a damp towel, a glass of water and two pairs of boxers. Placing the water on the table, he knelt down and cleaned your stomach up, using the other end of the towel to clean your sensitive folds, making you hiss.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he cooed, moving to put his boxers on you.
“What’re you doin’?” you asked tiredly when you saw him put the second pair on you as well.
“Well, don’t exactly have pads ‘round here. This’ll be enough ‘f you keep bleeding, right?”
Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness, the respect and care that etched into his every gesture.
“Yeah, yeah, think so,” you said. Not like you knew a lot about bleeding after your first time having sex.
“C’mon, butt up,” he ordered and you obeyed, like always.
You’d do anything he asked. Like a dog on a leash. Safe, cared for, guided.
After he situated you, Eddie dressed himself and plopped down on the couch, bringing you to his lap and handing you the glass of water.
You gulped half of it down, the cool liquid feeling heavenly on your parched mouth, and handed the other half to him.
“Thank you sweetheart,” he smiled.
You settled yourself against him while he rubbed your back.
“That was nice,” you whispered, eyes closed.
“Yeah? It was nice for me too, baby. Thank you for trusting me with that.”
“Thank you for trusting me with that too.”
“‘M just a guy, darlin’,” he drawled, planting a kiss to your hairline, “But… ‘t was easy to trust you. You didn’t make me feel weird ‘bout not knowing what the hell I was doin’.”
“Mm, felt like you did, though,” you said, making him chuckle.
“You’re good for my ego, baby.”
You hummed in response, nuzzling into him.
It was almost strange, how good you felt. As if your brain was fuzzy static, not a single thought except Eddie.
Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.
As if a world outside of him didn’t exist, as if he’s the one singular being left.
Like he hung the moon and the stars, all for you.
And you’d do it for him too, if he asked. You’d do anything.
i've waited so long to hear the song that your love will start.
best friend!johnny storm x f!reader
SUMMARY: A collection of firsts with your best friend, Johnny Storm, that led to dreaming about a wedding.
WARNINGS: fluff. angst. hurt/comfort. spoilers for ff: first steps. mention of reader being emotionally scarred. pet names (sweetheart, darlin', sweet girl, silly girl, baby). one argument between reader and johnny. reader and johnny finally communicating. talks of marriage.
W/C: 4.8K
A/N: part two of on bending knees, i come to you. hope you guys enjoy!!!
The first time you saw Johnny after the end times, you were still feeling the shock of all that happened moving through your body and prickling your skin, which was marked by the smell of Subterranea sticking to it. The dirt from your hands managed to transfer and find home on the apple of your cheek.
The bus ride back was filled with chatter that wasn’t present on the way down, an air of celebration filling the space. You felt anything but that.
Your mind was stuck on the world almost ending. On Johnny.
The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back. The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back. The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back.
Your thoughts halted for just a moment, when the bus stopped, prompting you to mechanically sit up, filing away in the line to get out.
You, maybe selfishly, decided to not look at the buildings which were ruined, not wanting to add worrying about the city’s infrastructure on the list of your gloomy thoughts. You just hoped your place wasn’t at least completely ruined.
With your gaze trained to the floor, you stepped out, letting the fresh air hit your face.
Your time to ponder and worry were cut short, as you were abruptly scooped up in strong hands. Johnny.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your hair, placing kisses on top of it as his hands made soothing circles on your back.
Johnny.
You just hugged him tighter, despite yourself. Not trusting your words, hoping your actions, your body coiled tight against his would send the message you wanted it to. We’re okay.
Despite yourself— Despite everything, he was still your best friend. And you knew you couldn’t blame him for not loving you. You couldn’t blame him for the fact that you fell for him.
“You’re okay,” his hands cupped your face, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m okay too,” he said, smoothing over the dirt on your cheek.
“Yeah,” you breathed, closing your eyes, letting him hold you, just for a beat. “I should be the one comforting you. You just saved the world.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my job.”
“Still, Johnny—”
“Hey, none of that,” Johnny cooed, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, making that familiar excitement bubble up in your stomach, but it died down as quickly as it came, a gloom reminder that this wouldn’t be possible passing through you like an electric shock. “You’re the important one here, okay? It’s my job to do stuff like this, to see these things. Not yours.”
“I didn’t see it,” you protested weakly, the stubborn need to be strong ever present, even in a case like this, where your whole body was taut from everything that transpired.
“Like hell you didn’t,” his brow was raised, jaw clenched sternly. “Sweetheart, don’t give me that. Everyone was affected. You were affected.”
You managed a small nod, not wanting to say it out loud.
“C’mon, let’s get you home,” his arm wrapped around your shoulder, leading you away.
“So it’s in one piece?”
“Mhm, you got lucky.”
“Is everyone else okay?” you asked softly, leaning into his side. You’d think of the logistics later, you thought. Of all of this. Not like you had the time between when the Herald first came, them going to space, the power outages and now this. “I mean, Sue, Reed, Franklin, Ben,” you clarified.
“Few scratches and bruises,” Johnny hummed. “Sue died for a second.”
“What?” you halted, looking up at him.
“Yeah. Turns out that Galactus was right. That Franklin’s a… God-baby, I guess.”
“Oh… Oh wow,” your eyebrows were raised as you just gaped at him, his strong arms pulling you to walk again. “Of course he is,” you said. “Your family is so weird.”
“They are,” he said proudly, a smile on his face.
“How are y’ feeling?”
“‘m okay. Few scratches, but it’ll clear up.”
“No, Johnny, I meant y’know… How are you feeling?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, well… If you feel like drinking just give me a call.”
“She sacrificed herself,” he stated bluntly, suddenly.
“Hm?”
“Shalla-Bal. She beat me to it.”
Oh.
“You- you were about to sacrifice yourself?”
“And she just swooped in.”
“Johnny…”
“I’m okay, though,” he ruffled your hair. “Makes sense, I guess. For her, I mean. She never wanted to be bad.”
The first time you pulled away from Johnny happened gradually. Like tiptoeing on the carpet with socked feet.
His soft touches made your heart hurt, his sweet words reminded you of the selfish expectations harboring by themselves in your head, no matter how hard you tried to stop them.
You knew you had to reel it in somehow. And you knew that despite the mere thought of pulling away from him made waves of grief wash over you — the thought of him being hurt by your actions making your stomach clench in anticipation of agony — it would be the right thing to do.
“You okay, sweet girl?” Johnny asked, gently running his hands through your hair while you were perched on his bed.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you mumbled, body going a little tense at his actions that would usually soothe you.
“C’mon, I know you better than that… Are you still hung up on the whole me trying to sacrifice myself thing? ‘Cause I apologized for that.”
“No, Johnny… ‘s nothing, really. And I don’t think you can really apologize for trying to sacrifice yourself.”
“But I did,” he said, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek.
Damn him.
“You know what I mean,” you grumbled.
“I don’t know what you mean. And you know I hate seeing you this tense.”
“I mean, I’m not upset with you about that because I can’t be upset about that. And you did apologize, but you don’t have to because— Look, I dunno, Johnny,” you sighed, the overwhelming emotions making a complicated knot in your brain that you couldn’t untangle. “It’s just not that, okay? I promise.”
“Then what is it, sweetheart?”
What were you supposed to say? That you were in love with him? Damn him.
“I dunno… Just feeling down,” was the flimsy excuse you settled for.
“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer, so you were sat between his legs as his hands soothed all over. “Wanna get some pop?”
“No…”
“No? Something must really be wrong then,” he mused, propping his chin on your shoulder.
“Can we just… Let it go?” you asked, trying your best to lean into him and relax.
Johnny made a noise in the back of his throat, guiding your head into his neck. Between the soft kisses to your hairline, and his comfortingly wandering hands, you knew you’d be making the right decision, no matter how much it hurt.
“Johnny?” you called out softly.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Can we nap?”
You’d give yourself the privilege one last time. You’d turn a blind eye to how much this was breaking your heart one last time.
“‘Course we can. C’mere,” he pulled you to lay down with him, tucking your head under his chin, draping one arm around you.
You wrapped yourself around him, feeling the familiar warmth only he had, a content hum leaving your lips before you could do anything to stop it.
“Just relax, sweet thing,” he whispered, his hand coming to lightly scratch behind your ear, the gesture making you relax even further.
“Love you, Johnny.”
You were letting yourself feel it. You were letting him go.
“Love you too. Sleep tight.”
You craned your neck just a little bit, to place a kiss to his cheek.
To solidify it.
To say goodbye.
The first time you told Johnny you were in love with him was an accident, a slip of the tongue that reminded you of when you told him he was your best friend, all those years ago.
Except this confession didn’t feel like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It didn't make you feel fuzzy, drunk on the connection.
It felt like an ice plunge in the middle of a cold winter — barren, alone, vulnerable, freezing and shivering, with Johnny’s fire nowhere to be seen; to be felt.
It started by you declining his invitations to hang out by making various excuses, then slowly it turned to not picking up his calls.
You just needed time, you told yourself. You needed time to get over him, stop loving him in the way you did. And it would all go back to normal. He would go back to being your idiot best friend, rather than the guy you thought of before falling asleep while a blush crept up your neck.
But Johnny noticed, of course he did.
Which led him to be there, standing in your room, messing up his perfectly styled hair out of frustration, a familiar glint of worry washing over his eyes.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong,” he looked at you, his baby blues wide, pleading.
“Nothing is wrong, Johnny,” you took the coward’s way out, tearing your gaze away from him.
“Noth— C’mon, sweetheart you can’t just— We never see each other, you don’t even pick up my calls!”
“I’m busy, Johnny,” the excuse fell pathetically on your ears, your body aching to reach out and comfort him, make it all better. But you knew that it would be even more selfish than what you’re doing right now.
“Busy? With what? And when did we start being too busy for each other?" he strided over the plush carpet in your room, halting in front of you and taking your hands, leaning down with a slight tilt to his head and blocking your view to the floor which you were burning holes in at this point.
You surrendered to the fact that he left you no choice but to look at him, to face him and his breaking heart. To face that your feelings tangled your friendship, hurt him in ways you didn’t want to.
Your eyes trailed over his face, but you stayed silent. Looking, pleading as much as he was.
“C’mon, talk to me sweetheart,” he said softly. “What’s wrong? You can tell me anything, you know that,”
“I can’t tell you this, Johnny, I— I just need some time.”
“Time? For what?” his jaw clenched, moving away from you with an angry huff.
“Just… To deal with things, I— I’m just not feeling the best and I need to be alone.”
“When did we start doing that?!”
“Johnny—”
“No!” he exclaimed, now pacing around your room. “You can’t just ask for time alone and not tell me why! Do you know what that looks like? Like you’re pushing me away!”
“I’m not—”
“You are! At least tell me to my face! Tell me I did something wrong, fucking— Tell me you don’t want to be friends anymore instead of making me basically beg!”
Your heart dropped at his broken words, so clearly hurt by what you were doing despite the fact that it was the last thing you wanted to happen. But your mind couldn’t come up with a better option for your circumstances.
But you knew that your heartbreak was now sticking to him like a spider web. And you knew that he didn’t deserve this. That he didn’t take any part in the feelings that your mind conjured up. That he wasn’t to blame. Yet, he was the one paying the price.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Johnny,” your voice just above a whisper.
“Then what is it? Tell me, please?”
“I can’t—”
“Why not?! We’ve been best friends for almost ten years!”
“Which is exactly why I can’t— Look, Johnny, please just… Just leave it alone, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…”
“You’re making no sense. I’m here, worried out of my goddamn mind and you’re what? Pulling these lame excuses on me like I’m an afterthought?!"
“You’re not an afterthought, Johnny—”
“Then what? What is it—”
“I’m in love with you!”
You regretted your words as soon as they slipped past your lips, seeing Johnny take a step back, his face falling.
“...What?” he whispered, but you didn’t answer, turning away from him, rubbing your face with your now shaky hands as the weight of your words fell over you.
“You can’t just… You— Sweetheart—” he stumbled out his words.
And you knew in that moment that you were right before.
“Just go, Johnny,” you said softly, something akin to humiliation pooling in your chest.
“I can’t just… Not when you—”
“Johnny, please.”
“...Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll go.”
The first time you actually faced your heartbreak, the seasons graced you, letting you wallow in self pity while a light snow danced around the air, making you feel at least a little better about staying in bed all day.
Grief, you decided. It’s what you felt.
Losing your best friend, who your heart foolishly fell in love with.
Grief, a hint of regret, topped with a generous amount of guilt, was the cocktail of your current state. Lazily wrapped up in a blanket, a steaming cup of tea in your hands that could never recreate his own.
You were like a lovesick teenager, propped up on the bed haphazardly, eyes closed, pretending the warmth burning your fingertips was Johnny’s as Etta James’ I’ll Dry My Tears played softly from your record player.
I’ll dry my eyes
For tonight
No more tears, no more sorrow
And I’ll cry again tomorrow night
Because I need you so
Except you couldn’t cry, not really. You didn’t feel an innate sense of sadness, as much as you did a deep sense of loss. Emptiness.
Your chest felt hollow, your body too cold without his presence.
Those tears, I cry for you
Are tears of loneliness
On bending knees, I come to you
Because I need you so
You wondered what he was doing, how he was taking all of this. What he thought of you now. If he hated you. If you would ever be friends again.
Why, why must we break up?
Why can’t we make up?
My heart, my heart is still on fire
Just lately I found, you don’t want me ‘round
And I, I still need your love
Your mistake — the confession — followed you around everywhere like a dark cloud. Hidden somewhere in the back of your mind and hitting you with full force when you least expected it, sending what seemed like every emotion under the sun through your nerves.
Life had less colour without Johnny, you found out. Everything in your life was tied to his, irrevocably, at the seams.
And I’ll, I’ll dry my eyes
For tonight
And no more, no more tears
And no more sorrow
And I’ll cry again tomorrow night
Because I need you so
You didn’t know if it would ever pass, the hollowness in your chest. The longing which bubbled in your veins, hands which itched to just hold him, feel him; any part of him.
You’d take it all back now, if you could. Suck up the pain of loving your best friend just to have him as that. Your best friend.
That’s what he was first. And that’s what he’ll always be, in your mind, no matter what happens.
Your Johnny. Your idiot best friend who you hurt with your own pain and longing.
And you had no idea how to fix it. Or if you even could.
And you didn’t know how to feel better without him. Without his soft touches and whispered words — the very thing you ran away from because it hurt too much was the only thing you needed right now.
Your Johnny. And his stupidly soft words, whispered in your ear; sometimes in your hair, followed by a kiss to your temple. And his stupidly warm hands, trailing up and down your back, making you sleepy and cuddly.
The first time Johnny fixed your broken heart was on a Wednesday, when the whole city stopped and took a breath during a snowstorm.
So, when you heard a knock on your door, naturally, you thought someone needed help.
What you definitely weren’t expecting was Johnny, standing in front of your entrance with an almost pitiful look, all his bravado gone.
Which immediately made alarm bells go off in your head.
“Johnny? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he smiled softly. “Can I come in?”
“Uh, oh… Yeah, sure,” you stepped aside, letting him come into your space that was familiar to him like the back of his hand, that was filled with parts of him too.
He took off his coat and made his way over to the sofa, sitting down, his hands rubbing his thighs nervously.
“I came here to talk,” Johnny looked up at you, gesturing you to sit with a jerk of his head. You made your way over, heart trying to beat out of your chest as you sat down, making sure to put some space between the two of you.
“Listen, Johnny—”
“No, just— Please let me talk, okay?”
“Okay,” you looked at him, his eyes a little wider than usual, his bottom lip a little bitten. He would’ve looked fine to anyone else, you thought. But you knew him. His little tells.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t stay that day. Or that I didn’t reach out after. It was messed up, I know.”
“It’s okay, y’know, I get it,” your hands nervously fumbled with the sleeves of your sweater. “I just kinda dropped that on you… ‘m sorry too.”
“Christ, sweetheart don’t apologize. I was being stupid. I can admit that.”
“I just mean—”
“I feel the same.”
Oh?
Oh.
His words stopped you completely, leaving your mouth agape.
“It just scared me,” he continued. “I didn’t want to see it. You— I mean, you’re you. You’re pretty, perfect, smart, you and I’m the hotshot who messes shit like this up. And you’re my best friend. I just… I never wanted to mess it up.”
“Johnny…” you whispered, your body trembling with excitement and disbelief alike. Out of all the possible scenarios for you and Johnny, this one only crossed your mind as wishful thinking. As something that brought you more pain because you thought it would never be.
“For a while now too… I just… I don’t know. It’s usually easy. The whole… Charming a woman thing, but… You’re you, sweetheart,” he reached out to stop you from fidgeting, big arm wrapping around both your wrists easily.
“I, um… I wanted to tell you,” you said sheepishly. “Y’know, when the world was supposed to end, but then you started talking about the Herald and I just figured that you don’t really see me like that.”
“Shit, darlin’,” Johnny breathed. “C’mere,” he pulled you to straddle his lap with one easy swoop. And for all your cuddling, you’ve never been in a position like this before. On top of him, his warm hands rubbing your thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “I was just… Fascinated, I guess. By the fact that a woman from space was there in front of me. But you… You’re cosmically cooler than any space woman.”
You hated the way it felt like a cheap way out. And you hated even more that you felt jealous, when you had no right to be.
“Sure,” you said sarcastically.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m just saying… Objectively… I don’t know how possible it is for me to be cooler than a naked space lady in your eyes. Y’know, you. Johnny ‘I love space’ Storm?”
“Yeah well, a space lady could never be cooler than you. You win by default, sweetheart. You’re my best friend, you’re smart, way out of my league, really. And that says a lot,” he smirked. “But seriously though, you’re the one that knows me. You’re the one who knew me before I was Human Torch. You’ve seen me in every edition and still stuck around and never expected me to see something I’m not. You just… You see me, y’know? And that means a lot. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that maybe I don’t need to be seeking thrills all the time.”
“Shocker, right?” you smiled, hands gently caressing his jaw.
“I’m serious, though… You make me feel calm. And everyone else was always, y’know… Adrenaline, flashy, all that. But calm feels good. Really good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you closer by the hips.
“I love you, Johnny,” you said softly.
“C’mere,” he gently pulled your hands away so he could cup your face, pulling you down closer and slotting his lips against yours.
It was a gentle kiss, soft movement of lips of two people who waited too long for this, yet knew that they still had all the time in the world.
To learn each other differently, to explore, to feel more of the serenity that was passing between them.
“I love you too,” Johnny said softly when you pulled away. “So much, baby.”
The new nickname made a fuzzy warmth spread through your body, the kind only he could bring.
“You want some hot chocolate?”
“Wow, already a housewife,” he smirked teasingly, making you send him a glare. “Hot chocolate would be lovely, sweet girl,” he corrected himself, pressing a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, before capturing your lips again.
The first time Johnny took you on a date, he went all out. Flowers, dinner, then a movie and now, you were getting coffee in a diner, cuddled up in a booth.
His arm draped around your, one hand on your thigh and all his attention on you.
“What?” you questioned his staring, eyebrows raised.
“What what?”
“You’re staring, Johnny.”
“Am I not allowed to stare at you, baby? My hot date,” he grinned, his palm rubbing your thigh as he leaned closer to your face.
“You are,” you beamed up at him, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Sweet girl,” he returned your affection with an easy smile. “I ever tell you how pretty you are?”
“A few times.”
“Not enough, darlin’”
You fell into a comfortable silence and you let your thoughts wander, just a little. Of the contradicting feelings you felt — both giddy, yet grounded. It was a new feeling completely, trusting someone you were going out with to this capacity, where you can just let yourself be.
But it wasn’t just someone you were going out with.
It was Johnny.
Your Johnny.
Your idiot best friend Johnny.
Your idiot best friend Johnny who you were now going out with.
Who was just as in love with you as you were in love with him.
Johnny who held your hair while you threw up, Johnny who saw you ugly crying, Johnny who saw you drooling in your sleep and still called you the prettiest thing he’s ever seen with his whole chest. With meaning, with honesty.
“I can see the cogs turning, sweetheart,” he drawled.
“Thinking ‘bout you.”
“Yeah? What about me?”
“Just… How nice this is. How lucky I am.”
“Wrong,” he declared, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Wrong?” your eyebrows raised on their own accord, craning your neck up to look at him. His handsome face; sharp jaw, big blue eyes, perfect lips— God, you were gone for him.
“Yeah, wrong. I’m the lucky one. Obviously.”
“How about… We’re both lucky?” you smiled.
“Mm… I’ll think about it, baby,” he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “I tell you how good you look in those boots?”
“You did.”
“Killer, sweetheart. Gonna have to get you more of those. Always drove me crazy with those.”
“Alright, hotshot, calm down.”
“What? I’m being completely honest here. I remember you wore ones just like that when I first asked for your number.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course I do. You, all pretty and smart, goin’ out to study, how could I not remember that?”
“Well… I did think you were handsome,” you said, reaching out to place a hand on his bicep.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm… But then I realized I had to stop thinkin’ that when you asked me to just hang out. Not that I was upset by that.”
“And that didn’t really work out for you, did it?” Johnny asked, leaning down again, now to kiss the bridge of your nose.
You don’t think anyone in your entire life has kissed you more than Johnny has tonight.
“No,” you smiled for the umpteenth time that night, your cheeks hurting.
“What else did you think?”
“Remember when we got drunk in third year? The whole midterm-celebration thing?”
“Mhm, what about it?”
“I thought we would hook up,” you admitted.
“Didn’t know you were a perv, baby,” he teased, hand coming to brush through your hair.
“Stop bein’ rude, Johnny. I’m opening my heart here.”
“Alright, alright… I may have wanted to do the same.”
“Weirdo,” you grinned, leaning your head on his shoulders with a small hum. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Impossible.”
The first (and last) time Johnny asked you to be his girlfriend, you were lounging in the Baxter building, up in his room. It was the weekend, no work to be done — well, at least for you. Superhero business, unfortunately for Johnny, doesn’t care what day it is. But so far, he was free.
And you really hoped he’d be free for the rest of the day too.
“‘m sleeping over, by the way,” you hummed absentmindedly, splayed out on his bed, watching him do push-ups.
If it was anyone else, you knew you would grumble about men and testosterone. But clearly, Johnny had a lot of free passes.
“Just like that?” he grunted out.
“Best friend privileges,” you called out, without even thinking about it.
But your words made him stop, moving his hands off the floor and sitting back on his knees.
“What did you just say?” he asked.
“Best friend privileges?”
“Best friend, hm?” he asked, standing up and quickly crossing the room to you. “You’re my girl, are you not, baby?” his hands cupped your cheeks reverently.
“I am… But ‘m still your best friend. And you never asked me to be your girlfriend, so…”
“Smartass,” he smirked as he sat down, moving to pull you on his lap. “Will you be my girl?”
“I will,” you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead. “And I was just messing. I know I was your girl.”
“Still… Want to do this right with you, darlin’.”
“And you are. You’re doing everything right.”
“Ain’t doing anything right ‘til I marry you.”
His statement made a giggle slip past your lips and you moved to hide under his chin. Just to get closer to him. To feel his solid form against yours. To feel that this was real. He was real. And maybe to let yourself think about him marrying you one day.
“What?” he faux huffed, rubbing your back. “‘m completely serious here. Gonna marry you one day. You’ll be the best looking Storm, y’know that?”
“You’re a dork, Johnny.”
“And proud of it, baby. Now, lemme see that pretty face,” he cradled the back of your head and pulled you back gently, taking a moment to just look at you before he started planting soft kisses to your face.
He started with your forehead, then down to your temple, then every inch of your cheek, the entirety of your jaw, your chin and finally your nose, before he repeated his ministrations to the other side of your face.
Your eyes drooped close as he cradled and kissed you like you were made of glass.
“You gonna nap, sweet girl?”
“Mm, no. Wanna be awake with you.”
Johnny chuckled, pressing a kiss each to your eyelids. “You’re two seconds from passing out.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Can you nap with me, then?”
“All sweaty like this, darlin’?”
“Don’t care,” you grumbled, leaning into his hands, letting him hold your head up. “You smell nice, anyways.”
“That’s pheromones.”
“I know that. Nap or not?”
“Yeah, c’mon,” he held your head to his chest, as the other went on your back, moving you both to lay down, with you on top of him.
“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Johnny said, placing a kiss to your hairline just because.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“When we get married, can we have Dream Lover play?” you asked sleepily, making him chuckle.
i've waited so long to hear the song that your love will start.
best friend!johnny storm x f!reader
SUMMARY: A collection of firsts with your best friend, Johnny Storm, that led to dreaming about a wedding.
WARNINGS: fluff. angst. hurt/comfort. spoilers for ff: first steps. mention of reader being emotionally scarred. pet names (sweetheart, darlin', sweet girl, silly girl, baby). one argument between reader and johnny. reader and johnny finally communicating. talks of marriage.
W/C: 4.8K
A/N: part two of on bending knees, i come to you. hope you guys enjoy!!!
The first time you saw Johnny after the end times, you were still feeling the shock of all that happened moving through your body and prickling your skin, which was marked by the smell of Subterranea sticking to it. The dirt from your hands managed to transfer and find home on the apple of your cheek.
The bus ride back was filled with chatter that wasn’t present on the way down, an air of celebration filling the space. You felt anything but that.
Your mind was stuck on the world almost ending. On Johnny.
The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back. The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back. The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back.
Your thoughts halted for just a moment, when the bus stopped, prompting you to mechanically sit up, filing away in the line to get out.
You, maybe selfishly, decided to not look at the buildings which were ruined, not wanting to add worrying about the city’s infrastructure on the list of your gloomy thoughts. You just hoped your place wasn’t at least completely ruined.
With your gaze trained to the floor, you stepped out, letting the fresh air hit your face.
Your time to ponder and worry were cut short, as you were abruptly scooped up in strong hands. Johnny.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your hair, placing kisses on top of it as his hands made soothing circles on your back.
Johnny.
You just hugged him tighter, despite yourself. Not trusting your words, hoping your actions, your body coiled tight against his would send the message you wanted it to. We’re okay.
Despite yourself— Despite everything, he was still your best friend. And you knew you couldn’t blame him for not loving you. You couldn’t blame him for the fact that you fell for him.
“You’re okay,” his hands cupped your face, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m okay too,” he said, smoothing over the dirt on your cheek.
“Yeah,” you breathed, closing your eyes, letting him hold you, just for a beat. “I should be the one comforting you. You just saved the world.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my job.”
“Still, Johnny—”
“Hey, none of that,” Johnny cooed, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, making that familiar excitement bubble up in your stomach, but it died down as quickly as it came, a gloom reminder that this wouldn’t be possible passing through you like an electric shock. “You’re the important one here, okay? It’s my job to do stuff like this, to see these things. Not yours.”
“I didn’t see it,” you protested weakly, the stubborn need to be strong ever present, even in a case like this, where your whole body was taut from everything that transpired.
“Like hell you didn’t,” his brow was raised, jaw clenched sternly. “Sweetheart, don’t give me that. Everyone was affected. You were affected.”
You managed a small nod, not wanting to say it out loud.
“C’mon, let’s get you home,” his arm wrapped around your shoulder, leading you away.
“So it’s in one piece?”
“Mhm, you got lucky.”
“Is everyone else okay?” you asked softly, leaning into his side. You’d think of the logistics later, you thought. Of all of this. Not like you had the time between when the Herald first came, them going to space, the power outages and now this. “I mean, Sue, Reed, Franklin, Ben,” you clarified.
“Few scratches and bruises,” Johnny hummed. “Sue died for a second.”
“What?” you halted, looking up at him.
“Yeah. Turns out that Galactus was right. That Franklin’s a… God-baby, I guess.”
“Oh… Oh wow,” your eyebrows were raised as you just gaped at him, his strong arms pulling you to walk again. “Of course he is,” you said. “Your family is so weird.”
“They are,” he said proudly, a smile on his face.
“How are y’ feeling?”
“‘m okay. Few scratches, but it’ll clear up.”
“No, Johnny, I meant y’know… How are you feeling?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, well… If you feel like drinking just give me a call.”
“She sacrificed herself,” he stated bluntly, suddenly.
“Hm?”
“Shalla-Bal. She beat me to it.”
Oh.
“You- you were about to sacrifice yourself?”
“And she just swooped in.”
“Johnny…”
“I’m okay, though,” he ruffled your hair. “Makes sense, I guess. For her, I mean. She never wanted to be bad.”
The first time you pulled away from Johnny happened gradually. Like tiptoeing on the carpet with socked feet.
His soft touches made your heart hurt, his sweet words reminded you of the selfish expectations harboring by themselves in your head, no matter how hard you tried to stop them.
You knew you had to reel it in somehow. And you knew that despite the mere thought of pulling away from him made waves of grief wash over you — the thought of him being hurt by your actions making your stomach clench in anticipation of agony — it would be the right thing to do.
“You okay, sweet girl?” Johnny asked, gently running his hands through your hair while you were perched on his bed.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you mumbled, body going a little tense at his actions that would usually soothe you.
“C’mon, I know you better than that… Are you still hung up on the whole me trying to sacrifice myself thing? ‘Cause I apologized for that.”
“No, Johnny… ‘s nothing, really. And I don’t think you can really apologize for trying to sacrifice yourself.”
“But I did,” he said, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek.
Damn him.
“You know what I mean,” you grumbled.
“I don’t know what you mean. And you know I hate seeing you this tense.”
“I mean, I’m not upset with you about that because I can’t be upset about that. And you did apologize, but you don’t have to because— Look, I dunno, Johnny,” you sighed, the overwhelming emotions making a complicated knot in your brain that you couldn’t untangle. “It’s just not that, okay? I promise.”
“Then what is it, sweetheart?”
What were you supposed to say? That you were in love with him? Damn him.
“I dunno… Just feeling down,” was the flimsy excuse you settled for.
“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer, so you were sat between his legs as his hands soothed all over. “Wanna get some pop?”
“No…”
“No? Something must really be wrong then,” he mused, propping his chin on your shoulder.
“Can we just… Let it go?” you asked, trying your best to lean into him and relax.
Johnny made a noise in the back of his throat, guiding your head into his neck. Between the soft kisses to your hairline, and his comfortingly wandering hands, you knew you’d be making the right decision, no matter how much it hurt.
“Johnny?” you called out softly.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Can we nap?”
You’d give yourself the privilege one last time. You’d turn a blind eye to how much this was breaking your heart one last time.
“‘Course we can. C’mere,” he pulled you to lay down with him, tucking your head under his chin, draping one arm around you.
You wrapped yourself around him, feeling the familiar warmth only he had, a content hum leaving your lips before you could do anything to stop it.
“Just relax, sweet thing,” he whispered, his hand coming to lightly scratch behind your ear, the gesture making you relax even further.
“Love you, Johnny.”
You were letting yourself feel it. You were letting him go.
“Love you too. Sleep tight.”
You craned your neck just a little bit, to place a kiss to his cheek.
To solidify it.
To say goodbye.
The first time you told Johnny you were in love with him was an accident, a slip of the tongue that reminded you of when you told him he was your best friend, all those years ago.
Except this confession didn’t feel like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It didn't make you feel fuzzy, drunk on the connection.
It felt like an ice plunge in the middle of a cold winter — barren, alone, vulnerable, freezing and shivering, with Johnny’s fire nowhere to be seen; to be felt.
It started by you declining his invitations to hang out by making various excuses, then slowly it turned to not picking up his calls.
You just needed time, you told yourself. You needed time to get over him, stop loving him in the way you did. And it would all go back to normal. He would go back to being your idiot best friend, rather than the guy you thought of before falling asleep while a blush crept up your neck.
But Johnny noticed, of course he did.
Which led him to be there, standing in your room, messing up his perfectly styled hair out of frustration, a familiar glint of worry washing over his eyes.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong,” he looked at you, his baby blues wide, pleading.
“Nothing is wrong, Johnny,” you took the coward’s way out, tearing your gaze away from him.
“Noth— C’mon, sweetheart you can’t just— We never see each other, you don’t even pick up my calls!”
“I’m busy, Johnny,” the excuse fell pathetically on your ears, your body aching to reach out and comfort him, make it all better. But you knew that it would be even more selfish than what you’re doing right now.
“Busy? With what? And when did we start being too busy for each other?" he strided over the plush carpet in your room, halting in front of you and taking your hands, leaning down with a slight tilt to his head and blocking your view to the floor which you were burning holes in at this point.
You surrendered to the fact that he left you no choice but to look at him, to face him and his breaking heart. To face that your feelings tangled your friendship, hurt him in ways you didn’t want to.
Your eyes trailed over his face, but you stayed silent. Looking, pleading as much as he was.
“C’mon, talk to me sweetheart,” he said softly. “What’s wrong? You can tell me anything, you know that,”
“I can’t tell you this, Johnny, I— I just need some time.”
“Time? For what?” his jaw clenched, moving away from you with an angry huff.
“Just… To deal with things, I— I’m just not feeling the best and I need to be alone.”
“When did we start doing that?!”
“Johnny—”
“No!” he exclaimed, now pacing around your room. “You can’t just ask for time alone and not tell me why! Do you know what that looks like? Like you’re pushing me away!”
“I’m not—”
“You are! At least tell me to my face! Tell me I did something wrong, fucking— Tell me you don’t want to be friends anymore instead of making me basically beg!”
Your heart dropped at his broken words, so clearly hurt by what you were doing despite the fact that it was the last thing you wanted to happen. But your mind couldn’t come up with a better option for your circumstances.
But you knew that your heartbreak was now sticking to him like a spider web. And you knew that he didn’t deserve this. That he didn’t take any part in the feelings that your mind conjured up. That he wasn’t to blame. Yet, he was the one paying the price.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Johnny,” your voice just above a whisper.
“Then what is it? Tell me, please?”
“I can’t—”
“Why not?! We’ve been best friends for almost ten years!”
“Which is exactly why I can’t— Look, Johnny, please just… Just leave it alone, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…”
“You’re making no sense. I’m here, worried out of my goddamn mind and you’re what? Pulling these lame excuses on me like I’m an afterthought?!"
“You’re not an afterthought, Johnny—”
“Then what? What is it—”
“I’m in love with you!”
You regretted your words as soon as they slipped past your lips, seeing Johnny take a step back, his face falling.
“...What?” he whispered, but you didn’t answer, turning away from him, rubbing your face with your now shaky hands as the weight of your words fell over you.
“You can’t just… You— Sweetheart—” he stumbled out his words.
And you knew in that moment that you were right before.
“Just go, Johnny,” you said softly, something akin to humiliation pooling in your chest.
“I can’t just… Not when you—”
“Johnny, please.”
“...Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll go.”
The first time you actually faced your heartbreak, the seasons graced you, letting you wallow in self pity while a light snow danced around the air, making you feel at least a little better about staying in bed all day.
Grief, you decided. It’s what you felt.
Losing your best friend, who your heart foolishly fell in love with.
Grief, a hint of regret, topped with a generous amount of guilt, was the cocktail of your current state. Lazily wrapped up in a blanket, a steaming cup of tea in your hands that could never recreate his own.
You were like a lovesick teenager, propped up on the bed haphazardly, eyes closed, pretending the warmth burning your fingertips was Johnny’s as Etta James’ I’ll Dry My Tears played softly from your record player.
I’ll dry my eyes
For tonight
No more tears, no more sorrow
And I’ll cry again tomorrow night
Because I need you so
Except you couldn’t cry, not really. You didn’t feel an innate sense of sadness, as much as you did a deep sense of loss. Emptiness.
Your chest felt hollow, your body too cold without his presence.
Those tears, I cry for you
Are tears of loneliness
On bending knees, I come to you
Because I need you so
You wondered what he was doing, how he was taking all of this. What he thought of you now. If he hated you. If you would ever be friends again.
Why, why must we break up?
Why can’t we make up?
My heart, my heart is still on fire
Just lately I found, you don’t want me ‘round
And I, I still need your love
Your mistake — the confession — followed you around everywhere like a dark cloud. Hidden somewhere in the back of your mind and hitting you with full force when you least expected it, sending what seemed like every emotion under the sun through your nerves.
Life had less colour without Johnny, you found out. Everything in your life was tied to his, irrevocably, at the seams.
And I’ll, I’ll dry my eyes
For tonight
And no more, no more tears
And no more sorrow
And I’ll cry again tomorrow night
Because I need you so
You didn’t know if it would ever pass, the hollowness in your chest. The longing which bubbled in your veins, hands which itched to just hold him, feel him; any part of him.
You’d take it all back now, if you could. Suck up the pain of loving your best friend just to have him as that. Your best friend.
That’s what he was first. And that’s what he’ll always be, in your mind, no matter what happens.
Your Johnny. Your idiot best friend who you hurt with your own pain and longing.
And you had no idea how to fix it. Or if you even could.
And you didn’t know how to feel better without him. Without his soft touches and whispered words — the very thing you ran away from because it hurt too much was the only thing you needed right now.
Your Johnny. And his stupidly soft words, whispered in your ear; sometimes in your hair, followed by a kiss to your temple. And his stupidly warm hands, trailing up and down your back, making you sleepy and cuddly.
The first time Johnny fixed your broken heart was on a Wednesday, when the whole city stopped and took a breath during a snowstorm.
So, when you heard a knock on your door, naturally, you thought someone needed help.
What you definitely weren’t expecting was Johnny, standing in front of your entrance with an almost pitiful look, all his bravado gone.
Which immediately made alarm bells go off in your head.
“Johnny? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he smiled softly. “Can I come in?”
“Uh, oh… Yeah, sure,” you stepped aside, letting him come into your space that was familiar to him like the back of his hand, that was filled with parts of him too.
He took off his coat and made his way over to the sofa, sitting down, his hands rubbing his thighs nervously.
“I came here to talk,” Johnny looked up at you, gesturing you to sit with a jerk of his head. You made your way over, heart trying to beat out of your chest as you sat down, making sure to put some space between the two of you.
“Listen, Johnny—”
“No, just— Please let me talk, okay?”
“Okay,” you looked at him, his eyes a little wider than usual, his bottom lip a little bitten. He would’ve looked fine to anyone else, you thought. But you knew him. His little tells.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t stay that day. Or that I didn’t reach out after. It was messed up, I know.”
“It’s okay, y’know, I get it,” your hands nervously fumbled with the sleeves of your sweater. “I just kinda dropped that on you… ‘m sorry too.”
“Christ, sweetheart don’t apologize. I was being stupid. I can admit that.”
“I just mean—”
“I feel the same.”
Oh?
Oh.
His words stopped you completely, leaving your mouth agape.
“It just scared me,” he continued. “I didn’t want to see it. You— I mean, you’re you. You’re pretty, perfect, smart, you and I’m the hotshot who messes shit like this up. And you’re my best friend. I just… I never wanted to mess it up.”
“Johnny…” you whispered, your body trembling with excitement and disbelief alike. Out of all the possible scenarios for you and Johnny, this one only crossed your mind as wishful thinking. As something that brought you more pain because you thought it would never be.
“For a while now too… I just… I don’t know. It’s usually easy. The whole… Charming a woman thing, but… You’re you, sweetheart,” he reached out to stop you from fidgeting, big arm wrapping around both your wrists easily.
“I, um… I wanted to tell you,” you said sheepishly. “Y’know, when the world was supposed to end, but then you started talking about the Herald and I just figured that you don’t really see me like that.”
“Shit, darlin’,” Johnny breathed. “C’mere,” he pulled you to straddle his lap with one easy swoop. And for all your cuddling, you’ve never been in a position like this before. On top of him, his warm hands rubbing your thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “I was just… Fascinated, I guess. By the fact that a woman from space was there in front of me. But you… You’re cosmically cooler than any space woman.”
You hated the way it felt like a cheap way out. And you hated even more that you felt jealous, when you had no right to be.
“Sure,” you said sarcastically.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m just saying… Objectively… I don’t know how possible it is for me to be cooler than a naked space lady in your eyes. Y’know, you. Johnny ‘I love space’ Storm?”
“Yeah well, a space lady could never be cooler than you. You win by default, sweetheart. You’re my best friend, you’re smart, way out of my league, really. And that says a lot,” he smirked. “But seriously though, you’re the one that knows me. You’re the one who knew me before I was Human Torch. You’ve seen me in every edition and still stuck around and never expected me to see something I’m not. You just… You see me, y’know? And that means a lot. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that maybe I don’t need to be seeking thrills all the time.”
“Shocker, right?” you smiled, hands gently caressing his jaw.
“I’m serious, though… You make me feel calm. And everyone else was always, y’know… Adrenaline, flashy, all that. But calm feels good. Really good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you closer by the hips.
“I love you, Johnny,” you said softly.
“C’mere,” he gently pulled your hands away so he could cup your face, pulling you down closer and slotting his lips against yours.
It was a gentle kiss, soft movement of lips of two people who waited too long for this, yet knew that they still had all the time in the world.
To learn each other differently, to explore, to feel more of the serenity that was passing between them.
“I love you too,” Johnny said softly when you pulled away. “So much, baby.”
The new nickname made a fuzzy warmth spread through your body, the kind only he could bring.
“You want some hot chocolate?”
“Wow, already a housewife,” he smirked teasingly, making you send him a glare. “Hot chocolate would be lovely, sweet girl,” he corrected himself, pressing a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, before capturing your lips again.
The first time Johnny took you on a date, he went all out. Flowers, dinner, then a movie and now, you were getting coffee in a diner, cuddled up in a booth.
His arm draped around your, one hand on your thigh and all his attention on you.
“What?” you questioned his staring, eyebrows raised.
“What what?”
“You’re staring, Johnny.”
“Am I not allowed to stare at you, baby? My hot date,” he grinned, his palm rubbing your thigh as he leaned closer to your face.
“You are,” you beamed up at him, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Sweet girl,” he returned your affection with an easy smile. “I ever tell you how pretty you are?”
“A few times.”
“Not enough, darlin’”
You fell into a comfortable silence and you let your thoughts wander, just a little. Of the contradicting feelings you felt — both giddy, yet grounded. It was a new feeling completely, trusting someone you were going out with to this capacity, where you can just let yourself be.
But it wasn’t just someone you were going out with.
It was Johnny.
Your Johnny.
Your idiot best friend Johnny.
Your idiot best friend Johnny who you were now going out with.
Who was just as in love with you as you were in love with him.
Johnny who held your hair while you threw up, Johnny who saw you ugly crying, Johnny who saw you drooling in your sleep and still called you the prettiest thing he’s ever seen with his whole chest. With meaning, with honesty.
“I can see the cogs turning, sweetheart,” he drawled.
“Thinking ‘bout you.”
“Yeah? What about me?”
“Just… How nice this is. How lucky I am.”
“Wrong,” he declared, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Wrong?” your eyebrows raised on their own accord, craning your neck up to look at him. His handsome face; sharp jaw, big blue eyes, perfect lips— God, you were gone for him.
“Yeah, wrong. I’m the lucky one. Obviously.”
“How about… We’re both lucky?” you smiled.
“Mm… I’ll think about it, baby,” he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “I tell you how good you look in those boots?”
“You did.”
“Killer, sweetheart. Gonna have to get you more of those. Always drove me crazy with those.”
“Alright, hotshot, calm down.”
“What? I’m being completely honest here. I remember you wore ones just like that when I first asked for your number.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course I do. You, all pretty and smart, goin’ out to study, how could I not remember that?”
“Well… I did think you were handsome,” you said, reaching out to place a hand on his bicep.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm… But then I realized I had to stop thinkin’ that when you asked me to just hang out. Not that I was upset by that.”
“And that didn’t really work out for you, did it?” Johnny asked, leaning down again, now to kiss the bridge of your nose.
You don’t think anyone in your entire life has kissed you more than Johnny has tonight.
“No,” you smiled for the umpteenth time that night, your cheeks hurting.
“What else did you think?”
“Remember when we got drunk in third year? The whole midterm-celebration thing?”
“Mhm, what about it?”
“I thought we would hook up,” you admitted.
“Didn’t know you were a perv, baby,” he teased, hand coming to brush through your hair.
“Stop bein’ rude, Johnny. I’m opening my heart here.”
“Alright, alright… I may have wanted to do the same.”
“Weirdo,” you grinned, leaning your head on his shoulders with a small hum. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Impossible.”
The first (and last) time Johnny asked you to be his girlfriend, you were lounging in the Baxter building, up in his room. It was the weekend, no work to be done — well, at least for you. Superhero business, unfortunately for Johnny, doesn’t care what day it is. But so far, he was free.
And you really hoped he’d be free for the rest of the day too.
“‘m sleeping over, by the way,” you hummed absentmindedly, splayed out on his bed, watching him do push-ups.
If it was anyone else, you knew you would grumble about men and testosterone. But clearly, Johnny had a lot of free passes.
“Just like that?” he grunted out.
“Best friend privileges,” you called out, without even thinking about it.
But your words made him stop, moving his hands off the floor and sitting back on his knees.
“What did you just say?” he asked.
“Best friend privileges?”
“Best friend, hm?” he asked, standing up and quickly crossing the room to you. “You’re my girl, are you not, baby?” his hands cupped your cheeks reverently.
“I am… But ‘m still your best friend. And you never asked me to be your girlfriend, so…”
“Smartass,” he smirked as he sat down, moving to pull you on his lap. “Will you be my girl?”
“I will,” you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead. “And I was just messing. I know I was your girl.”
“Still… Want to do this right with you, darlin’.”
“And you are. You’re doing everything right.”
“Ain’t doing anything right ‘til I marry you.”
His statement made a giggle slip past your lips and you moved to hide under his chin. Just to get closer to him. To feel his solid form against yours. To feel that this was real. He was real. And maybe to let yourself think about him marrying you one day.
“What?” he faux huffed, rubbing your back. “‘m completely serious here. Gonna marry you one day. You’ll be the best looking Storm, y’know that?”
“You’re a dork, Johnny.”
“And proud of it, baby. Now, lemme see that pretty face,” he cradled the back of your head and pulled you back gently, taking a moment to just look at you before he started planting soft kisses to your face.
He started with your forehead, then down to your temple, then every inch of your cheek, the entirety of your jaw, your chin and finally your nose, before he repeated his ministrations to the other side of your face.
Your eyes drooped close as he cradled and kissed you like you were made of glass.
“You gonna nap, sweet girl?”
“Mm, no. Wanna be awake with you.”
Johnny chuckled, pressing a kiss each to your eyelids. “You’re two seconds from passing out.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Can you nap with me, then?”
“All sweaty like this, darlin’?”
“Don’t care,” you grumbled, leaning into his hands, letting him hold your head up. “You smell nice, anyways.”
“That’s pheromones.”
“I know that. Nap or not?”
“Yeah, c’mon,” he held your head to his chest, as the other went on your back, moving you both to lay down, with you on top of him.
“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Johnny said, placing a kiss to your hairline just because.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“When we get married, can we have Dream Lover play?” you asked sleepily, making him chuckle.
i've waited so long to hear the song that your love will start.
best friend!johnny storm x f!reader
SUMMARY: A collection of firsts with your best friend, Johnny Storm, that led to dreaming about a wedding.
WARNINGS: fluff. angst. hurt/comfort. spoilers for ff: first steps. mention of reader being emotionally scarred. pet names (sweetheart, darlin', sweet girl, silly girl, baby). one argument between reader and johnny. reader and johnny finally communicating. talks of marriage.
W/C: 4.8K
A/N: part two of on bending knees, i come to you. hope you guys enjoy!!!
The first time you saw Johnny after the end times, you were still feeling the shock of all that happened moving through your body and prickling your skin, which was marked by the smell of Subterranea sticking to it. The dirt from your hands managed to transfer and find home on the apple of your cheek.
The bus ride back was filled with chatter that wasn’t present on the way down, an air of celebration filling the space. You felt anything but that.
Your mind was stuck on the world almost ending. On Johnny.
The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back. The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back. The world almost ending. Johnny not loving you back.
Your thoughts halted for just a moment, when the bus stopped, prompting you to mechanically sit up, filing away in the line to get out.
You, maybe selfishly, decided to not look at the buildings which were ruined, not wanting to add worrying about the city’s infrastructure on the list of your gloomy thoughts. You just hoped your place wasn’t at least completely ruined.
With your gaze trained to the floor, you stepped out, letting the fresh air hit your face.
Your time to ponder and worry were cut short, as you were abruptly scooped up in strong hands. Johnny.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your hair, placing kisses on top of it as his hands made soothing circles on your back.
Johnny.
You just hugged him tighter, despite yourself. Not trusting your words, hoping your actions, your body coiled tight against his would send the message you wanted it to. We’re okay.
Despite yourself— Despite everything, he was still your best friend. And you knew you couldn’t blame him for not loving you. You couldn’t blame him for the fact that you fell for him.
“You’re okay,” his hands cupped your face, tilting your head to look up at him. “I’m okay too,” he said, smoothing over the dirt on your cheek.
“Yeah,” you breathed, closing your eyes, letting him hold you, just for a beat. “I should be the one comforting you. You just saved the world.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my job.”
“Still, Johnny—”
“Hey, none of that,” Johnny cooed, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, making that familiar excitement bubble up in your stomach, but it died down as quickly as it came, a gloom reminder that this wouldn’t be possible passing through you like an electric shock. “You’re the important one here, okay? It’s my job to do stuff like this, to see these things. Not yours.”
“I didn’t see it,” you protested weakly, the stubborn need to be strong ever present, even in a case like this, where your whole body was taut from everything that transpired.
“Like hell you didn’t,” his brow was raised, jaw clenched sternly. “Sweetheart, don’t give me that. Everyone was affected. You were affected.”
You managed a small nod, not wanting to say it out loud.
“C’mon, let’s get you home,” his arm wrapped around your shoulder, leading you away.
“So it’s in one piece?”
“Mhm, you got lucky.”
“Is everyone else okay?” you asked softly, leaning into his side. You’d think of the logistics later, you thought. Of all of this. Not like you had the time between when the Herald first came, them going to space, the power outages and now this. “I mean, Sue, Reed, Franklin, Ben,” you clarified.
“Few scratches and bruises,” Johnny hummed. “Sue died for a second.”
“What?” you halted, looking up at him.
“Yeah. Turns out that Galactus was right. That Franklin’s a… God-baby, I guess.”
“Oh… Oh wow,” your eyebrows were raised as you just gaped at him, his strong arms pulling you to walk again. “Of course he is,” you said. “Your family is so weird.”
“They are,” he said proudly, a smile on his face.
“How are y’ feeling?”
“‘m okay. Few scratches, but it’ll clear up.”
“No, Johnny, I meant y’know… How are you feeling?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, well… If you feel like drinking just give me a call.”
“She sacrificed herself,” he stated bluntly, suddenly.
“Hm?”
“Shalla-Bal. She beat me to it.”
Oh.
“You- you were about to sacrifice yourself?”
“And she just swooped in.”
“Johnny…”
“I’m okay, though,” he ruffled your hair. “Makes sense, I guess. For her, I mean. She never wanted to be bad.”
The first time you pulled away from Johnny happened gradually. Like tiptoeing on the carpet with socked feet.
His soft touches made your heart hurt, his sweet words reminded you of the selfish expectations harboring by themselves in your head, no matter how hard you tried to stop them.
You knew you had to reel it in somehow. And you knew that despite the mere thought of pulling away from him made waves of grief wash over you — the thought of him being hurt by your actions making your stomach clench in anticipation of agony — it would be the right thing to do.
“You okay, sweet girl?” Johnny asked, gently running his hands through your hair while you were perched on his bed.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you mumbled, body going a little tense at his actions that would usually soothe you.
“C’mon, I know you better than that… Are you still hung up on the whole me trying to sacrifice myself thing? ‘Cause I apologized for that.”
“No, Johnny… ‘s nothing, really. And I don’t think you can really apologize for trying to sacrifice yourself.”
“But I did,” he said, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek.
Damn him.
“You know what I mean,” you grumbled.
“I don’t know what you mean. And you know I hate seeing you this tense.”
“I mean, I’m not upset with you about that because I can’t be upset about that. And you did apologize, but you don’t have to because— Look, I dunno, Johnny,” you sighed, the overwhelming emotions making a complicated knot in your brain that you couldn’t untangle. “It’s just not that, okay? I promise.”
“Then what is it, sweetheart?”
What were you supposed to say? That you were in love with him? Damn him.
“I dunno… Just feeling down,” was the flimsy excuse you settled for.
“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer, so you were sat between his legs as his hands soothed all over. “Wanna get some pop?”
“No…”
“No? Something must really be wrong then,” he mused, propping his chin on your shoulder.
“Can we just… Let it go?” you asked, trying your best to lean into him and relax.
Johnny made a noise in the back of his throat, guiding your head into his neck. Between the soft kisses to your hairline, and his comfortingly wandering hands, you knew you’d be making the right decision, no matter how much it hurt.
“Johnny?” you called out softly.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Can we nap?”
You’d give yourself the privilege one last time. You’d turn a blind eye to how much this was breaking your heart one last time.
“‘Course we can. C’mere,” he pulled you to lay down with him, tucking your head under his chin, draping one arm around you.
You wrapped yourself around him, feeling the familiar warmth only he had, a content hum leaving your lips before you could do anything to stop it.
“Just relax, sweet thing,” he whispered, his hand coming to lightly scratch behind your ear, the gesture making you relax even further.
“Love you, Johnny.”
You were letting yourself feel it. You were letting him go.
“Love you too. Sleep tight.”
You craned your neck just a little bit, to place a kiss to his cheek.
To solidify it.
To say goodbye.
The first time you told Johnny you were in love with him was an accident, a slip of the tongue that reminded you of when you told him he was your best friend, all those years ago.
Except this confession didn’t feel like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It didn't make you feel fuzzy, drunk on the connection.
It felt like an ice plunge in the middle of a cold winter — barren, alone, vulnerable, freezing and shivering, with Johnny’s fire nowhere to be seen; to be felt.
It started by you declining his invitations to hang out by making various excuses, then slowly it turned to not picking up his calls.
You just needed time, you told yourself. You needed time to get over him, stop loving him in the way you did. And it would all go back to normal. He would go back to being your idiot best friend, rather than the guy you thought of before falling asleep while a blush crept up your neck.
But Johnny noticed, of course he did.
Which led him to be there, standing in your room, messing up his perfectly styled hair out of frustration, a familiar glint of worry washing over his eyes.
“You have to tell me what’s wrong,” he looked at you, his baby blues wide, pleading.
“Nothing is wrong, Johnny,” you took the coward’s way out, tearing your gaze away from him.
“Noth— C’mon, sweetheart you can’t just— We never see each other, you don’t even pick up my calls!”
“I’m busy, Johnny,” the excuse fell pathetically on your ears, your body aching to reach out and comfort him, make it all better. But you knew that it would be even more selfish than what you’re doing right now.
“Busy? With what? And when did we start being too busy for each other?" he strided over the plush carpet in your room, halting in front of you and taking your hands, leaning down with a slight tilt to his head and blocking your view to the floor which you were burning holes in at this point.
You surrendered to the fact that he left you no choice but to look at him, to face him and his breaking heart. To face that your feelings tangled your friendship, hurt him in ways you didn’t want to.
Your eyes trailed over his face, but you stayed silent. Looking, pleading as much as he was.
“C’mon, talk to me sweetheart,” he said softly. “What’s wrong? You can tell me anything, you know that,”
“I can’t tell you this, Johnny, I— I just need some time.”
“Time? For what?” his jaw clenched, moving away from you with an angry huff.
“Just… To deal with things, I— I’m just not feeling the best and I need to be alone.”
“When did we start doing that?!”
“Johnny—”
“No!” he exclaimed, now pacing around your room. “You can’t just ask for time alone and not tell me why! Do you know what that looks like? Like you’re pushing me away!”
“I’m not—”
“You are! At least tell me to my face! Tell me I did something wrong, fucking— Tell me you don’t want to be friends anymore instead of making me basically beg!”
Your heart dropped at his broken words, so clearly hurt by what you were doing despite the fact that it was the last thing you wanted to happen. But your mind couldn’t come up with a better option for your circumstances.
But you knew that your heartbreak was now sticking to him like a spider web. And you knew that he didn’t deserve this. That he didn’t take any part in the feelings that your mind conjured up. That he wasn’t to blame. Yet, he was the one paying the price.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Johnny,” your voice just above a whisper.
“Then what is it? Tell me, please?”
“I can’t—”
“Why not?! We’ve been best friends for almost ten years!”
“Which is exactly why I can’t— Look, Johnny, please just… Just leave it alone, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…”
“You’re making no sense. I’m here, worried out of my goddamn mind and you’re what? Pulling these lame excuses on me like I’m an afterthought?!"
“You’re not an afterthought, Johnny—”
“Then what? What is it—”
“I’m in love with you!”
You regretted your words as soon as they slipped past your lips, seeing Johnny take a step back, his face falling.
“...What?” he whispered, but you didn’t answer, turning away from him, rubbing your face with your now shaky hands as the weight of your words fell over you.
“You can’t just… You— Sweetheart—” he stumbled out his words.
And you knew in that moment that you were right before.
“Just go, Johnny,” you said softly, something akin to humiliation pooling in your chest.
“I can’t just… Not when you—”
“Johnny, please.”
“...Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll go.”
The first time you actually faced your heartbreak, the seasons graced you, letting you wallow in self pity while a light snow danced around the air, making you feel at least a little better about staying in bed all day.
Grief, you decided. It’s what you felt.
Losing your best friend, who your heart foolishly fell in love with.
Grief, a hint of regret, topped with a generous amount of guilt, was the cocktail of your current state. Lazily wrapped up in a blanket, a steaming cup of tea in your hands that could never recreate his own.
You were like a lovesick teenager, propped up on the bed haphazardly, eyes closed, pretending the warmth burning your fingertips was Johnny’s as Etta James’ I’ll Dry My Tears played softly from your record player.
I’ll dry my eyes
For tonight
No more tears, no more sorrow
And I’ll cry again tomorrow night
Because I need you so
Except you couldn’t cry, not really. You didn’t feel an innate sense of sadness, as much as you did a deep sense of loss. Emptiness.
Your chest felt hollow, your body too cold without his presence.
Those tears, I cry for you
Are tears of loneliness
On bending knees, I come to you
Because I need you so
You wondered what he was doing, how he was taking all of this. What he thought of you now. If he hated you. If you would ever be friends again.
Why, why must we break up?
Why can’t we make up?
My heart, my heart is still on fire
Just lately I found, you don’t want me ‘round
And I, I still need your love
Your mistake — the confession — followed you around everywhere like a dark cloud. Hidden somewhere in the back of your mind and hitting you with full force when you least expected it, sending what seemed like every emotion under the sun through your nerves.
Life had less colour without Johnny, you found out. Everything in your life was tied to his, irrevocably, at the seams.
And I’ll, I’ll dry my eyes
For tonight
And no more, no more tears
And no more sorrow
And I’ll cry again tomorrow night
Because I need you so
You didn’t know if it would ever pass, the hollowness in your chest. The longing which bubbled in your veins, hands which itched to just hold him, feel him; any part of him.
You’d take it all back now, if you could. Suck up the pain of loving your best friend just to have him as that. Your best friend.
That’s what he was first. And that’s what he’ll always be, in your mind, no matter what happens.
Your Johnny. Your idiot best friend who you hurt with your own pain and longing.
And you had no idea how to fix it. Or if you even could.
And you didn’t know how to feel better without him. Without his soft touches and whispered words — the very thing you ran away from because it hurt too much was the only thing you needed right now.
Your Johnny. And his stupidly soft words, whispered in your ear; sometimes in your hair, followed by a kiss to your temple. And his stupidly warm hands, trailing up and down your back, making you sleepy and cuddly.
The first time Johnny fixed your broken heart was on a Wednesday, when the whole city stopped and took a breath during a snowstorm.
So, when you heard a knock on your door, naturally, you thought someone needed help.
What you definitely weren’t expecting was Johnny, standing in front of your entrance with an almost pitiful look, all his bravado gone.
Which immediately made alarm bells go off in your head.
“Johnny? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he smiled softly. “Can I come in?”
“Uh, oh… Yeah, sure,” you stepped aside, letting him come into your space that was familiar to him like the back of his hand, that was filled with parts of him too.
He took off his coat and made his way over to the sofa, sitting down, his hands rubbing his thighs nervously.
“I came here to talk,” Johnny looked up at you, gesturing you to sit with a jerk of his head. You made your way over, heart trying to beat out of your chest as you sat down, making sure to put some space between the two of you.
“Listen, Johnny—”
“No, just— Please let me talk, okay?”
“Okay,” you looked at him, his eyes a little wider than usual, his bottom lip a little bitten. He would’ve looked fine to anyone else, you thought. But you knew him. His little tells.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t stay that day. Or that I didn’t reach out after. It was messed up, I know.”
“It’s okay, y’know, I get it,” your hands nervously fumbled with the sleeves of your sweater. “I just kinda dropped that on you… ‘m sorry too.”
“Christ, sweetheart don’t apologize. I was being stupid. I can admit that.”
“I just mean—”
“I feel the same.”
Oh?
Oh.
His words stopped you completely, leaving your mouth agape.
“It just scared me,” he continued. “I didn’t want to see it. You— I mean, you’re you. You’re pretty, perfect, smart, you and I’m the hotshot who messes shit like this up. And you’re my best friend. I just… I never wanted to mess it up.”
“Johnny…” you whispered, your body trembling with excitement and disbelief alike. Out of all the possible scenarios for you and Johnny, this one only crossed your mind as wishful thinking. As something that brought you more pain because you thought it would never be.
“For a while now too… I just… I don’t know. It’s usually easy. The whole… Charming a woman thing, but… You’re you, sweetheart,” he reached out to stop you from fidgeting, big arm wrapping around both your wrists easily.
“I, um… I wanted to tell you,” you said sheepishly. “Y’know, when the world was supposed to end, but then you started talking about the Herald and I just figured that you don’t really see me like that.”
“Shit, darlin’,” Johnny breathed. “C’mere,” he pulled you to straddle his lap with one easy swoop. And for all your cuddling, you’ve never been in a position like this before. On top of him, his warm hands rubbing your thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “I was just… Fascinated, I guess. By the fact that a woman from space was there in front of me. But you… You’re cosmically cooler than any space woman.”
You hated the way it felt like a cheap way out. And you hated even more that you felt jealous, when you had no right to be.
“Sure,” you said sarcastically.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’m just saying… Objectively… I don’t know how possible it is for me to be cooler than a naked space lady in your eyes. Y’know, you. Johnny ‘I love space’ Storm?”
“Yeah well, a space lady could never be cooler than you. You win by default, sweetheart. You’re my best friend, you’re smart, way out of my league, really. And that says a lot,” he smirked. “But seriously though, you’re the one that knows me. You’re the one who knew me before I was Human Torch. You’ve seen me in every edition and still stuck around and never expected me to see something I’m not. You just… You see me, y’know? And that means a lot. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that maybe I don’t need to be seeking thrills all the time.”
“Shocker, right?” you smiled, hands gently caressing his jaw.
“I’m serious, though… You make me feel calm. And everyone else was always, y’know… Adrenaline, flashy, all that. But calm feels good. Really good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, pulling you closer by the hips.
“I love you, Johnny,” you said softly.
“C’mere,” he gently pulled your hands away so he could cup your face, pulling you down closer and slotting his lips against yours.
It was a gentle kiss, soft movement of lips of two people who waited too long for this, yet knew that they still had all the time in the world.
To learn each other differently, to explore, to feel more of the serenity that was passing between them.
“I love you too,” Johnny said softly when you pulled away. “So much, baby.”
The new nickname made a fuzzy warmth spread through your body, the kind only he could bring.
“You want some hot chocolate?”
“Wow, already a housewife,” he smirked teasingly, making you send him a glare. “Hot chocolate would be lovely, sweet girl,” he corrected himself, pressing a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, before capturing your lips again.
The first time Johnny took you on a date, he went all out. Flowers, dinner, then a movie and now, you were getting coffee in a diner, cuddled up in a booth.
His arm draped around your, one hand on your thigh and all his attention on you.
“What?” you questioned his staring, eyebrows raised.
“What what?”
“You’re staring, Johnny.”
“Am I not allowed to stare at you, baby? My hot date,” he grinned, his palm rubbing your thigh as he leaned closer to your face.
“You are,” you beamed up at him, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Sweet girl,” he returned your affection with an easy smile. “I ever tell you how pretty you are?”
“A few times.”
“Not enough, darlin’”
You fell into a comfortable silence and you let your thoughts wander, just a little. Of the contradicting feelings you felt — both giddy, yet grounded. It was a new feeling completely, trusting someone you were going out with to this capacity, where you can just let yourself be.
But it wasn’t just someone you were going out with.
It was Johnny.
Your Johnny.
Your idiot best friend Johnny.
Your idiot best friend Johnny who you were now going out with.
Who was just as in love with you as you were in love with him.
Johnny who held your hair while you threw up, Johnny who saw you ugly crying, Johnny who saw you drooling in your sleep and still called you the prettiest thing he’s ever seen with his whole chest. With meaning, with honesty.
“I can see the cogs turning, sweetheart,” he drawled.
“Thinking ‘bout you.”
“Yeah? What about me?”
“Just… How nice this is. How lucky I am.”
“Wrong,” he declared, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Wrong?” your eyebrows raised on their own accord, craning your neck up to look at him. His handsome face; sharp jaw, big blue eyes, perfect lips— God, you were gone for him.
“Yeah, wrong. I’m the lucky one. Obviously.”
“How about… We’re both lucky?” you smiled.
“Mm… I’ll think about it, baby,” he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “I tell you how good you look in those boots?”
“You did.”
“Killer, sweetheart. Gonna have to get you more of those. Always drove me crazy with those.”
“Alright, hotshot, calm down.”
“What? I’m being completely honest here. I remember you wore ones just like that when I first asked for your number.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course I do. You, all pretty and smart, goin’ out to study, how could I not remember that?”
“Well… I did think you were handsome,” you said, reaching out to place a hand on his bicep.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm… But then I realized I had to stop thinkin’ that when you asked me to just hang out. Not that I was upset by that.”
“And that didn’t really work out for you, did it?” Johnny asked, leaning down again, now to kiss the bridge of your nose.
You don’t think anyone in your entire life has kissed you more than Johnny has tonight.
“No,” you smiled for the umpteenth time that night, your cheeks hurting.
“What else did you think?”
“Remember when we got drunk in third year? The whole midterm-celebration thing?”
“Mhm, what about it?”
“I thought we would hook up,” you admitted.
“Didn’t know you were a perv, baby,” he teased, hand coming to brush through your hair.
“Stop bein’ rude, Johnny. I’m opening my heart here.”
“Alright, alright… I may have wanted to do the same.”
“Weirdo,” you grinned, leaning your head on his shoulders with a small hum. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Impossible.”
The first (and last) time Johnny asked you to be his girlfriend, you were lounging in the Baxter building, up in his room. It was the weekend, no work to be done — well, at least for you. Superhero business, unfortunately for Johnny, doesn’t care what day it is. But so far, he was free.
And you really hoped he’d be free for the rest of the day too.
“‘m sleeping over, by the way,” you hummed absentmindedly, splayed out on his bed, watching him do push-ups.
If it was anyone else, you knew you would grumble about men and testosterone. But clearly, Johnny had a lot of free passes.
“Just like that?” he grunted out.
“Best friend privileges,” you called out, without even thinking about it.
But your words made him stop, moving his hands off the floor and sitting back on his knees.
“What did you just say?” he asked.
“Best friend privileges?”
“Best friend, hm?” he asked, standing up and quickly crossing the room to you. “You’re my girl, are you not, baby?” his hands cupped your cheeks reverently.
“I am… But ‘m still your best friend. And you never asked me to be your girlfriend, so…”
“Smartass,” he smirked as he sat down, moving to pull you on his lap. “Will you be my girl?”
“I will,” you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead. “And I was just messing. I know I was your girl.”
“Still… Want to do this right with you, darlin’.”
“And you are. You’re doing everything right.”
“Ain’t doing anything right ‘til I marry you.”
His statement made a giggle slip past your lips and you moved to hide under his chin. Just to get closer to him. To feel his solid form against yours. To feel that this was real. He was real. And maybe to let yourself think about him marrying you one day.
“What?” he faux huffed, rubbing your back. “‘m completely serious here. Gonna marry you one day. You’ll be the best looking Storm, y’know that?”
“You’re a dork, Johnny.”
“And proud of it, baby. Now, lemme see that pretty face,” he cradled the back of your head and pulled you back gently, taking a moment to just look at you before he started planting soft kisses to your face.
He started with your forehead, then down to your temple, then every inch of your cheek, the entirety of your jaw, your chin and finally your nose, before he repeated his ministrations to the other side of your face.
Your eyes drooped close as he cradled and kissed you like you were made of glass.
“You gonna nap, sweet girl?”
“Mm, no. Wanna be awake with you.”
Johnny chuckled, pressing a kiss each to your eyelids. “You’re two seconds from passing out.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Can you nap with me, then?”
“All sweaty like this, darlin’?”
“Don’t care,” you grumbled, leaning into his hands, letting him hold your head up. “You smell nice, anyways.”
“That’s pheromones.”
“I know that. Nap or not?”
“Yeah, c’mon,” he held your head to his chest, as the other went on your back, moving you both to lay down, with you on top of him.
“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Johnny said, placing a kiss to your hairline just because.
“Johnny?”
“Yeah?”
“When we get married, can we have Dream Lover play?” you asked sleepily, making him chuckle.
SUMMARY: A collection of firsts with your best friend, Johnny Storm, that led to getting your heart broken by him.
WARNINGS: angst. hurt/no comfort. unrequited love. pining. johnny briefly being in a manipulative relationship. drinking. brief description of reader bring turned on by johnny. pet names (darlin', sweetheart, smart girl, favourite girl, silly girl). implied emotional cheating (reader on her boyfriend). mention of a physical fight. johnny is a genius (obviously). reader has an older brother. johnny being a boy scout. johnny gets his powers at 21. mentions of reader being hyper-feminine.
WC: 13.7K
A/N: very flimsily proofread :/
The first time you saw Johnny Storm was when you were sixteen. On a golf course, as the sun, which beamed down on the grassy terrain, made sweat stick to your forehead. You huffed and puffed the entire time, cursing your brother under your breath for wanting to celebrate his birthday golfing, and for bringing you along, no less. When he knew you never touched a club in your life. You were convinced his birthday wish was to make you humiliate yourself and revel in it.
You were standing on the teeing ground, trying to adjust your stance and your grip, because that was important too, apparently. It felt more like rocket science than something you do as a leisure activity, you thought.
Your swing was off, yet again, prompting low laughs from your brother and his friends.
“This is totally unfair,” you grumbled, a permanent pout on your lips as you moved to try again, hyper aware that the next group was making their way over.
“You guys want to go now? It’ll be a while until the little Miss Professional Athlete finishes,” you hear your brother say to the group, making you hitch your club up, “She had a quadruple bogey on the last one,” he continued, making the other group laugh.
You turned to see the newcomers, chin raised slightly higher than usual due to your flat cap blocking some of your vision.
Which is the moment your eyes land on him. Tall stature, muscular, blonde— handsome. Very handsome.
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m sure we can help her figure it out,” he said, looking over to your group.
“By all means, have at it,” came your brother’s response.
Typical. Nobody even asked you what you wanted. Not that you’d deny a handsome fella trying to teach you, but still! It was the principle of it! You were still a lady—
“So, what do you need help with?” he asked, “I’m Johnny, by the way. Johnny Storm.” he added, flashing you a charming smile.
“Well, Johnny, I need help with just about everything and I don’t even know what I’m doing wrong,” you huffed before remembering yourself, “I apologize, I’m just frustrated.”
Your little lapse of judgment along with forgotten manners made the corner of Johnny’s mouth quirk up in an amused smirk.
“Alright, then. Show me how you do it and I’ll give you pointers.”
You bent your knees and made sure your back is straight before leveling your club with the golf ball.
“And there’s mistake number one,” Johnny alerted “Cross your fingers on the club.”
Your brows furrowed on their own accord as you interlaced your fingers on the grey padding and turned your head to look back at him.
“Like this?”
“Yeah. Swing it. Not too hard, though,” he instructed, eyes trailing over your form as if he was a rule official.
“How hard is not too hard?” you questioned, making him laugh at how complicated you were being.
“A medium strength. Can you do that?”
“We’ll see,” you said, trying to follow his instructions as best as possible.
Fingers intertwined, medium strength. Swing and hit—
“I did it!” you exclaimed, your eyes disbelievingly trained on the hole you managed to finish in just two tries.
“You did,” Johnny said, a smile on his face, “Good job.”
Your group gave their thanks to Johnny, ushering you away and saying something about ‘keeping the gentlemen for too long’. You turned around as they all but pulled you away, gaze locked on him and the self-satisfied smile that graced his face.
“Thank you, Johnny Storm!” you called out, giving him a big grin.
“You’re welcome!”
The first time Johnny Storm made you laugh was the kind of thing that could only happen if you weren’t expecting it in the slightest. Not even in your wildest dreams. Truth be told, he slipped your mind entirely since you met. You had more important things to worry about than a handsome stranger who helped you golf.
So, you were surprised when you saw him while making your way back home from school. Your Mary Janes clicked against the damp pavement, thanks to the summer rain that doused you this morning, your eyes squinted as you tried to assure yourself that the blond in front of you was really him.
Screw it, you thought. Can’t really lose anything.
“Johnny Storm!” you called out, watching him turn. Bingo.
“No way, golf girl?” he asked with a smile, halting his steps to let you catch up to him.
“In the flesh,” you answered as you hurried along to him, tightening the hold on your textbooks.
“Let me help you with that,” he said once you were by his side, taking the books from you, “Physics? You any good?”
“I’m okay at it. Not my favourite thing in the world.”
“Seriously? Physics is fun, though,” he said, making you look at him disbelievingly.
“Seriously?” you parroted back. “Are you a prodigy or something, Johnny Storm?”
He turned his head to face you, opting to not answer your question but instead shoot you a charming smile that told you everything you needed to know. He was some sort of genius prodigy.
“And you can call me just Johnny, you know? No need for the last name.”
“Alright, Johnny,” you hummed, “But Johnny Storm sounds better. Very outta sight.”
“So I should consider going by my full name at all times?”
“Maybe.”
Johnny snickered, shuffling through your books as you walked, clearly taking on the role of following you home without being asked to. Handsome, genius and a gentleman? Too good to be true.
“What’s so interesting about physics anyway?” you asked him, more so just to ask, rather than get an actual answer.
“Solving equations,” he said simply, “And the history behind it.”
“You gonna study physics in college, Johnny?”
“Aerospace engineering, actually,” he said simply. As if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Your eyebrows raised on their own accord, eyes widening a little. Not every day you meet a future aerospace engineer.
“Wow… Impressive. Are you gonna work for ANSA?” you asked, pretending you knew what that fully entailed and not just that it was about space and being smart. But then again, that was the jist of it.
“That’s the plan. And maybe go to space one day.”
“So I’m talking to a future astronaut right now?”
“Possibly, yeah.”
Wow, you thought. Smart— hell, probably a genius if what he’s saying is true, confident, but not arrogant. Johnny Storm seemed like an alien more than anything, really. You knew guys who had nothing going for them but still managed to be arrogant bastards who thought they were God’s gift to mankind.
“Sounds scary. Impressive, but scary,” you concluded.
“Exciting,” he corrected.
“Being in a metal tube that launches you off to space at ungodly speeds is exciting?”
“Precisely. Space is exciting. And fascinating.”
“What are you gonna do in space?”
“Explore. Meet lady aliens,” he said smugly, making you let out a laugh.
No man was perfect and every single one of them had one thing on their mind, clearly. The only difference being that they usually thought of actresses, or models, or the hot girl down the street. But Johnny thought of hypothetical ‘lady aliens’. And for whatever reason that was more endearing.
“Of course,” you said through your giggles, “Lady aliens.”
The first (and last) time Johnny Storm asked for your number was a sunny Sunday, a few days after he walked you home. A soft wind rustled the trees, casting moving shadows across the concrete. You walked outside with a pep in your step, a study session not sounding all that bad if it was happening in your favourite diner with a float and some pancakes. And it was a perfect excuse to doll up and put on your new Go-Go boots.
Your pace was purposefully slower, trying to be present in the moment – enjoy the pleasant breeze which swirled around your dress.
That moment of peace was interrupted, albeit gently, with a soft tap to your shoulder. And you had something to see once you turned around. Blond. Handsome. Strong. Johnny Storm.
“Johnny Storm!” you grinned, “You again?”
“Me again, golf girl,” he drawled, the corner of his lip twitching upwards.
“You know I have a name, right? One that I told you. Or did you forget already?” your smile widened impossibly. The thought of him forgetting your name was more amusing than anything, considering his allegedly genius mind and your run-ins with each other which were just a tad absurd.
“I do remember. I also remember telling you to just call me Johnny and that didn’t happen, did it?”
“It did, actually. A few times, if I remember,” you teased.
“Doesn’t count now that you called me Johnny Storm. Again.” he stated with a faux huff, but his big, baby blues gave him away.
“So you’ll call me golf girl until I stop calling you by your full name?”
“Precisely.”
“Alright, then. From this point on, you’re just Johnny, I swear on it.”
“Alright…” he trailed off, before saying your name with a silky smooth tone, making your smile softer, more real.
“Well, I gotta jet, but it was nice talking to ya, Johnny.”
“Can I ask where you’re going— Or, no, what’s more important than standing here with the person you’ve seen… three times in your life?” he asked, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
“Very funny,” you deadpanned, “I’m going down to the diner on West to get some studying in.”
“Smart girl. Tell you what, why don’t you give me your number, so we don’t have to rely on fate to bring us together?”
Your brows raised slightly at that, not being able to help but wonder just what his intentions were.
“You think our luck’s running out?”
“I mean, we’ve had first, second and third charm.”
“Alright, then,” you agreed, sifting through your notebook to rip out a clean sheet of paper and write your number on it. “Here,” you said, handing him the now neatly folded paper that you scrawled your number across.
“Thank you. I’ll give you a call then, so we can hang out.”
So, those were his intentions. To hang out.
You couldn’t say you minded, really. Johnny seemed like a good friend to have, from the limited glimpses of him you got. A gentleman who’s also smart. Jury’s still out on the genius part though, in your opinion. You’ll believe it when you see it.
You’d just have to stop calling him handsome in your head every time you see him. Piece of cake.
“Alright, you do that,” you said with a smile as you turned to leave.
“Have fun studying!” he called out.
“Bye Johnny!”
And yeah, maybe you walked with an even bigger pep in your step after that, feeling that familiar high of making a new connection bubbling up in your chest, setting your nerves ablaze. It seemed that the day would be kind to you, very much so.
The first time you hung out with Johnny Storm, you were seated in a booth, tucked away in the corner of a cafe, sipping on your drink as he all but devoured his pastries. All under the guise of being famished from the record store you strolled through earlier.
“Y’know, maybe you should’ve gotten actual food if you were so hungry,” you looked at him, amusement dancing in your eyes.
“Tastes better,” Johnny mumbled with a full mouth, making you sigh with a sense of mirth.
Johnny was indeed a good person to have around. That conclusion settled in your mind when he not only let you talk his ear off about the new Etta James vinyl, but actively listened.
“Don’t you think it’s weird how I want to thank you for listening to me talk earlier? I mean, it’s the base level of an interaction, y’know, but ‘s so rare these days. Someone who actually listens, I mean,” you said, pursing your lips in thought.
He hummed around his food, taking a moment to swallow and wipe his mouth.
“Oh, we’re having a sociological debate now?”
“No,” you snorted, “Just expressing my gratitude for you. And concern for everyone else.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he met your gaze, his voice a little softer now. “‘s hard for people to care these days, I think.”
And that’s when you realized that beyond the very broad things you talked about, music, school, food, space, godawful golf — he hadn’t spoken a lot about himself beyond his interests, the thought sending something akin to protectiveness through you, even if it was maybe definitely too early for that.
“Y’know,” you started, “You never told me who you were at golf with that day.”
“Oh, yeah. That was my sister, Sue, and her husband.”
“Her husband doesn’t have a name?” you drawled.
“Reed,” Johnny said simply, going back to his pastries.
“Your sister’s pretty, I remember that. You have any other siblings?” you asked, sensing he didn’t really want to talk about this Reed guy.
“M-m. Jus’ her. You have anyone other than your brother?”
“Nope, just him, too. Blessing and a curse, really.”
“Why?” he asked between bites, reaching over to take a sip of water.
You shrugged at the question, not really knowing how to put the feeling of being a youngest daughter into words. Your eyebrows scrunched as you raked through your brain, before you settled for an answer.
“Just… Would be nice to be taken seriously from time to time, I guess.”
“Yeah, I get that…” a beat of silence. “Me too.”
You settled into a comfortable silence after that, both of you letting your minds wander. And you realized something then. Something only a teenage mind, stubborn and angry, could conjure up.
You’d always take Johnny seriously.
“So, about your whole genius, future-astronaut thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I have this physics project in like… Two months—”
“Yeah, I’ll help,” he butted in, a grin on his face. “What’s it about?”
“Physical optics. Have no idea where to even start.”
“Thought you said you were okay with physics,” his tone was laced with amusement, his smile turning into a knowing smirk.
“I am okay with physics. But why would I turn away from the opportunity of having a genius help me with it?”
“Fair point.”
“I’ll pay you in the form of a Beatles record.”
“I already have all of them.”
“How about Ben E. King?”
“That's better.”
The first time Johnny saw you cry was stupid. So incredibly stupid and downright embarrassing. It wasn’t who you are, you told yourself. You prided yourself in being strong, put together, being able to hold your own and now you were silently crying like a scolded kid, hoping he wouldn’t see it.
You stare at the papers sprawled over his bed, willing your tears away as he stands by the whiteboard, scribbling. Because of course he had a whiteboard in his bedroom, he was a genius, by unanimous jury verdict. The jury being you, crying over your physics notes.
“...Which is basically Huygens' principle, y’know, every point on a wavefront can be a source of new waves…” Johnny continued explaining as you tried to make sense of everything he went over.
Waves, wave motion, sinusoidal waveforms, superposition and now this Huygens guy. You were so unbelievably lost, unable to keep up with his brilliant mind.
“...And the secondary point—” he stopped himself when he absentmindedly turned around, only to see tears on your face. “Are you crying?” he asked, more confused than anything.
“No,” you stubbornly denied, despite knowing it was futile.
Johnny set the marker down, crossed the room in a few long strides and perched himself in front of you on the bed, looking at you with worried eyes.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, ‘m sorry, ‘s stupid,” you managed to croak out, wiping your tears.
“Didn’t ask if it was or wasn’t. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“‘m just frustrated, I guess… I’m not really getting this and it makes me feel stupid and mad and I also feel like I’m wasting your time.”
“Wow, that is kinda stupid,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Look, you’re not wasting my time, I wanted to do this. And you’re not stupid either, I probably just gave you too much info all at the same time.”
He placed a comforting hand on your knee, his thumb making soothing circles.
“You’re going to make fun of me for crying,” you stated
“Not now, give it a few days,” he smiled. “Let’s just kick back, have some pop. And we can get into this whole thing later ‘mkay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
As Johnny went downstairs to grab your drinks, you tidied up the notes while wiping the last of your tears. You didn’t know why it upset you so much, not really. But you also knew he wouldn’t push for an explanation, especially when you didn’t have one, and you were grateful for that, truly.
“Alright,” he announced when he strolled in, holding way too many things in his hands. “Probably not the same as the float from the diner, but even better because it was made by me,” he flashed you a charming grin, setting the home-made float on the nightstand, a bottle of Coke for himself and an array of Tootsie Rolls and Lemonheads that he dropped on the bed.
“Johnny!” you laughed, “You want us to be sick?”
But the gesture did warm your heart, very much so. You appreciated that he was so emotionally mature, so in-tune. A rare thing for guys your age.
“At least you’d be miserable for an actual, good reason. Can’t have you cryin’ over physics, can I? What kind of host would I be?”
“A horrible one,” you said flatly, reaching over to try the float.
“Better than the one from the diner?”
And you didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t, that he messed up the ratio. Because he made it for you. To cheer you up. So it wins by default, crowned as the best drink ever made.
“Way better.”
“Ha! Knew it!”
“Thank you, Johnny,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “This is really nice of you. All of this, I mean.”
“Anytime.”
The first time you celebrated Johnny’s birthday you were freaking out. Completely, fully in mental breakdown mode for two reasons. Reason number one being that you didn’t know if he would like the gift and reason number two, you’d be meeting his family. Well, officially meeting his family. You felt as if the brief meeting at golf didn’t count. If you could even call it that.
You knew realistically that he would probably love it. It was Johnny, damnit. Sweet, polite Johnny who would be grateful even if he hated it. Which was precisely the problem. You wanted him to actually like it. Really like it. You spent a lot of time thinking how to incorporate Lucky Charms into cookies and a decent amount of money on the Ben E. King vinyl (which you promised him anyway, so it didn’t fully feel like a part of the gift), a book on space casualties and a mug that said ‘world’s best astronaut’.
You clutched the gift bag tightly, knocking on the door, taking a nervous breath in. This was the first time you were ever antsy around Johnny but God, you just wanted to be half as good a friend to him as he was to you.
“Hey, you made it!” he said when he opened the door, a big grin on his face, dressed in a nice, dark button up with a sliver of his undershirt showing.
You pulled him into a tight hug, not wasting a second, mumbling a ‘happy birthday’ into his neck.
“C’mon in,” he said, taking the gift bag from you before you even had a chance to offer and taking a peek.
“No manners, Johnny, seriously,” a faux sigh left your lips as you followed him inside, trailing behind him.
“It’s my birthday!” he protested, as if the fact that it was his birthday gave him the right to act however he wanted. It did. “Sweet seventeen.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s only for sixteen, genius.”
“Let me have my moment—” he cut himself off, abruptly planting his feet onto the floor, unmoving, making you bump into him.
“Jo—”
“Lucky Charms cookies?” Johnny looked over to you, a soft smile on his face.
“Yeah. I mean, among other things that are in there—”
He pulled you in for a hug this time, lifting you up from the ground, a surprised noise leaving your mouth.
“Thank you. This is amazing. All of this, really. You’re gonna make a grown man cry.”
“Well, grown man—”
“What did I say about my moment?”
“Fine, I’ll let you have your moment,” you smiled fondly. “But you still can’t interrupt me just because it’s your birthday.”
“Okay, deal,” he said in an overly serious tone, putting you down.
You didn’t even have the time to feel the nerves of meeting his family before he shouted through the place to Sue and Reed.
“Look what I got!”
You bit back a smile at him getting so caught up in showing off your gift that he forgot to properly introduce you. It was a very Johnny thing to do, you thought.
“Coolest things ever!” he said to them, taking every item out one by one. “And nobody is allowed to drink out of the mug,” he punctuated his words with a sharp glare.
Your eyes darted from Johnny to the couple. Sue seemed warm, fond. Reed on the other hand, was hard to figure out. You had the feeling he was staring through everything and everyone in this room. Weird.
“Johnny,” Sue warned, “Your friend?”
“Oh right, right,” he scrambled to introduce you, a hand on your back as he sifted through the formalities.
“He talks a lot about you,” Sue said to you, as everyone made their way to the dinner table.
“I talk about you a normal amount," Johnny corrected, “I talked about you a lot when we kept bumping into each other. What were the chances of that?”
“Fifteen point four percent,” Reed spoke the first time, the statement making you laugh, but he just furrowed his brows in confusion.
“Oh, you’re serious,” you said, wide-eyed. “Wow. Impressive.”
You made a mental note to ask Johnny if everyone in his family was a genius.
The first time you called Johnny your best friend was an accident. Slip of the tongue, not thinking about your words at all. Yet that’s what solidified them even more. You didn’t need to think about it. Not really. Not at all. Loving Johnny was as natural as breathing. Steady, ever-present.
Your back was against the headboard of your bed, your feet propped up on the side of Johnny’s thigh as you painted your toenails with a baby pink polish, your tongue peeking out the corner of your mouth.
“...And then she told me something about how she’s supposed to be my best friend and how I can’t do that to her, which is just ridiculous. I mean, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or somethin’ so I just didn’t say anything but everyone knows you’re my best friend,” you recounted the clash with one of your friends, Lydia, not even realizing what you said.
“Seriously?” he scoffed, “She thinks she’s your best friend? Same girl who ditched you for your boyfriend a million times? She’s lucky she’s your friend at all.”
“Right?! And I mean, not like she would say any of that if he didn’t dump her.”
“Exactly. I don’t know why you bother with her anyways.”
“I don’t know… I feel bad, I guess,” you sighed, making steady strokes with the brush.
“Did she feel bad when she kept ditching you?” he asked flatly.
“No.”
“No,” he repeated.
“I just… I don’t know, Johnny. Feel like, just ‘cause she made me feel bad doesn’t have to mean I have to make her feel the same, y’know? But ‘m not gonna be a pushover and let her pretend we’re best friends now that she doesn’t have anyone to fall back on,” you said, finishing the first coat of the polish, letting your feet rest atop his lap.
“Yeah, I get that,” he said, hand coming to pull at the spongy toe separators.
“Stop that,” came your futile protest. You knew Johnny did odd things just because and you could never bring yourself to actually be upset with him.
“Hey, best friend privileges. Your words, not mine.”
And that’s when you realized what you said. So casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it was. It definitely was.
“Don’t let it get to your head, Johnny.”
“It won’t. You have my word, scout’s honour,” he proclaimed dramatically.
“I always forget you’re a Boy Scout,” you giggled.
“Which is offensive, really. That you forget and that they’re still called Boy Scouts.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, should they be called Man Scouts?”
“Matter ‘a fact they should.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled.
“Still your best friend,” he said, sending you a charming grin, paired up with a wink.
“You just said you wouldn’t let it get to your head.”
“And it’s not. It’s a simple observation.”
You mumbled a ‘nuisance’ under your breath as you moved to do your second coat of nail polish, in hopes that the little time you gave the first one to dry was enough.
“You’re my best friend too y’know?” his tone was more serious now, more soft.
“I know… I’m glad I am, Johnny.”
“Don’t think I say it enough, but I really do love you. You get me, y’know?”
Your heart could’ve broken right that instant, as you always thought it would when he starts repeating his ‘y’know’s’. A nervous habit, as if trying to convince himself and the other person that what he’s saying was widely known, a common knowledge. And it usually was, like right now. And that’s what broke your heart more. His unintentional show of insecurity, his way of saying ‘This isn’t crazy, right? You think this too? You’re listening to me, right?’
“I know,” you said softly. “And you get me too… And I love you too.”
“Even when I’m being really annoying?”
“Especially then.”
The first time you and Johnny cried together happened to be on your ‘sweet seventeenth’, as he so kindly put it.
It was nearing three AM, most of your friends filtered out quite a bit ago, leaving you and Johnny by yourselves, drunk on rum. You stayed upright on your bed, not trusting your brain to not spin your vision if you laid down. Johnny was not much better, sitting on the windowsill, his arm stuck out, feeling the cool night air.
“Y’ liked m’ gift?” he drawled, hooded eyes meeting yours.
“‘Course I did. Best gift ‘ve gotten,” you grinned lazily, making him laugh.
And it was, truly. Between the record, the book and the silly on-brand birthday card, it all screamed him. Johnny. Your Johnny.
“Think y’re not s’posed to say that. ‘S rude to the other people who got you gifts.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my best friend, so… Think ‘m allowed to say that when it comes to you.”
“First time I’ve seen you been rude,” he slurred, letting out a drunk giggle.
“‘m not rude!” you protested, a permanent grin on your face. “‘m jus’ bein’ nice to you, Johnny.”
“At the expense of other people.”
You groaned, throwing your head back, realizing your mistake when the room started spinning and loopily bringing yourself up again.
“I don’t really ‘care ‘f it’s rude. And… Not like there’s anyone else here.”
“‘m glad you like it,” he said, now with an air of drunk seriousness which arguably, was the most serious a man could get.
“‘m just glad you’re here, Johnny. Gift enough.”
He stood up, sluggishly moving toward you to plop himself beside you, an arm around your shoulder.
“You’re gonna give me a huge head. Huuuuge.”
“Yeah, well… You’re the only person ever who actually deserves it.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“You’re you, Johnny,” you slurred, cuddling into him. “Thought you were an alien when we met the first few times. Y’re so smart, Johnny and so… Everything. And you’re still so nice. The nicest.”
“Yeah?
“Mhm… What did you think a’ me?”
“Thought you were… Cool… Opinionated, li’l hothead,” he smiled, ruffling your hair. “Best friend in the goddamn world. Would be lost without you. Dunno how I functioned ‘fore we met.”
“You’re my best friend too,” you said, voice growing higher in pitch, the waterworks threatening to come out. “You’re so patient with me and– and sweet and we never ever fight.”
Johnny looked down at you, his hand moving from your hair to your cheek, softly cradling it.
“And you listen to me,” he added. “That means a lot, ya know? To have someone actually pay attention—” his voice cracked, eyes welling up with tears. “—to the stupid shit I say, to be actually interested.”
Your bottom lip wobbled as you looked at him, your hand clutching at his shirt desperately, the first tears falling from your face.
“I’ll always listen, Johnny. You’re so sm-smart and funny and I love you so much.”
He leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.
“I love you so much too,” he cried out, the sound of his broken voice making your hand fisted in his shirt hold tighter.
“You’re not allowed to stop being friends with me, ever, Johnny.”
“That’ll never happen,” he croaked out. “‘m taking New York, I tell you that?”
“What?”
“For college.”
“But Cali—”
“But Cali nothin’. It’s basically the same thing as here. Only you’re here too,” and then a quieter, more choked: “My best friend.”
“You’re crazy,” you sobbed out, holding him tighter, wanting him closer. And he obeyed, hugging you close, holding you more firmly. So you can both cry out your drunken gratitude for each other.
The first time you saw Johnny get sick was absolutely horrible. Downright depressing and objectively, would be annoying to anyone else but God, you were soft for him.
The gloom lifted, birds chirping and flowers blooming. Grass was no longer covered in muddy snow, everything radiated colour again — soulful, happy, projecting a sense of ease everywhere. But, the switch between the harsh winter and a warm spring which was followed by a sudden weather change was not good for anyone’s system. You warned him, one too many times, about the cold he picked up. Told him to stay home, eat some soup and rest a little bit. All to no avail, of course. All met with the protest that he was a ‘strong man’. That he could handle a little cold. ‘A sniffle’ as he called it, while stating how it would be crazy to stay inside when it’s finally so nice out.
All which led to you now being in his room, fretting over him, while he whimpered like he was on his deathbed. Men could be so dramatic, you thought.
You padded across the room, lowering the blinds on his windows in hopes that he would get a decent nap in, maybe sweat the fever out.
“That better?” you asked, only to be met with a grunt in response.
“Johnny, c’mon, you gotta tell me what you need,” you tried. Gently, patiently, not wanting to add onto his discomfort.
“Can you light a candle?” he finally croaked out. “The one you got me… That helps with sleep.”
“Lavender?
“Mm, yeah.”
You moved to the shelf on his wall, cluttered with books and little space figurines, the candle you got him sat untouched in the middle of it. You found a zippo lighter behind said books, making quick work of it and lighting the candle with a flick of your thumb.
Once you brought it over to the nightstand, Johnny wrapped his fingers around your wrist weakly and tugged you down to sit next to his laid out form.
“You still warm?” you asked, hand instinctively moving to press against his forehead. He was definitely still warm.
“You’re like a mother-hen,” he said, giving you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“And you’re acting like you’re dying.”
“I am dying. I feel horrible.”
“Get some sleep, Johnny, you'll feel better.”
“Mm, can’t… Everything hurts.”
“I know, just try though. You need some rest.”
You watched as he closed his eyes, shifting onto his side, his knee trapping you between him and the nightstand.
“Johnny—”
“Jus’ lay down next to me. Please? ‘m dying here,” he whined out his plea. And really, you were powerless against him.
You settled next to him with a huffed out “Only because you’re sick, Johnny.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, curling up behind you.
You listened to his breathing even out, felt how his arms and legs twitched every now and again.
The smell of lavender spread itself in his room, invading your senses. You let yourself relax, just a smidge, just a little while until Johnny woke up and you had to be in nurse mode.
Not that you minded. Despite his dramatics, you knew he really was sick, even if that translated to acting like a whiney toddler. And you were worried, maybe a bit too much. So you didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to critiquing dramatics.
You just hoped he would feel better once he woke up. For both his sake and yours. You’d rather be in the kitchen for the purpose of making him ridiculously sugary cookies rather than soup, anyways.
Your eyes closed on their own accord, feeling warmth radiating from him, the little content hums he let out lulling you to a half-asleep state.
The first time you and Johnny had a serious talk about the future could be described with one word — somber. It happened, suddenly, unexpectedly, like everything did with you and Johnny. Like impulsively diving off a cliff headfirst.
Sue and Reed were out for date night, so here you were — perched in the living room, eating takeout while Johnny ate Lucky Charms straight out of the box, the display never not making you wonder how he’s still alive and healthy.
But other thoughts gnawed at your mind, too. Slowly at first, then crashing at you with full force.
You’d both be turning eighteen this year. Which meant graduating. Which meant college. Which meant both of you meeting new people. The everlasting ‘what if’ lingering inside your brain.
What if you meet other people who fit more?
What if you stop having time for each other?
What if you start losing interest in being around each other?
What if, in the grand scheme of things, you and Johnny just don’t make sense?
What if, what if, what if.
“Johnny?” you called out softly, mumbling around your food.
“Mm?” he answered absentmindedly, his focus more on the sport’s game playing on the TV.
“We’ll still be friends in college, right?”
His hand stops midway to his mouth, head jerking to face you. His gaze hardened, lips set in a thin line. “What?”
“I asked—”
“I heard what you asked. What kind of question is that?” his tone was terse, like what you said was offensive to his very being.
You placed the cardboard container on the coffee table with a sigh, eyes searching for his.
“I just meant… We’ll both be meeting new people, doing new stuff…”
“So you want us to stop being friends because of that?”
“Wha— No! I’m scared of us not being friends because of that. Big difference, Johnny.”
You swore he could be purposefully obtuse at times because there really wasn’t any other explanation. He was a genius!
“Oh…”
“Yeah, oh.”
“Of course we won’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “We swore on that didn’t we? When we got really drunk on your birthday.”
“Yeah, I know…” your hands seemed to have a mind of their own, pulling and rolling the loose threads of your sweater sleeves. “Just… It’s easy to say that, you know? I don’t want us to stop being friends.”
“And we won’t. We’ll make time for each other,” his hand reached out to grab your wrists and stop your fidgeting. “The worst that could happen is we see each other a little less, promise. I don’t want us to stop being friends either. You know that.”
“Yeah,” you said, the blue mood still not lifting, still swirling around, but you were trying to rid yourself of it. “We can study together… Grab coffee if our schedules end up lining up.”
“Exactly! We’re not letting an academic institution come between us,” he said, the way he described it making you let out a small giggle. Which you knew was the purpose.
You also knew that he probably shared your fears, but was playing them down for your sake, to make you feel better.
“I have another question.”
“Go for it.”
“Like… When we start seriously dating and whatnot… We’ll still, well, be us, right?”
Because up to this point, all your boyfriends were very much put off by Johnny, as were his girlfriends by you. You couldn’t imagine how it would play out in an actually serious relationship.
“Anyone who doesn’t get us isn’t really the right person for one of us, wouldn’t you say?” he asked. So simple, yet so… Soothing and right.
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.”
The first time you cried for Johnny happened a few months after that conversation. You graduated and Johnny did too, a few days after you.
It didn’t happen right away, not when he walked the stage, not when you felt an undeniable surge of pride and not when you made it a point to cheer the loudest.
No. It poured out of you during a quiet moment, just the two of you, in a jazz bar, riding the high of officially becoming adults.
And maybe a little too much rum, courtesy to Sue knowing the owners. That— rum — seemed to be the pattern for the two of you, you figured in your two years of friendship.
You looked at him, his blond hair not as perfect as usual, a light green, form-fitting polo. Devastatingly genius, tipsy, handsome. Why did that thought just come back?
“Did I grow a second head or somethin’?” his question shook you out of your own head, writing away the thought that just occurred for the first time in a long time to just being drunk and proud.
Proud. God, you were so proud of him. You could be proud of him for just breathing, you realized.
“‘m just proud of you, Johnny.”
“Yeah? I’m proud of you too. Smartest girl in the world,” he said matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was to him, you knew that. You teased him for being your biggest fan more times than you could count, but right now it just left you overly emotional.
“Yeah, but you’re an actual genius—”
“Oh, no, no, no waterworks,” he said, hand coming to rub your back.
“‘m sorry, I’m just proud of you. And I love you a lot,” came your shaky answer, along with an attempt to reel your tears back in.
“Well, I love you a lot too… And, I mean by that logic you should be less proud of me because me being a genius means high school was pretty easy for me, so…”
“Smartass,” you huffed out with a shake of your head, a small smile gracing your lips.
“And you know, I didn’t know you could get so loud. I’m pretty sure people sitting by you got their eardrums blown out,” he smirked, going right back to teasing you because of course he would. Little shit.
“Hey, I’ll have you know that it’s my right both as an American citizen and your best friend to be as loud as I want in times of celebration.”
“You’re exercising your right to be a sap, is what you’re doing.”
“Like you didn’t scream your lungs out for me.”
“Of course I did, but we're not talking about me, are we? I own being a sap. That’s what makes me a cool one. You, however, are a very sore sap.”
“Sap police.”
“Horrible joke.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny!” you protested with a laugh, a warm feeling settling in your chest as you two fell into a comfortable silence, broken every now and then when he hummed the songs that were playing.
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, but I keep forgetting,” you said as the fifth, maybe sixth round of drinks ended up on your table. You weren’t really sure anymore, you’ve lost track after the third one.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Well considering the fact that you turned eighteen not long ago, you’re no longer part of the boy sco—”
“Man scouts,” he corrected with a grin. You knew it didn’t actually bother him, yet he made it his life’s mission to correct you on it.
“Well I was going to ask you if you planned on transitioning from boy scouts to man scouts, but yeah sure. Are you going to transition from man scouts to even-more-manly scouts?”
Johnny chuckled, the sound low and deep. “Mm, I don’t think so. Think I’ll have my hands full between college and you.”
“Me?” your eyebrows raised, looking at him questioningly.
“Yeah, you. Obviously. Gotta make time for my favourite girl.”
You ignored the way heat bloomed in your belly at the words he’s never used before, writing it off to both of you being tipsy. Him, saying it because he was tipsy and you, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush because you were tipsy.
The first time you hated one of Johnny’s girlfriends — Anna, who he met halfway through the first semester of college. God, you don’t think you’ve hated anyone more than you hated her.
Usually, you were understanding. You knew how your friendship with Johnny could’ve looked to other people. Especially when it came to his girlfriends or your boyfriends. Relationships were sensitive, fragile, it was easy to get caught up in things that weren’t there, you told yourself. See things that weren’t there.
But Anna was a whole different ballpark.
You mulled it over your mind a hundred different times, trying to figure out the root of the issue, if you maybe did something wrong. But the issue started as soon as she laid eyes on you.
You remember baking cookies for that day, the kind that Johnny liked, the extra gooey ones, so they could share after you and her finished brunch. But she took the box from you with minimal contact and a slight scrunch of her nose, like you were handing her disease wrapped up in a pretty box.
It didn’t end there, of course it didn’t. Your mere presence was met by comments like:
“Why do you have so much makeup on? I bet you look pretty without it.”
“Isn’t the fashion thing kinda a scam? There’s so many more important things in life than looking pretty.”
“I can’t believe you’d spend so much money on boots!”
“I just can’t stand gossip, I don’t know how you do it.”
None which were outright rude and could be passed off as just a playful jab, but they made your gut churn with a deep sense of rage. You had a feeling she was one of those girls, the kind that put other girls down just because.
Which left you wondering why, in God’s name, was Johnny with her?
And how this was the same woman Johnny sang such high praises about, from her looks to her intellect, when she obviously, in your humble opinion, lacked the latter. Clearly even geniuses could be blinded by love.
So you were careful when you and Johnny had a debrief and he asked you what you thought of Anna. You really didn’t want to hurt his feelings and maybe you were wrong. Maybe your intuition was askew, was what you kept telling yourself. Maybe you were the one seeing things that weren’t there this time.
Perhaps for his sake, maybe for yours too. You really didn’t want to be the person who ruins all the fun.
“She’s… Different from what I imagined,” you said. A tip-toe around the answer.
“What do you mean? Different how?” Johnny raised a brow.
“I mean… I don’t know, I didn’t expect her to be so… Anti-girly stuff.”
“What do you mean?” he repeated. “She’s very girly.”
“Yeah, but… She told me all this stuff about how she can’t stand gossip or can’t imagine spending so much money on boots, y’know, stuff like that.”
“She’s anti-girly stuff because she doesn’t like to gossip and is careful with her money?”
“No!” you huffed, getting a little worked up, rage still simmering. “It was just… The way she said it. Like she was looking down on me. And everyone likes to gossip.”
“Are you sure— Look, I’m not trying to diminish your feelings here, I’ll talk to her about it, but are you sure you just didn’t get a little defensive?” he asked, his tone curious, warm. You knew you were putting him in a tough situation, but you didn’t want to silent your feelings for his comfort.
“No, I mean… It’s not like— Like, we could’ve had an actual conversation about those things, y’know? ‘Cause, yeah, most things she said were objectively true and we could’ve talked about ‘oh, hey, why do you think this is the way it is?’ but she was basically acting like she was better than me.”
“Okay, then, I’ll talk to her about it. I’m sorry she made you feel that way,” he said, bringing you in for one of his bear hugs. “Swear, I never saw her act like that before.”
“‘s not your fault,” you mumbled against his chest.
“I really wanted you two to get along,” his tone was tinged with sadness, disappointment.
“Me too.”
The first time you and Johnny fought after priding yourself in never doing that, vowing you never would do that, was brutal. A hard hit to your steady foundation which was now crumbling.
It was about Anna. Of course it was.
He said he’d talk to her. And he did, apparently, but they’ve been together for seven months now and nothing changed.
No, it only got worse.
Condescending looks when Johnny was around and harsh insults when he wasn’t. Clearly, Anna moved on from being subtle because she knew she could get away with it.
You’ve stopped telling Johnny about it altogether, tired of your words leading nowhere and Johnny looking at you like he didn’t believe you, like you were lying.
So, when he invited you for drinks with the two of them you politely declined and gave a good, half-true excuse. You have to study for an exam you’re retaking.
But Johnny wasn’t happy with that, no.
“What is your problem, anyways? You never want to go out anymore,” Johnny asked, eyebrow raised.
“We went out a few days ago, Johnny,” you sighed, taking a seat on your bed, definitely not wanting to have this conversation.
“But you bail every time Anna’s there.”
“Because she clearly hates me—”
“She doesn’t hate you—”
“I’m not crazy, Johnny, and you’re hellbent on making me feel that way,” you feel anger flow freely throughout your body, chest tightening as it mixed with the hurt that’s been stewing for a long time.
“I don’t know where you got that from! Okay, I talked to Anna multiple times and she said she’s been nothing but civil! And I’ve seen it, too! She’s nice to you!”
“She barely tolerates me when you’re there! And of course she wouldn’t tell you, Johnny!”
“Oh, she wouldn’t tell me? She told me you just up and left when you two were getting coffee! Made her look like an idiot! She cried for hours!”
You bristled at that, standing up abruptly with an intense need to just move. To turn the anger outwards, into some form of energy.
“Because she insulted me! Straight to my face, Johnny! She told me I looked horrible because I wasn’t wearing makeup!”
“Oh— Jesus Christ, c’mon! It’s a figure of speech! She thought you were sick!”
“That makes it better?! We’re definitely not close enough for her to be saying that kinda shit to me and I’m fed up with it! And not like this was the first time—”
“I think you’re just looking for a reason to be upset,” he said, way too calmly for the tone of your conversation. Like it was a fact, like he really believed that.
“What?”
“You’re just upset because I have someone other than you—”
“So, what, you think I’m jealous? Did she tell you that?”
“Yes, because I can’t have thoughts of my own, clearly,” he said flatly. “And you’re doing it again, by the way. Clear as day.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“You’re making shit up! You’re trying to put these thoughts in my head about her being horrible but she’s not!”
You stilled, taking a step back on instinct as you looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. You’re making shit up. The words echoed through your head, bouncing off of every surface just to land where it hurt the most every time. He thought you were lying.
“What?” your voice barely above a whisper and you couldn’t even bring yourself to care that you were practically baring your neck to him. To Johnny. Your Johnny who was looking at you without an ounce of remorse.
“What? You don’t like being called out?”
“So you just… What? Believe her over me? Think I just got up one day and decided to try and sabotage your relationship for no reason when we never had this problem before— God, you actually believe her over me,” you were pacing now, hands going from your hair, to your face and then down to the sides of your thighs to wipe away the sweat forming on your palms, in an attempt to just do something. Anything.
“She’s my girlfriend!”
“I’m your best friend!”
“She just gets me, okay?!”
“I get you, Johnny!”
“Clearly not,” he mumbled, messing up his perfectly styled hair as he ran his fingers through it.
“What?”
“Clearly you don’t get me. Clearly. Fucking— Why are you putting me in a position like this?”
“A position like what? I’m not the one doing anything! She’s the one—”
“No! She’s not the one doing anything! She’s the one encouraging me to not stop being your friend even when you pull shit like this and all you do is badmouth her!”
You stilled. You could’ve sworn everything in the world stilled in that moment, too. All except your heart, which was beating so wildly you could feel it in your throat, hear it in between your ears.
“You want us to stop being friends?”
Johnny was quiet for a moment, before he spoke softly. As if to soften the blow.
“I think… I think I need some time away from you.”
“Well then, by all means,” you spat coldly, angrily, “Don’t let your girlfriend stop you from doing that.”
You heard him leave, heard him try and be quiet so he wouldn’t upset you more. It just made you more angry. More everything that you were feeling right now, all your emotions jumbled up in a tangled mess.
You felt like an intruder in your own body, like your limbs were too long and disproportionate to anything with. Like your own existence didn’t make sense without Johnny. You cursed yourself for that thought.
The first time you realized you were in love with Johnny happened slowly, softly. Like a cool breeze dancing around your face.
You hadn’t spoken to him in almost three weeks now, the weight of his absence pressing down on you heavily, making you drag yourself along through your usual activities.
And now, laying on your bed, you hated how affected you were when he had no problem leaving you behind, as if your friendship meant nothing.
But you let the thoughts flow through you, let them come and go however they wished. You closed your eyes, letting yourself feel whatever needed to be felt.
And your thoughts had a pattern, you would come to realize.
“Well, yeah, but you’re exponentially more important than anyone else in my life,” Johnny said one morning over coffee, like he was talking about the news.
“Smart girl, good job!” he praised when you got the jist of something he was tutoring you in.
Or that one time—
“Tastes great, darlin’, thank you,” words punctuated with a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek.
Or how you almost ended up in his lap when you were crying together.
How he used to stand up for you.
Or when he called you his favourite girl.
How he let you prop your feet up on his legs while you painted your toenails. How he picked the colours for you.
Or how he expressed his gratitude in lifting you off the ground and giving you one too many spins until you squealed at him to put you down.
How he showed off your gifts as if they were put down on earth by the gods themselves.
Or how lately, before the fight, before he got with Anna, that word would pop up in your head. Handsome.
How he would comfort you by rubbing your back, brushing his hands through your hair and scratching your scalp.
Or how earnestly he swore you’d never stop being friends.
And it all hit you even harder, now that you were no longer friends. Now that you don’t know if you’ll ever be friends.
If you’ll ever hear the sound of his weird laugh or his genius rambling, that could go on for hours.
You felt the loss in your bones, the way you moved them mechanically, pre-planned, with thought and effort.
The way food seemed bland and unappetizing.
The way you couldn’t stand the sight of the moon and stars because space was Johnny’s thing.
Everything in your life, from the nature around you to the things you owned and felt belonged to Johnny.
And Johnny belonged to Anna.
You let that thought tick you off, you let yourself be washed over in your melancholy.
You let yourself feel the possessiveness rising up in your chest.
You let yourself realize that you were in love with Johnny.
Because Johnny is no longer your friend and that way, it can’t hurt how it would if he was. It can’t be complicated how it would be if your feelings got in the way of your friendship.
Because it no longer existed.
And it was oddly easier to feel it this way. When everything was already said and done and you couldn’t do anything to change it.
To change the fact that you’re in love with someone you called your best friend.
The first time Johnny broke up with his girlfriend for you — two months after not talking, two months of trying to live life without him.
You heard something tap against your window, your brows furrowing as you sat up on the bed, feeling the slightest twinge of anxiety shoot through you.
It was awfully too late and Lee, who you started seeing recently, ‘perfectly’ as your girlfriends called him, was somewhere in Illinois, visiting family.
Maybe you were just hearing things, you thought.
Tap.
Tap.
You mustered up what courage you had to go up to the window and peek through, half expecting some psycho to be throwing pebbles at your window. Or maybe Lee got back earlier—
Johnny.
Your brain blanked out as you stood there, mouth agape while you watched him through the glass. You had half a mind to open the window and lean down a little.
“Johnny?”
“Can I come up?” he asked, hands in his pockets as if trying to make himself look smaller.
“I thought we weren’t friends anymore,” you bit back. Okay, maybe you were still a little bitter but so what? The guy was your best friend, you justified.
“I know, I know, I just— Please? I really want to apologize and then you can kick me out after. I know I don’t even deserve you lettin’ me in but please.”
“...Fine,” you huffed, opening the window fully and stepping away from it so he could climb up properly.
You sat yourself down on the bed, arms curling around your knees and bringing them to your chest in a protective manner.
Once Johnny got in, he took a few steps towards you. Careful, calculated. As if walking up to a stray cat.
“I broke up with her.”
Your jaw set, eyes sharpening.
“So you’re here because she’s not?”
“No, no— I… You were right. About the whole thing. About her hating you, insulting you and lying to me about it… You were right. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that and I’m sorry I didn't take your side.”
You stayed silent, trying to recover from the emotional whiplash that was just given to you.
“Say something, please. I can’t— I was miserable without you.”
“Why didn’t you believe me?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t, I just… Anna’s good at that, I guess. Making people believe her. And I’m not trying to make excuses here, I swear.”
“How did you stop believing her, then?”
“When we had that fight, she seemed a little too happy, y’know? I wrote it off to her wanting what’s best for me, like she always said. But then she wouldn’t let me feel sad about the fact that I just lost my best friend. And then it started being mean comments towards you, like you always said… And then towards me. And I know what this looks like like I’m just here because I’m not with her but it’s not that, I swear, I broke up for you—”
“Johnny,” your voice softer, less guarded. Because yeah, maybe this whole thing was complicated and maybe it hurt, but how could you refuse him when he was so clearly manipulated into a bad situation? God, you cursed yourself for not seeing the full extent of this sooner, for not sitting him down and forcing him out.
“Yeah?”
“Come sit,” a peace offering. An olive branch extending.
He sat next to you, unsure of how close he could be.
“I forgive you.”
“You do? Like, actually, really forgive me?”
“You were in a tough spot, Johnny and it hurt me but—”
“Thank you,” his arms wrapped around you, his body basically on top of yours. “Thank you so much,” he whispered in your neck. “You won’t regret it.”
You brushed your fingers through his hair soothingly, feeling your emotions slowly try to untangle. But the knot in the centre wouldn’t give.
You were in love with your best friend, still.
You needed to break things off with Lee.
And you needed to never, ever let Johnny know.
The first time you cleaned Johnny up was entirely your fault. Completely yours.
The thing with Lee dragged on for far too long. It was summer break before second year when you started seeing him. And now, halfway through the second semester of second year and he was still there.
In your defense, any time you tried to break things off, he’d steer the conversation, sweettalk you until you forgot about it.
Which now led you here, cleaning Johnny’s bruised knuckles.
You let it slip accidentally, how you tried to break up with him more than five times and he wouldn’t let you.
And if Johnny hated anything, it was punks who didn’t know how to treat a woman.
And he hated you a little bit too, for not telling him sooner and dealing with nonsense for a year.
“You didn’t hav’ta fight, Johnny,” you chided softly, carefully dabbing away at the blood.
“Sure I did. Maybe I wouldn’t have to if ya didn’t wait a year to tell me. What else was I supposed to do with a panty waist like him? Only knows to stick it to the ladies,” he said flatly, making you giggle and look up from where you were kneeling.
You didn’t have to kneel for this, you knew. But maybe you had a flair for the dramatics. And maybe he looked good like this. A little too good.
“You’re something else, Johnny.”
“Gotta look out for my girl, don’t I?”
You went back to work as soon as he said that, pretending his words weren’t making you swoon.
My girl.
God, you needed to get it together.
“What did you tell him anyways?” you asked softly, still not looking up.
“Who, Lee?”
“Mhm.”
“That he needs to leave you alone.”
“That’s it?” you let out an amused huff, eyebrow arched.
“It’s just guy talk, don’t worry ‘bout that.”
“Guy talk that gave you bruised knuckles, Johnny—”
“I’m fine,” he said, pulling his hand away slowly, making you huff and stand up.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “Seriously, I am.”
“Okay,” you relented, moving to go downstairs to grab you both drinks. And maybe sort your thoughts out.
Your feelings for Johnny were running rampant. Too crazy, too much. You wished you could go back, back when he was just your best friend, just your idiot Johnny.
“A soft one for me!” he yelled after you, already knowing where you were off to.
You didn’t respond, but stored away the information, somewhere in between your jumbled up thoughts.
He just beat up your boyfriend— ex boyfriend, technically. Him. Johnny. The boy scout, heart in line with justice, no violence, Johnny. That same one.
God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him in a fight before, ever. And now he did it. For you.
You were in trouble, you knew. So much trouble. Cosmic level trouble.
And yet, you still went on normally, pouring him a drink in the kitchen because it was the least he deserved. After this, after the whole situation with Anna that left him scarred.
And because you knew your thoughts were selfish. Unfair. That the little piece of hope that was harbouring in your heart was undeniably wrong, at least morally. That you expected something that you weren’t telling him, something that very well could be impossible.
But the hope prevailed, over anything. Tucked away, hidden, rearing its head in the worst moments. But you’d pretend it didn’t exist. And as long as you never spoke it, it didn’t.
With a deep breath, you shook those thoughts away and went back up again.
“Orange juice, since you started hating fun apparently,” you handed him the glass with a fond smile.
“I’ve had enough fun today, thank you very much.”
“So you did.”
The first time you thought Johnny might love you back fell under the infamous pattern of your friendship. The ‘too much rum’ pattern.
Although, with a twist this time. This time it was gin. His awful cocktails that tasted like drinking the alcohol straight out the bottle. But it got the job done.
It served its purpose in getting you ‘celebratory drunk’, as Johnny called it. For passing the first round of third year midterms, which were kicking your asses. And eating away at your sanity. You don’t think you ever saw Johnny as angry as he was when he was leaned over a paper of about a million formulas that were actually the same one. Or however he explained it.
Thank God that was over.
The back of your head hit the wall a little too hard as you tried to lean back, in search of additional support, which made you giggle lazily.
“You need t’a be more careful, sweetheart,” Johnny drawled as his hooded eyes took you in.
Sweetheart. That was new.
“You never called me that before,” you slurred, the alcohol in your system disabling your brain-to-mouth filter.
“What? Sweetheart?”
“Yeah… You called me darling before. Well, not darling, without the G. Darlin’,” you rambled.
“Well you are all a’that. Darlin’ and a sweetheart. M’ favourite girl in the whole world, ya know that?”
“Mhm, I do.”
“Do you? I don’t think you do. Not really,” he stood up from his spot on your bed and stalked towards you, making heat rise up in your body in anticipation of what he was about to do.
Your heart raced, echoing inside your ears along with the tiny voice there, whispering that this was it. That he would make a move, that he loved you back.
“M’ favourite girl,” his voice was a coo, his hand brushing your hair behind your ear. “Love you so much.”
You preened under his touch, heart wild in the best possible way, hope burning through your body.
“Love you too, Johnny.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
With no warning, he lifts you up, making you squeal in surprise. The words of protest die on your throat as he throws you on the bed.
On instinct, your body falls limp, your breathing heavier, a wetness between your legs, nipples hardening under your shirt, your bared neck making you want to moan out. All embarrassingly fast and all for little to no reason.
Johnny got into bed next to you, a loopy grin on his face.
You let yourself feel the hope, for the first time. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was him just doing whatever this was. Or maybe it was both that let your brain decide that you had reason to hope. A valid, real reason.
“Sometimes…” he started. “Think I love you so much that I can’t handle it. Like I see you doin’ your girly stuff and jus’ think ‘m gonna implode.”
You giggled, moving to bury your face in his neck.
“Oh, that’s funny now, is it?”
“It is.”
“Here I am, openin’ my heart and my li’l sweetheart of a best friend is laughing. You’re cruel, y’know that?”
“Am not!” you protested, still unable to stop the fit of giggles, the pure happiness radiating off of you.
“Are too. Cruelest woman alive.”
“Y’re so dramatic, Johnny.”
“‘m serious though,” he sighed, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Sometimes I think nobody gets me like you do. No one ever will, probably.”
“Yeah, ‘cause we’re just… Us. It makes sense.”
“We’re us,” he laughed. “God, it’s so stupid how true that is… Like, I don’t think I could explain this to anyone.”
“Me neither,” you mumbled against his neck softly. “Like we’re perfectly aligned all the time.”
“Except for that one time.”
“You’re ruining the moment!”
“Alright, alright. We’re not talking about she who shall not be named.”
The first time Johnny changed — you’d been worried, of course you were, nervously pacing the paddock, every single possible outcome passing through your mind, none of them good.
You’d been happy, ecstatic, shed a few tears when he finally got the job after you graduated. Went out of your way to buy him knock-off ANSA merchandise, even though he could get that at work.
The anxiety started creeping in the second he told you he’d actually go to space.
And sure, you knew that was the plan all along, that was his end goal since forever. And you’d listen enthusiastically to all his rants about space in the eight years you’ve known him. And sure, you were happy that your best friend was finally doing what he desperately wanted.
But you were also out of your mind with worry.
And yet, none of your spiraling thoughts could’ve led you here. You couldn’t even think of it as a possibility.
Seeing Johnny come out, in a tar black, burned through suit, Sue distraught, Reed trying to keep his composure and Ben nowhere to be seen.
But you could barely process any of the others, your mind focused on one thing and one thing only. Johnny. Black, burned suit.
Your legs worked on their own accord, running to him without even thinking about it.
“Johnny? Johnny what happened? Are you—” your hands reached out to touch him but he took a haste step back.
“No, don’t— Don’t touch me.”
“What— Johnny—” your hands instinctively went to find him and he jerked back again.
“Don’t!” his voice more a plea than anything, bordering on a broken sob. It managed to sober you up, to put your hands up by your head as if to show that you wouldn’t.
“What happened?”
“Cosmic storm,” he said, eyes wide, scared.
“What does that— What happened to you, Johnny?”
“Fire.”
“What does that mean, Johnny? Fire— You—”
“I set on fire. From inside out. We’re all fucked up! Ben’s a big pile of rocks and— No, don’t do that, I’m gonna hurt you, I’m—” his protests about your hands, which now found their way to his face, died into a sob and you brought him closer, guided him into your neck.
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he whimpered out.
“You’re not, Johnny, I promise. ‘m okay, you’re not hurting me,” you cooed, one hand rubbing his back while the other carded through his hair in an attempt to soothe him at least a little.
“‘m not burning you?”
“No… You’re a little hot, but you’re not burning me.”
“But I don’t know if you can— We don’t know what any of this means— What if you—”
“And you’ll figure it out. ‘m sure you will. And if something happens to me because I’m touching you, I’m sure you’ll figure it out too. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Just let me be here, Johnny. Please.”
His tears dampened your neck and the collar of your shirt as his shaky hands gripped you tightly, his body shaking with sobs and broken whimpers.
“I— I was so scared.”
And God, if you thought your heart couldn’t break any more, you would be so terribly wrong because it just shattered into a million pieces. An overwhelming surge of needing to protect him going through your body, moving to hold him tighter, to shield him from everything.
“I know, Johnny, I know. You’re okay now, I got you”
“Hurt s-so bad”
“I know, I know, Johnny,” you cooed, pressing soft kisses to his temple.
“I lo-love you so mu-much.”
“I love you too, Johnny. So fucking much.”
The first time Johnny showed you his powers, after he calmed down a little bit. After Reed figured out what the hell it meant and then got straight into trying to figure out how to reverse it. For Ben’s sake, more than anyone else’s. Poor guy.
But Johnny being Johnny, bounced back rather quickly. Aside from the nightmares that plagued him about what it felt like to literally be burned alive — and stay alive. Other than that, the awake version of Johnny seemed to be doing well.
“So, how do you even do it?” you asked absentmindedly while laying on his bed.
“Do what?”
“The whole fire thing. Is it like moving a muscle or…?”
“Depends what I wanna do, really… Or how much I wanna do. But ‘s more like… Clenching a muscle.”
“Can you show me?” you asked eagerly for the umpteenth time in the past two weeks, since he seemed to be getting better, all turned down because of the small risk of hurting you.
“I told you—”
“Please, Johnny? You know you won’t hurt me.”
“Fine,” he sighed. “But just a small one.”
You watched in awe as he extended his hand, a small fire dancing around his pointer finger.
“Woah,” you breathed out, almost as if in a trance. “Can you do a bigger one?”
“You’re gonna lose your fire privileges.”
“Wasn’t aware I even had them,” you said, still laser focused on the flame around his finger. “Does it hurt?”
“No, not really.”
“But do you like… Feel the fire coming out of you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Woah.”
“You said that already,” he grinned, looking at how amazed you were.
“Yeah, because you have literal fire coming out of you. It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” your eyes went up to his for a split second before coming back down to the fire. “So like… If I took a lighter and tried to set you on fire, would that work? Like, are you resistant to fire that comes outside of you?”
“Jesus,” he laughed. “Should I be worried about you trying to set me on fire?”
“No. It was a hypothetical, idiot.”
“I mean, it could work. But I could just absorb it.”
“Woah,” you repeated.
“Are you going to say anything else?”
“Can you do a bigger one?”
“Seriously? I’m starting to feel like a jester for Her Majesty.”
“Please? I won’t ask ever again, I swear.”
“I give you a finger and you take the whole hand. Literally.”
“Pleas—” your words died in your throat as you saw fire engulf his whole hand, the flames reflecting on your face, like a kid with his head stuck to the television.
Your wide-eyed expression made Johnny smirk, looking at you being so in awe of him.
“I know, right? Imagine all the ladies swooning over this.”
Oh.
Right.
You hid your disappointment with a smile, cursing yourself for giving in to hope. And most of all, how it still wasn’t dying. How the disappointment took shape of thoughts like, ‘he’s just saying that’ or ‘he’ll tell you he feels the same soon enough’. Because why wouldn’t he? It was you and Johnny. You and Johnny who made sense, you and Johnny who were perfectly aligned at all times (except for that one time).
“Like they don’t already,” you snorted.
“They do, obviously. But Imagine—”
“You’ll give yourself a big head, Johnny.”
“Alright, alright. Point taken.”
The first time Johnny took you flying was as a gift for your twenty-fourth birthday. Three years after he’d gotten his powers and three years of you begging him to take you.
But he turned you down, time after time because shockingly, he didn’t want to kill you. Real hard-hitting news.
But aside from that, he would need to figure out protective clothes. Top to bottom, not an ounce of skin showing. Something that wouldn’t let the flames anywhere near you.
That was the easy part. But convincing Reed to make it? The extremely hard part. But after years of you begging Johnny and Johnny begging Reed, it was finally here.
“No peeking,” Johnny warned, his big hands covering your eyes as he walked you to Reed’s lab.
“I couldn’t if I tried, you’re squeezing my eyes out.”
“Gross. And you’re a liar,” he said, but still eased up on your eyes even more.
The gesture made you swoon, almost making you let out a dreamy sigh as you two walked.
“Alright, stop here… And open,” he said, taking his hands off.
A baby pink suit, with white boots and a white helmet, propped up on a mannequin.
“No way!” you grinned, all but hopping over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck, hanging off him like a koala. “Are you taking me flying?!”
“I am,” he smiled, his hands on your waist.
“No way!” you repeated. “You’re actually taking me flying! God— You’re the best Johnny,” you punctuated your words with a kiss to his cheek.
He leaned into your kiss, pressing one to your temple in return.
“C’mon, suit up so I can take you flyin’.”
You squealed, running off to take your suit.
God, he even made sure it was pink.
God, you loved him so much.
You made quick work of it, hastily taking your shoes off and pulling the suit up over your clothes, all the while beaming up at him. And he sauntered over, in all his endless grace and kneeled down, going to put the boots on you.
“Oh, I’m getting the royalty treatment?”
“I’m a gentleman. C’mon, foot up,” Johnny ordered, taking your ankle in his hands and slipping the boot on your foot, before moving onto the next one, the contact making heat rise up your neck.
He stood up, grabbing you by your shoulders to turn you around, expertly putting your hair up.
“Didn’t know you could do that.”
“Sue taught me, when we were kids. Said it’d be useful when I get married.”
Your heart stuttered at that, letting the hope take a confusing shape between disappointment and over the top confidence that that’d be you. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.
“But she was probably just trying to distract me from everything else going on.”
Oh. Right.
He turned you back so you were facing him and placed the helmet over your head with a warm smile, lightly knocking on the glass front.
“Ready?”
“So ready,” you grinned.
He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, burying you into his side while leading you up to the balcony.
“Alright, grab onto my neck,” he instructed. “No, c’mon, tighter than that, you’ll fall out the sky like that, sweetheart,” he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer.
“Is this better?” you asked.
“Much.”
And in true Johnny fashion, he gave you zero warning before burning up, up into the sky with you in his arms.
Both the proximity and the sheer speed at which you took off made adrenaline pump through your veins, a happy scream leaving your lips.
“Johnny!” you grinned, his name falling from your tongue as a half-squeal, half-laugh.
“Feels good?!” his grin was hard to miss, even when his whole body was ablaze.
“Yeah!”
“Gonna take you every day now if you want!” he yelled, turning both of you upside down, just to hear your delighted scream.
The first time Johnny Storm broke your heart. The end times.
You saw it on the TV. The herald, marking the earth for death. Him, Johnny — your idiot Johnny, following her into space. Of course he did.
“Hold your loved ones close. And speak the words you’ve been afraid to speak. Use this time to rejoice and celebrate for your time is short.”
Her words were the only thing echoing in your head as you anxiously made your way to the tower, your curlers still on, a coat over your nightie and the first boots you could grab a hold of.
You probably looked ridiculous, you knew, but that was the last thing on your mind considering… Well, considering that the world was ending and you were about to tell your best friend you’ve been in love with him for years.
Johnny met you at the entrance, like he knew you’d come. He probably did.
“There you are,” he breathed out, putting his hands on your arms. “I was just about to go looking for you. C’mon, come in.”
“What was that, Johnny? Who— Was she being serious?” you asked as he ushered you inside.
“We don’t know, we’re— we’re trying to figure it out.”
He sat you down with the team, as they talked possibilities, next steps, planning. You stayed silent, unmoving, eyes trained only on Johnny with a one-track mind.
To get him alone later.
To tell him everything that’s been building up in your heart.
But then he started talking.
About the herald’s warm voice, kind tone, about her beautiful face. Every word like a blow to your now beaten heart. Every word replacing the echo of the herald’s. And you knew then.
You knew that the look on Johnny’s face, the gleam in his eyes — that was infatuation. The real kind. That was interest.
This was Johnny. Your Johnny.
Your Johnny who loved space, loved adrenaline. Liked everything fast, rough and right now.
And you knew there was no room for you in that. Not in the way you wanted to.
But the worst part is that you knew, if you told him, he would try. He would try to love you like you loved him because his kind heart wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of breaking yours.
He’d pretend that you were the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, even if his eyes would wander onto bigger, better possibilities. Vastness of space, pretty aliens.
And you knew that that would break his heart, too. That no matter how perfectly aligned you were, that this — what you imagined, what you, maybe delusionally hoped for, would be doomed.
That you’d break each other's hearts.
And with selflessness that wasn’t hard to muster when it came to him, you decided against it. Against telling him.
If you had to die with a broken heart and without him knowing the extent of your feelings, then so be it.
That would be your final act of love towards him.
Your love, which preceded his experience with outer space and was twice as vast.
But no matter how big it was, it’d make him feel small. And God, you never wanted to make him feel less than the man he is.
Johnny Storm, with his kind heart, his handsome face and expert hands that taught you a lot.
About life, about love, about selflessness. About when to fight. But more importantly, when to give up. When to admit defeat.
About space and physics and about golf.
The final blow was the quiet realization that it wouldn’t have made him feel small if he never knew space. That before it, you probably were the most interesting thing in front of him. That back then, when he was the guy who wiped your tears so they wouldn’t stain your physics notes, it could’ve worked.
“You’re cryin’, sweetheart,” his voice brought you out of your thoughts, his form kneeled in front of you, his hands on your face. “It’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll figure it out.”
“You have to go, Johnny.”
“I know, but I don’t want you crying over me, you hear?”
He brought you in for an awkwardly angled hug, with you leaned forward in your seat and your tears falling in his neck, kisses falling on your hairline above your ear in an attempt to soothe you.
“I love you, Johnny,” you croaked out.
“I love you too. You’re my best friend, silly girl.”
hey bro so i actually need a part 2 to that johnny storm piece bc it has destroyed me mentally bro. theres tears in my eyes as we speak bro.
hey bro i apologize for the tears in the eyes bro. but also mission accomplished ig? i wasn't planning on a part two originally but i saw that a few people wanted it AND I LIVE TO SERVE THE PEOPLE 🙏🏻 hang tight bro. part two coming soon
