munsonsmixtapes

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi there! 👋🏽😊 As promised I have made it here to your little sandwich shop!

I would like salami and provolone on rustic sourdough, with mustard and why not make it a combo with hush puppies!

Excited to see what you whip up 😍

Much love,

- T🌙

Dinner for Two

older!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from 28bohemianmoons | when your car breaks down and the very handsome mechanic that promises to fix it invites you over for dinner, he gets a little more than he bargained for.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, bit of an age gap, eddie’s 46, reader’s in her 20’s (i picture her as late 20’s but it’s never explicitly stated. so it’s up to you), oral f receiving, pinv

notes: Order up for T! Thanks for coming by and checking out the sandwich shop 🫶🏻 There’s some parts of this I feel like I could’ve elaborated more on, but it’s already almost 5k and these fics were supposed to stay under 2k lmao (I’m also just a bit tired of fussing with it). So I hope you enjoy! Big thanks to @prettycalla & @keeryhours for reading this over and as always, the biggest thanks to @peachyproserpina for editing! I’m a mess without her.

Your engine coughs once. Then it sputters. Then it fucking dies completely.

You coast to the shoulder of the road with a sinking feeling in your stomach. Your hazard lights blinking uselessly in the evening dusk. You’re not far from town, but far enough to know this is going to be a pain in the ass. You sit behind the wheel in silence for a few seconds, trying to will the car back to life as you turn the key again. No turn over. Of course, just your luck. You should’ve taken your friend’s offer to borrow their car while yours was “being weird”. But no. You had to prove that your own car wasn’t possessed by Satan.

The irony is strong when you hear the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching behind you. You glance in the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of it— black, sleek, and loud. It’s pulling in behind your stalled car like some kind of metal savior. The guy gets off it in one smooth motion, worn in denim and soft leather with wild curls, and to top it all off, rings glinting as he pushes his hair out of his face.

 “Hey,” he calls as he jogs up beside your window, ducking down slightly with one hand pressed to the top of your car. “You okay in there?”

You roll the window down halfway and blink up at him. He looks like he walked out of a hot biker calendar. Except, you know, a bit more real. His jeans are grease stained, you could see a homemade faded Corroded Coffin T-shirt that looked like it had seen better days since the 90’s, hair greying slightly, and a pair of wide brown eyes that seem way too gentle for someone built like a God.

“Car died,” you say softly, suddenly a little sheepish under his gaze. “Pretty sure it hates me.”

He grins, standing up a bit straighter, “Let me take a look, yeah? I speak fluent piece-of-shit car.”

You stare at him through your half opened window, unsure of what to make of him, “You a mechanic or just… good with insults?”

“Both.” He winks at you, then adds with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen a man wear, “Name’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Of course it is. A perfect name for a dreamy man. 

You pop the hood, and open the car door to slide out of it. He slides off his jacket, placing it out of the way and then he leans over, poking around while you stand back. You watch him mutter to himself as he checks connections, pokes at belts, and scowls at your battery. That faded grey t-shirt had a few holes in the hemline and it was riding up his back to show just a sliver of skin above the waist of his jeans. If you look close enough you could even see a bit of his soft belly. You flick your eyes up, taking in the set of his jaw. He was focused, wound tight as he tries to locate the problem, there’s a few wrinkles by his eyes, laugh lines settling close to his mouth. You smile. He’s one of the most handsome men you’ve had walk into your life. After a few more minutes of your silent gawking, he slams the hood down again— it’s not hard, just enough to snap your attention back to the present. He wipes his hands on his jeans as he turns to you.

“She’s gonna need some love. Maybe a sacrifice or two,” he says with a chuckle. “Starter’s shot, and your alternator isn’t looking too friendly either.”

“Awesome,” you mutter. “You have tow trucks too? or do you just deliver bad news on the side of the road?”

He laughs and shakes his head, already pulling out his phone. “No, but I’ve got a buddy at the shop who can come grab it. We’ll get it to my garage, fix it up cheap. No dealership shit. I swear on my Iron Maiden collection.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look him over again. “And you’re not just saying that to lure me into your mechanic lair?”

Eddie grins wider, those laugh lines and dimples on full display, like he appreciates the sass you’re shooting at him. “Hey, you’re welcome to keep your guard up.” He chuckles, sending a text out, as he shakes his head. He might as well give it a shot, “I do have a lair. It just also happens to have a killer lasagna and a very patient dog.”

“…You cook?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says softly, cocking an eyebrow up as he tests the waters. “Could come by sometime. I promise not to kill you. Unless you’re allergic to good conversation and metal records. Then maybe I’ll have to make a sacrifice… you know, for the car.”

You roll your eyes and let out a laugh, pulling up the contacts in your phone just to humor him. “I’ll think about it.” He flashed you a grin at that. He leaves you with his number and a promise that your car will be better than it was brand new— or at least newer than it looks now. 

You don’t mean to text him. Really, you don’t. But a few nights later, after a really long day at work, a too-long shower, and a look in your fridge at the leftovers from the night before— you find yourself in your bed. Aimlessly scrolling through social media, that man and his greying curls heavy on your mind. You bite your lip as you think of his arms, splattered with dark ink. You think of that little bit of skin you saw as he leaned over your car. And you let out a breath, opening up your contacts app. You think about it a moment, really weighing your options. It’s just dinner, yeah? If it turned into more you’d be okay with that. He was funny, not too bad on the eyes, certainly one night of a lapsed judgement wouldn’t kill you. But he’s double your age. And you shake your head, scrolling past his number in your phone. But then you pause and scroll back.

Hey. That dinner still on the table?

You half expect him to ignore the message, it’d been days and the last time you spoke was about your car. But he responds shortly after..

Hell yes. Tonight? Come hungry.

When you pull up to his house— a small place outside of town with a beat-up mailbox with MUNSON scrawled across the side, you can see an old blue Chevy in the garage through the open door, right next to that pretty metal savior from the week before. His neighbors are close enough to almost share walls. But the porch light is on and you knock gently. Hearing shuffling around on the other side of the door for a moment, you wait, holding your bag to your chest. The door creaks open and there he is. He’s got an apron on, a shirt with the sleeves cut off showing each of the intricate tattoos adorning his skin. His hair is pulled back in a bun messily underneath a bandana to keep back the flyaways. His face a little flushed and red from the heat of the kitchen.

“You came,” he says softly, clearly shocked to see you standing at the door.

“Of course I did,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You said to come hungry… and I wanted to meet the dog.”

The dog is a sleepy little border collie named Ozzy, who’s spread out on the couch not paying any mind to the new visitor in his home. “He’s a real killer, can’t you tell?” Eddie jokes softly as he steps back to let you step in. He shuts the door behind you and makes his way back over to the kitchen with you close on his heels. He hands you a glass of red wine and says it’s “the cheap kind, on sale.”

The lasagna he whipped up is genuinely amazing. So is the music— a vinyl spinning in the background, something heavy that makes him close his eyes and nod along like he’s feeling it in his bones. You think you’ve hit the jackpot of men; handsome, a great cook, and has a great taste in music? You ask him about his band when he mentions it in an offhand comment— he still plays sometimes, mostly local gigs. You ask about the shop— he owns half of it now. You ask about the rings— he shrugs and says he’s always had em, “Sweetheart, these fingers were born for flair.”

By the time you finish with dinner, you’re laughing way more than you had planned to. You rest your elbows against the table top, watching as he leans back in his chair. He’s looking at you with a smile that’s almost shy.

“What?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish yourself.

“Nothing,” he chuckles a bit. “I just…didn’t think you’d actually show. Let alone stick around… I really can’t believe it.” He shakes his head a bit, the bandana holding back midnight colored curls from his face. 

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Why not?”

He shrugs, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Bashful. “People don’t usually stick around this long.” He says it like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop with you. But there’s something in his voice— something that makes you want to lean closer, so you do.

“You’re not as scary as you look, Munson.”

He smirks, that playful confidence you’d caught more glimpses of than the coyness he’s been exhibiting tonight.

 “Careful. I’ve got a reputation to protect.” He pushes back from the table to stand, so you follow suit. And then there’s that moment— the pause that stretches quietly. A question that hangs in the air between two people who are both wondering the same thing; Are you going to kiss me? He steps closer just as the thought crosses your mind and you don’t move back.

“You want to see the garage?” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. His voice is low, a little rough, nothing like before. The apron he’d been wearing before dinner was long discarded, showing the front of the cutoff Dio shirt he’d been in. He reaches up, tugging the bandana from his head, the bun still keeping most of his hair contained. 

You grin, biting the inside of your cheek. “That code for something?”

His laugh is quiet now. He’s nervous, that blush that had graced his cheeks earlier is back, plastered across his nose— mixing with the freckles that peppered his skin. As embarrassed as he may be, he holds your gaze. He bites the inside of his cheek and lets out a breath, whispering, “Only if you want it to be.”

You nod. You do. You so desperately want it to be.

And he moves closer in a blink of an eye. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he saw your broken-down car on the highway. His hands are tentative at first, one sliding up your back so gently you barely notice it’s there. And when you melt into him, your front pressing up against his body, he moves more confidently. The hand that wasn’t occupied by holding you close to him slides up and tangles in your hair. The pressure makes you gasp into his mouth. And he presses you up against the kitchen wall right between his dining table and countertop. The warmth of his chest is seeping through your shirt, his rings cold where they skim your waist.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, lips brushing against his as you do, “So, is this part of the tune-up package?”

He laughs again, cheeks redder than before and a bit more breathless now. “Oh, sweetheart. This is way more than the tune-up package… this is the extended warranty.”

You laugh, still pinned to the wall when he kisses you again. He’s slower this time, taking his time. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s memorizing the way you taste for when you’re inevitably gone again. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt and press in against your skin just enough to make you lean into him, instinctive. You’re needy and you both know it.

“God, you feel good,” he mutters against your lips before he’s dragging his mouth across your jaw, down your neck. He doesn’t stop until his teeth graze the spot just under your ear. “Can I—? Shit. I didn’t think you’d actually come, and now I’m two seconds from ruining my chances at a second date completely.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Ed,” you breathe out softly. Your hands brushing over his shoulders. “You’re doing great, actually.”

He huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. Hair working its way out of his bun. You feel the rumble of his chest more than you hear it— his breath hot against your skin, his chest is rising against yours. And then he gets quieter, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You reach down between your bodies and grab the hem of your own shirt, whispering, “Help me get this off before I change my mind.”

For him? That’s all it takes.

He tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it somewhere behind him. He scans your newly revealed skin so slowly it almost hurts him. His eyes are glinting in the dimmed light of his kitchen, words stuck on his tongue like he’s in the presence of something so holy that he can’t believe he gets to touch it— that look makes heat coil deep in your stomach. He kisses your chest so gently, you barely even feel the press of his lips. Then he’s trailing his fingers over your hip, up your side. He settles on your ribs, thumb brushing over your skin— he’s not in a rush, he can savor his time with you. He dips his head down again, stubbled chin scratching against your chest as he presses another kiss against your shoulder. His nose brushing against your neck as he slides up to press another kiss below your ear, against your jaw, and then finally your lips. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His hands are warm and a little rough as they slide up your sides. One reaches back to settle on the clasp of your bra, greedy. You gasp into his mouth when he presses his hips into yours, he’s already hard, straining against his jeans. 

It’s good. So good. So good you almost don’t notice when he adjusts his grip on you, trying to work the clasp loose (he’s been out of practice for longer than he’d like to admit), his free hand knocks something off the counter. You both flinch, breaking from the kiss, as a metal mixing bowl hits the kitchen tile with a clang that rings through the room like a damn alarm bell.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, lifting his head to look you in the eyes. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed and lips kiss bitten. “That was… expensive-sounding.”

You lean forward resting your forehead against his jaw as you laugh softly. “That’s what you get for trying to fuck me next to your Gran’s stand mixer.”

You’re still catching your breath when you catch his eyes flick toward the back of the house. “You know,” he says slowly, voice dropping to a raspy whisper, “there’s a lot less cookware out in the garage.”

You lift a brow, that’s the second time he’s mentioned the damn place. “That supposed to be your version of romance?”

“It’s where I’m my truest self,” he says solemnly, nuzzling his nose against your hair, lips pressing a kiss against your temple. “Surrounded by tools, loud music, and we have absolutely zero chance of knocking over my Nana’s cornbread tin and denting it beyond repair.”

You narrow your eyes as he speaks. “If you’re just trying to get me out there so I’ll see your stupid truck, you left the door open and on my way in, I already—”

“No arguing, sweetheart,” he says with a tut, already tugging you toward the door. He reaches up and presses a button, until you can hear the tell tale sign of the garage door closing. “You’ve questioned the sanctity of my second favorite place in this entire house. Now you have to come see it, and that isn’t code for anything.”

You let him lead you with all his golden retriever enthusiasm— one hand in his, the other folded across your chest to keep your bra in place. You’re still half-laughing, that spark between you hasn’t dimmed in the slightest— it’s just waiting, simmering, threatening to boil over the second you get your lips back on his. He opens the door, helping you carefully down the two steps until you hit the cool concrete floor. The garage is warm and faintly smells like gasoline, it’s lit by a few overhead bulbs and the sliver of moonlight pouring through the window. You hadn’t realized it was this late. His tools are organized along the back wall in a way that only he would know where anything was. The blue chevy truck’s parked square in the middle, just as you had seen it earlier. His bike parked next to it. Windows rolled down and the hood closed. 

“Wow,” you say, mock impressed as you look around the room. You take in the posters along the wall, worn in and incredibly obvious he’d saved them from his teenage years. “A whole garage dedicated to metal bands. You trying to marry me or something?” You joke softly, feeling hot as soon as Eddie turns his gaze back to you. 

He tuts softly with a roll of his eyes, backing you up until your body is pressed between him and the front of his truck. “Careful, sweetheart. This truck’s seen a lot of action.”

“Uh-huh. Bet it’s jealous.”

“Oh, it will be in a minute.” He dips his head down letting his lips hover above yours. His breath is hot, his eyes are flicking from yours, down to where he’d like to be. He presses his hands against the hood of the truck on each side of your hips, leaning in until he can close the distance between the two of you in a kiss. It’s deeper this time, all of the teasing now burned away by the low throb of tension that’s been building since you stepped through his front door. He shifts his hips closer, until he’s flush against you— one hand leaving the hood to settle on your hip, like he’s finally letting himself have you. He slides it beneath your waistband, toying at the hem of your panties as he lets out the lowest groan you’ve ever heard a man make. 

Your own hands snake upwards, resting on his shoulders. Your fingers brushing along taught muscle before you’re tugging the bun he was wearing loose, a shy little smile on your face. He shakes his hair free, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. His breath against your skin ragged as you grind your hips towards him— the bulge in his jeans growing by the second. He swears so much blood is running downwards, his knees may buckle. And before you can even catch your breath, he turns you around— your back to his front— and bends you forward over the cold metal hood of his truck. He leans his body over your own, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, his mouth at your ear as he finally unsnaps the clasp of your bra. “You okay with this?” he asks softly, his voice a little hoarse, from want, from need. 

You nod, letting your own forehead rest against the metal. Your breath hitches in your throat, “More than okay, Eds.”

He laughs. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about doing this since the second you popped your damn hood up on the side of the road.”

His hands slide the straps of your bra down off your shoulders, and he carefully tugs it out from under your body, tossing it over the mirror of the truck. He lets one hand trail forward, cupping your tit before giving it a squeeze. He presses another kiss against your shoulder, moving his hands back down to your hips. He thrusts against your ass, fully clothed. You gasp, a little dazed by the sudden shift in energy. He’s not teasing you anymore. He’s hungry, he’s greedy. And he wants you so badly. 

You barely have time to register that his hands have left your body and he’s no longer pressed up behind you. You glance over your shoulder, gasping softly at the sight. He’s on his knees behind you, letting himself look up at you through those pretty eyelashes before his hands are back on you, parting your thighs with an ease you hadn’t seen him display before. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. He lets his hands drift to your front, unbuttoning your pants and dragging the zipper down so slowly. When he’s finally got it, he makes a big deal of slowly tugging your pants down. He’s deliberate, letting himself get worked up by every inch of cotton that’s revealed to him. “I fuckin’ am.”

He runs a palm over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum. Then he dips his head lower, pushing your thighs a bit further apart. He presses his mouth to the inside of your thigh, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses up, up, up— until he’s right where you want him. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his breath hot over your clothed core, his eyes flick up to watch you, pressed over the hood. “You cold or just impatient?”

“Eddie, pl—”

He doesn’t make you say it. He really doesn’t need to. Not with the way your panties are sopping wet for him already. One hand settles on your hip as the other drags the soiled cotton down to join where your jeans are bunched around your feet. Dipping his head down once again, he slides his tongue over you, so slowly. You nearly collapse forward at the sensation. His grip is firm on you, keeping you steady, holding you there— his mouth is relentless, tongue plunging into your cunt before alternating to lick a fat stripe through your folds. He’s focused, intentional in a way that makes your toes curl with each prod of that muscle against you, with each nudge of his nose. He groans into your pussy when you moan his name, like he’s getting off on the sound of it. Like he could live here between your thighs forever. And it sends a shockwave of vibrations through your spine. That white hot coil in your belly starts to build oh-so-slowly. 

You press your forehead to the truck, your eyes fluttering shut. You rock your hips back into his face, desperate for more. Desperate for him to let you cum. 

“Fuck, you taste good,” he pulls away to press another kiss against your thigh, muttering softly. “How the hell am I supposed to let you leave after this?” And if those words didn’t make you keen, the flat of his tongue surely did when it runs up your thigh, almost to where you’d like him to be. 

Your laugh stutters out halfway into a gasp, fingers curling into fists where they had been pressed against the truck. “Who said I wanted to leave?”

That earns you a sharp nip of his teeth, followed by a kiss right over the bite— so gentle it almost makes your head spin. And then just like how he’d gotten down there, with no warning at all, he pulls away.

“Eddie—” you breathe out, standing on the edge of what may be the best orgasm of your life.

He’s already standing, his own chest heaving— sweat clinging to his bangs and plastering his curls to his forehead. His eyes, blown wide as he unbuckles his belt— tugging his own jeans down just enough to free himself. “You still good?” he asks again, waiting for you to pack it up. Tell him you don’t fuck the town freaks. Even in his forties, Eddie’s scared of letting anyone in. 

You nod, turning your head slightly to rest your cheek against the metal. “Fuck. Yeah. Please.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs. He wraps a hand around his cock, thumbing the base to line himself up with your pretty cunt. He’s so hard he can barely stand it, so he sinks into you with one smooth, steady, hard thrust that knocks the air completely out of your lungs. You gasp, bracing yourself on the hood. Your knees are already trembling. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes behind you, both hands tight on your hips. His thumb rubbing circles into your skin. “You feel— fuck. You feel like a dream.” It’d been too long since he’d been here, balls deep inside a pretty girl. Let alone one probably half his age. 

You try to respond to him, but the words in your head die in your throat before you even have a chance to speak them. He pulls back out until there’s nothing but an inch or so of his cock left inside of you, and then thrusts in again, harder this time. That stupid blue chevy rocks beneath you. You moan loud, unable to hold it in— and that’s when his hand snakes up from your hip, covering your mouth from behind as he leans over your body once again. 

“Shh,” His lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. “You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. I’ve got neighbors.”

You whimper against his palm, letting your eyes close as he grinds his hips deeper inside of you. The hair growing back in at the base of his dick scratching against your skin burns in a way you’ll know you’ll feel it tomorrow. And he groans, letting himself get an eyeful of you. Fuck, you’re so pretty like this— bent over his truck, desperate and begging with just the rock of your hips. Taking everything he lets you have. He rocks his hips hard, steady, pushing deeper each time like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else. His pace is unrelenting as you clench around his cock. One of his hands slips down the front of your body and between your legs, deft fingers finding your clit. He starts working against that little bundle of nerves in tight little circles, and it’s enough to make you start seeing stars. The pressure in your stomach growing more taut by the second “That’s it, baby.” he grits out between his teeth. “Let me feel you cum. You’re squeezin me. I know you’re close.”

And that band finally snaps with a particular hard thrust of his hips, dragging against that spongy front wall of yours. You cum with a choked out cry against his hand, in which he just presses harder against your lips. Your body is clenching around him so hard he nearly follows you into euphoria right then and there. He drops his head to your shoulder, the hand on your hip sliding around your waist to hold you as close as he can. His thrusts are slowing, getting a little sloppier. There’s another slip of your name, and two more thrusts, before he buries himself deep inside of you one final time. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his nose against the nape of your neck as he spills inside of you. Cumming hard. 

You stay pressed against one another there for a second— both of you panting, trembling, bodies still resting over the hood of his stupid truck. After another minute passes, he pulls his head up and presses a kiss to your shoulder. He’s a little shaky and a little pussy-drunk. “Well,” he chuckles a bit. “This service is definitely going in an ad for the shop. Imagine the business boom.”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head just enough to catch a flash of his smile. “You put this in an ad and I’m keying your truck and the bike.”

He grins, curls falling every which way as he gives a gentle shake of his head. “Fair.” 

He tugs you upright as he pulls out. And then he’s tugging your clothes— at least your panties and jeans— gently back into place, pressing soft kisses to your neck like he’s trying to soothe the bruises he left behind. And then he’s stepping back, grabbing your bra from the side mirror to help slide it back up your arms. “Next time,” he says softly, turning you to work the clasp closed. He smiles as he reaches down, tugging his own jeans up and zipping them with a little hiss, “I’ll show you the actual bedroom.”

You arch a brow, teasing him. “Next time, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, grinning like he’s already planning it and knowing you aren’t going to object, “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

tags ;; @peachyproserpina @missjadesfics @iheartgrayson @meetmeatyourworst @punkrockmlchael @prettycalla @getaapologist

[munsonsmixtapes]

[munsonsmixtapes]

🥹🥹🥹

Good news, guys, I just reblogged allllllll the fics I had a list of on my phone (minus some where the usernames must’ve changed, rip 🥲) ❤️‍🔥🥰🤩

Big shoutout to a few of my faveeeee writers on here! (Not a comprehensive list — there are so many amazingly talented folks in this fandom 🥹🖤)

@malikat24601

@thepinkpanther83

@elegantpaperoperatormaker

@urhoneycombwitch

@wonderlandwalker

@lesservillain

@luveline

@rebelfell

@somnambulic-thing

@wroteclassicaly

@munsonsmixtapes

[munsonsmixtapes]

On Your Knees

actor!Johnny x PA!reader

summary: you're the PA on the set of Johnny's movie and you both decide to celebrate the movie wrapping differently than everyone else.

word count: 1.6k

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) oral (m and f receiving) Johnny calls reader a slut

special thank you to @the-witty-pen-name for proofreading!

Johnny checks his watch for what seems like the millionth time since he stepped foot into his trailer. He drums on his thighs as he looks around for something to keep him occupied as he waits for your arrival. Because if he’s being honest, you’ve been the best part of his day for weeks. You always come in with his coffee with that adorable shy smile so how could he not fall for you? 

He’s never felt like this about anyone before so he doesn’t know how to act-how to behave. He’d never actually admit it, but you make him nervous. Every time he wants to ask you out, he gets tongue tied even though talking to women has always been something he’s excelled at. 

But you have him blushing and all flustered-every single thought he’s ever had leaves his brain as soon as his eyes lock on you. It doesn’t matter what’s happening, he just loses his focus. How many times have they had to reshoot a scene because he couldn’t get his shit together because you were bringing someone their coffee? 

There’s a knock on his door and he throws himself onto the couch, making an awful attempt at trying to look cool for you. He’s laid out, legs stretched across the cushions. His arm is laying across the back and his other hand is in the pocket of his jeans. He knows he looks stupid, but the door is opening and he can’t get himself to move. 

“Hey, Johnny!” You greet and just hearing your bubbly voice makes his heart flutter. God, you’re such a sweetheart. You come into the trailer with his coffee and call sheet and he can’t stop staring at those tight shorts you’ve got on. And you’re so caught up in your duties that you don’t even seem to notice. 

“Hey,” he replies, standing from the couch, entirely unsure of what to do with himself. He decides to just put his hands in his pockets as he tries his best to remain casual. He doesn’t want to come off too strong or freak you out. 

“I’ve got your coffee-cream and sugar.” You set the cup on the counter by the couch and think to yourself that you’re finally going to do it. You’ve been crushing on him for weeks and have been trying to get the confidence to ask him out. But he’s Johnny Storm and you’re just a PA. Pretty soon, the movie will wrap and you’ll both be off to different jobs. 

“Oh, thank you.” He reaches for the coffee and takes a sip, nodding to himself before he smiles at you. He heads to the door and opens it for you, letting you lead the way to the set. 

He tries really hard not to stare at your ass as he follows you. He tries to not think about how badly he wants to lay you down and give you the best head of your life-to eat you out for hours. 

The thing is, he has no idea that you know that he has feelings for you. The man is not as subtle as he thinks he is but you think it’s cute. You appreciate that about him because too many men in the industry are the exact opposite and would have tried to get into your pants just to say they did. 

You thought the shorts would get his attention, but considering that he still hasn’t made a move, you’re beginning to think that maybe he just isn’t into you and that you read it all wrong. 

When you get to set, you stand off to the side, waiting to see if anyone needs anything. Johnny’s eyes are burning into you as they do last minute touch ups on his hair and makeup. So now you’re staring at each other, the tension between you palpable. 

Every time the camera’s not rolling, he’s looking at you like he wants to absolutely devour you and god do you wish he would. You want him to take you into his dressing room and violate you until neither of you can take it anymore. 

Neither of you are entirely sure who makes the first move or how it starts but as soon as his scene is done and the director has called a wrap, you’re both hurrying to find somewhere to take out all your pent up need for each other. 

The door to Johnny’s trailer bursts open, slamming against the wall as the two of you enter it. He’s pushing you inside as his tongue slides into your mouth. You let out a moan as you push him against the wall, hands moving down to his pants. You pull them down, along with his underwear as you drop to your knees. 

“You gonna suck me off, doll?” He asks as you spit into your hand, grabbing hold of the base of his cock. Your hand moves furiously as you look up, watching Johnny’s eyes flutter shut. 

“That depends…do you want me to suck you off?” 

“God, please,” he whines and you take him into your mouth with no hesitation. You lick and suck on the tip as his hands slide into your hair, holding onto the back of your head as you work. He’s never done this before-not with a PA, but the movie has wrapped and he thinks you both deserve a treat for working so hard. 

He thinks it’s safe to say that this is the best head he’s ever received. It’s sloppy and lazy but you’re making him feel the way no one else has. You’ve barely even done anything and his knees are already buckling. He’s so close to collapsing to the floor when you take all of him, letting it hit the back of your throat over and over. And you don’t even stop when you gag, tears streaming down your face because of the sheer size of him. 

“Fuck, so good, doll,” he whines, feeling dizzy as you finish him off, nails digging into your scalp as he finishes, the loudest moans falling from his lips as he does so. “I just knew you were a dirty little slut.” You pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop as you swallow, rising to your feet. 

“That was nothing. Just wait until I ride you and you’re the one who can’t wait tomorrow.”

“Jesus Christ." He’s at a loss for words. He knew you were a dirty girl but not like this. Johnny’s sure that he’s finally met his match.

“Now I think it’s my turn.” You head over to the couch and pull off your short and thong, throwing them both to the side as you spread your legs as wide as you can. “On your knees,” you command as you point to the floor. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nods and does as you say. Your cunt is right in his face and it’s sopping wet, looking good enough to eat. He puts a leg over each shoulder. Kissing up your thighs before diving right in. He goes straight for your clit, licking and sucking as he watches you. 

Your hands are holding onto the cushion beneath you as you slide down, giving him better access. And the moans that fall from your lips are practically angelic, making him even harder than he was before. 

Then suddenly, his fingers are inside, making even more of a mess of you as they pump faster and faster. He bites down and you swear you’re seeing stars as you mewl, your back arching as you do so. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced but that’s because no other man has ever eaten you out properly. 

Johnny bites down again and again, harder each time, not being able to fight the smug smirk when you come over and over, cleaning up your slick with his tongue every time. He could stay here all night and he honestly just might considering the very generous feedback he’s receiving. 

Your heels are digging into his back, thighs squeezing his head as you come yet again and now he thinks it’s about time he got inside you. 

“Fuck me,” you beg, as if somehow reading his mind and you don’t have to ask him twice. He removes himself from you and helps you lie back against the couch. You take off each other’s shirts and you take a moment to take each other in. 

He doesn’t even hesitate before he’s pounding into you, over and over. And you match his energy, bucking your hips against his as the couch shakes underneath you. You’re both desperate and needy, deciding that this is everything you thought it would be and more. 

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you,” he breathes as he’s pounding harder, hands white knuckling the arm of the couch that’s underneath your head. 

“I think I have a pretty good guess,” you reply, your hips bucking even harder and you’re both progressively coming undone with each thrust. Johnny is ahead of you, movements slowing as he gets closer and closer to his climax. 

He finishes first and you’re not far after, Johnny collapsing on top of you after he pulls out. You lie there for a while, your fingers moving through his hair as he traces patterns on your hip. He then cleans you up like the gentleman that he is and helps you get dressed before walking you to your car. 

“We should do this again sometime,” he says before giving you another kiss. 

“We should,” you nod in agreement. “But maybe after a date next time?”

“Are you asking me out, y/n?” 

“Yeah, I think I am.”

“Well, I accept.” You exchange phone numbers and he stands in the parking lot until your drive away, smiling to himself as he heads to his own vehicle because after weeks of pining, he’s finally got the girl.

taglist: @kinokomoonshine @misshale21 @glassbxttless @imnotevenhereatall @robinbuckleywife

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Posting a Johnny fic tonight!!

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Tumblr Fanfic Etiquette

A/N: I was not planning on posting this but I've been seeing a lot of hate in multiple fandoms, which prompted me to create this. Hopefully this educates people/newer users and prevents anymore hate from circling. Also please feel free to reblog or add on if you'd like to.

NO hateful messages. That's gotta be number 1. I don't care what you didn't like about the fic. Unfollow the writer or scroll past it. Do not spend your day/night leaving a hateful message because you didn't like X, Y, or Z. Just move on. It's not worth it and at the end of day, solves nothing.

Do not pressure writers to update a series or to write more. We all have a life outside of tumblr and you really don't know who's struggling with their mental health and who's not. -- Instead, opt for encouraging words like. "Hi. Just wanted to say I love your writing and can't wait to read more from you!" This let's them know you love their work without pressure.

If the writer specifically did not ask for it, DO NOT give them constructive criticism on a story or their writing in general. This is very, very rude. And even though your intentions might be pure, it's insulting.

If a writer has posted a standalone fic, please do not pressure them for a sequel. Especially if you didn't even reblog or give them any kind of feedback. Another option would be: "Hi. I really liked [name of fic]. Do you have any plans to turn [name of fic] into a sequel?

Do not befriend a fanfic author just because you think they can get your work more likes/reblogs/feedback, etc. No one likes to be used. This is just really shitty. Befriend people on here because you like them. Not because of what they can do for you.

Likes are nice, but reblogs are better. If you really like the author's writing, share their work or tell them via their ask box/dms how much it meant to you. Takes a second but means a lot.

If a fic author has a warning asking minors to not interact, respect it. Wait until your of age or find writers who are minors. Fanfic writers come in all sorts of age groups.

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I love your writing ❤️🥺.

Is so amazing

Omg thank you so much! 🥹

[munsonsmixtapes]

can I send a reaaaally long Johnny X Reader request?

Of course!

[munsonsmixtapes]

God why can’t this happen to me? 😩

Temperate In a Heat Wave

A/N: This contains no spoilers for the movie, though I have seen it. Thank you to @prettycalla for reading this in snippets as I made my way through, and for reminding me this should be fun, not technical. I hope you guys like this.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x female!reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Johnny needs a distraction. p in v sex, too many descriptions of heat. Likely inaccurate depiction of his state/powers but I'm writing on tumblr dot com, I hope you like it anyway.

Firelight flickered along the ceiling, the walls, a murky amber light cast from Johnny’s hand as he watched the flames leap and dance over his skin.

Imagining pain that didn’t come. Not anymore.

As you stirred, he glanced over. The soft, low glow illuminated your bare shoulder, the curve where it met your neck. The side of your face.

This was new ground, you staying over. He pushed for it, very nearly begged. The night had gone so well, he didn't want it to end.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

And you… you understood him. In a way very few did. He appreciated it endlessly, but didn’t know how to tell you.

This would have to do.

He watched as your face dipped into a frown, eventually settling into a soft smile. He mirrored it without thinking.

“Can’t sleep?” Your voice is still buried in sleep, as if you would drift off again if he didn’t answer. 

Cute.

“Just making the most of my time with you.” Your groan pushed his smile wider. “It’s the truth, doll.”

That spurred you into action as you moved, breaking your tenuous tie to the dreamscape and accepting that you were awake now. 

He moved his on-fire hand away from you as you moved overtop of him, your hands pressed into his chest, your gaze piercing.

“Bad dream?”

He didn’t look away, even if he wanted to. Flashing images filled his mind, reminding him of what had sent his adrenaline spiking, pulling him from his comfortable slumber. His free hand slid over your skin, settling at the base of your spine, fingers splayed wide. 

Searching for comfort.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You were ever so perceptive.

“Not particularly,” he admitted.

He expected that might frustrate you. He wasn’t trying to keep you out, but if he stood any chance of having a decent night’s sleep, he needed to push it from his mind.

And like always, you surprised him.

“Do you need a distraction?”

A distraction.

He swallowed. The look in his eye was all you needed to find your answer.

The fire went out, plunging the room into darkness. 

The anticipation was palpable. It was now a game of who would move first. Normally, any bit of competition would bring out his need to win, but in this… in this he was content to take a backseat.

As you slid up, a thigh falling between his legs, he took in a deeper breath.

Residual heat radiated from his hand as he brought it near, smoothing over the skin he’d been studying earlier. His fingers ghosted over the top of your arm, your shoulder.

As his eyes adjusted, the moon granted her light, streaming in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The silvery glow highlighted the intensity in your eyes, the affection.

His heartbeat quickened, his temperature ticking up a degree. By contrast, your touch soothed, your hands almost cold against his skin. 

He craved it.

His hand slid up the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, fingers slipping into your hair. 

“It’s late,” he spoke, offering you an out. 

Your eyebrows raised. You weren’t taking it.

He couldn’t help his smile, eyes falling shut as your hand slid up over his sternum and back down again. He felt your nose brush against his and he instinctively went for your mouth, his soft, full lips smoothing over yours. 

Every bit of your touch felt like stepping into a refreshing cold shower, your tongue like ice water filling his mouth. He didn’t know this kind of relief before you.

Slowly, he turned you over, onto your back. His full lips pulled at your neck, tongue hot on your skin as he settled over you. He moved slowly, almost lazily, chasing whatever sensations he could. 

His warm hands slid up the undersides of your arms, pushing them gently up, palms smoothing along your forearms to knit his fingers with yours above your head.

His lips dragged up, to your jaw, over to your lips. His groan rumbled in his chest, pressed to yours. 

He could be content with just this, for hours if you let him.

Your skin calmed his, temperatures equalizing the longer you both stayed skin to skin. Tempering him. Strengthening him.

“How do you do it?” He whispered, eyes settling on yours.

“Do what?” Your voice was a whisper. Eyes big and questioning, as if you were beholding a great wonder of the world, full of reverence.

“You make me feel like… like this is everything, the whole world, right here.”

“For me, it is,” you whispered, the simple explanation hitting him like double-digit G-forces, right in the chest. 

A bright, shining smile. “Oh yeah?” He released your hands, bracing himself as he reached down, fingers hooking behind your knee, drawing your leg out and up near his hip.

He watched you sigh, your lip pulled between your teeth, eyes fluttering shut as he shifted his hips, rubbing against you. Finding your heat.

This. This was his world. You. And it didn’t feel so scary to admit it anymore.

His grip became tighter, his temperature ratcheting up a few degrees as you pushed your face into his neck, his heated fingers sliding up the inside of your thigh.

The noises breathed into his skin gave him chills. 

“Good?”

Clumsy hands gripped his jaw and pushed him up so he could see you. Your incredulous look was seared into his brain for safekeeping. 

His cocky grin was a mile wide. “Sorry, doll. Just checking.”

You let out a whine as his fingers left you, but you weren’t left empty for long.

He forced his eyes shut as he pushed in, a strangled groan leaving his throat as your hands gripped his shoulder, his arm, squeezing tight.

He felt the sweat trapped against your skin, along the back of your legs. It beaded along your forehead, dampening your hairline. He could see the flush in your face and chest, visible signs of exertion. But anytime he slowed, anytime he thought about asking if you needed a minute, your grip tightened, thighs squeezing around his hips. As if to tell him he better not stop.

So he didn’t.

It felt like lava flowed through his veins, slow and sludgy, like everything had slowed down. Like minutes were hours, and millenia passed between breaths. If he was capable of overheating, this had to be what it felt like.

Foreheads pressed together, he shared your breath, heard your soft moans, your mumblings, your promises of ‘almost,’ and ‘just a little more.’

He didn’t care how long any of this took. Even if the room was sweltering, the whole floor getting warmer unbeknownst to him, he was delighted to be right here.

And the pleasure. He felt it in his toes, at the base of his spine. A sort of euphoria he only got when among the stars. It wasn’t usually this strong, this sustained. Only with you. 

“Johnny,” you breathed, hands flexing, slipping, sweat seeping from every pore. The stress in your voice raced down his spine. 

“Go ahead, baby,” he urged, lips pressing against your temple. 

He drew his hips up harder, a little faster, feeling your vice-like grip tighten just a bit more before your whole body tensed up, strangled moans leaving your throat.

He pushed his nose against yours, lips brushing over your parted ones, as if he were taking your moans into himself. Sharing it. Basking in it.

He wanted to meld with you, a permanent bond. 

You clenching around him sent him careening off the edge, his own measured state devolving into uneven thrusts, hips stuttering in the face of his own release.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, his voice almost a whine in your ear.

A few more thrusts was all it took.

A supernova. An explosion of light, visible through closed eyelids. That’s what he imagined, anyway. The only thing that came close to depicting the way he was permanently altered by you. 

His heart raced, adrenaline pumping as he clutched you closer, hands going to your cheeks. His eyes finally opened to search for yours.

You were right there, relaxed, a blissful smile on your face. 

A few soft pats to Johnny’s arm betrayed your exhaustion as you went limp beneath him, legs falling open. “Gonna feel this tomorrow.”

And just like that, he was disarmed. Back in that easy banter. Comfortable. Kept safe. Trusting you to stay near.

“You mean today?” He pressed a kiss to your throat.

Your soft giggles were music to his ears. “I’m so calling out of work.”

“Oh yeah? And what would your boss have to say about that?”

You groaned, pushing at his chest. “I think I have an in with leadership. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“An in, really?” he grinned, moving off you, sprawling over onto his back.

You looked over at him, smiling. “Yeah, unless you’re bored of me already.”

It was clearly meant to be lighthearted, but it rubbed Johnny the wrong way. He leaned up, his face propped up on his palm, eyes raking over your features.

“I could never be bored of you.”

You turned over onto your side, watching him, almost wary. “Really?”

He reached out and took your chin in his fingers, giving it a gentle nudge. “Really.”

Your soft smile was reward enough.

This. You. You were his whole world. And he knew would do anything to keep it that way.

Taglist: @mystic-alpaca @prettycalla @glassbxttless

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This was so cute! 🥹

It's a Spark

A/N: Well, my drought is kind of broken. This contains no spoilers for the movie, though I have seen it. I love Johnny Storm. That is all. This is inspired by a prompt from our cute little discord community (thank you @glassbxttless ). Thank you to @prettycalla for reading this and graciously letting me borrow her plot suggestion and also talking me off the ledge! I hope you guys enjoy it.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x female!reader (A dress is mentioned but nothing else descriptive)

Warnings: none. This is cavity-inducing fluff. But as usual, blog is 18+ in general, so.

This wasn’t going to plan. Did anything? Ever?

Spaceflight. Wonderful, a dream of his. Travelling among the stars. Beautiful. Until it wasn’t. Unexplained Cosmic radiation, that’s what they kept saying. A real turning point in Johnny’s life. It should’ve killed him. All of them. But it didn’t.

But this? Watching you turn around, waffle cone piled high with at least three different flavored scoops of ice cream? This felt like higher stakes than all of that other stuff. By a longshot.

You sparkled. It was just a regular day, one spent out of the Baxter building for once. It was unusual to see you out of the lab. He didn’t know which he preferred yet, but your soft smile and that pretty yellow dress was winning him over.

“What is that?” Johnny laughed, gesturing to your tower of scoops. 

“Oh, this?” you smiled up at him, hefting your cone. “Just the best possible combination of flavors.”

Perfect.

Johnny leaned back on the park bench, arm splayed out over the top of it, watching you as you sat down beside him. 

“Tell me all about it, doll,” he smiled.

This. This was what he needed. 

“Okay, so the ratio is important,” you explained, turning to him to show him the cone.

He wanted to pay attention to your careful analysis of ice cream flavors, but he liked watching you more.

“Separate? They’re okay. But together? Amazing.”

There was chocolate, obviously, you explained, the base of it all. The cake flavor, barely tolerable on its own, managed to taste a good bit like graham cracker when paired with the other flavors. There was a marshmallow flavored scoop as well, and the whole thing had a little dollop of marshmallow fluff on top.

“The only thing I haven’t figured out is how to get that smoky, toasted flavor. It’s the one thing keeping it back from tasting like a true smore.”

“Well you know, you do happen to be sitting next to the human torch,” Johnny raised an eyebrow, a smug smile on his face. “I think I can help you with your little problem.”

“You don’t have to waste your energy on this,” you waved him off.

“Wouldn’t be a waste,” he insisted, eyes locked on you. 

Not a waste. Not for you.

You hesitated, but eventually held out your cone to him. 

He removed his arm from the back of the bench and accepted the cone, holding it out in front of him. 

“Toasted marshmallow, coming right up,” he smiled, shooting you a confident smirk before lifting his free hand and producing the orange flames. 

The flames danced along the outside of his hand. He focused on the marshmallow fluff at the top and shot out a small amount of fire towards it, hoping to merely char it.

And that’s what would’ve happened if you hadn’t leaned over a little, mesmerized, your hand falling to his thigh.

The ice cream might as well have vaporized. Remnants dripped down his hand, falling to his jeans, his shoes. It was his own fault. He didn’t dare blame you. All you did was touch him innocently. 

His embarrassment raged, apologies tumbling from his lips as he turned to look at you. The temperature in his immediate vicinity shifted up a few degrees. He was not his usual cool, collected, smooth self. He was at a loss.

Your shock gave way to laughter, the sound almost musical to his ear. It was contagious. A small sigh left him before the corners of his lips turned up and he laughed along with you.

“You’re not mad?” Johnny asked, seeking reassurance.

“Not at all,” you answered, reaching for his cheeks, holding his face in your hands. “Sorry I distracted you.” More chuckling from you.

“Oh, you distracted me, did you?” His smile didn’t lessen. If he didn’t currently have ice cream all over his hand he might’ve pulled you into his lap. He wanted to.

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, okay,” he admitted, looking away, his cheeks going slightly pink. “You want another one?” He held the mostly empty cone up.

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was soft, tender, but lingering. “I’m okay. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He felt almost disappointed when you released his face, his cheek still tingling. 

“I can get rid of that,” you offered, reaching for the cone.

“I got it.” Johnny moved it out of reach, tipping it into his mouth. The melted cream really did taste pretty much like a smore. He took a bite out of the now-empty cone. “Well? Lead the way, doll.”

Taglist: @mystic-alpaca

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Just out of curiosity would you write a Peter Parker x Johnny Storm x Reader fic?

Depending on the version of Peter, I could defiantly be open to it!

[munsonsmixtapes]

I Keep Falling, Maybe Half the Time

A/N: Well, here we are. We know next to nothing, this was gleaned from conversations with @prettycalla and a fun scenario that developed. This is a companion piece to the fic @prettycalla might be working on........ I've used the 8-20 seconds of Johnny from trailers, etc to come up with this version of him. I cannot pretend to know what he's going to be like in the movie, but I just hope you can appreciate this version of him. This'll be my Johnny, probably regardless, even after the movie comes out. Thank you for reading. It means a lot. If you feel like chatting with me about him, by all means, please do! Maybe more to come? We'll have to see.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader

Warnings: none? Slight fluff? It's still early days here. But as usual, blog is 18+ in general, so.

“You alright, Johnny?”

There was nothing but care and concern in your voice, but it still made him bristle up in defense of his sour mood. It had nothing to do with you, and yet everything to do with you. Not that he’d confess that.

“I’m fine, I just want to get to work.”

He was not fine.

And over what? The flowers? Those dumb flowers that he wanted nothing to do with? That were for his sister? They said ‘Storm,’ what was he supposed to think?

Of course that brief moment of embarrassment wasn’t still currently haunting him, hours later. Because that would be…

Crazy.

Maybe he was a little crazy. It’s not the end of the world. At least he was high-functioning. It had been a couple days since he last set himself on fire, maybe he was due a flight to blow off steam. Maybe then this wouldn’t bother him so much.

You offered him a small, if uncertain smile, and nodded, unfurling the schematics the two of you had been working on the day before. Some plans for a new spacesuit. Something more hardy. Something better suited to their new selves.

Johnny got stuck for a moment, stuck watching you, as if this wasn’t a daily phenomenon. As if he hadn’t noticed you before. Even if this happened yesterday, and the day before that, and each day since you were assigned this role.

No. Work. Distraction from a distraction.

The plans. Schematics. Drawn up just yesterday, but it was like any information about them had melted and poured out of his ears.

He tapped his lower lip with the pen, mind racing, desperate to catch hold of some relevant knowledge to save him from this spiral.

Because it wasn’t the flowers, was it? It was more, something he was too afraid to say out loud–

“Have you thought about materials?” 

You interrupted his jumbled thoughts, saving him, as usual. Even if you didn’t know it.

“Materials. Right.” He scanned the schematic, his mind completely blank. A rare occurrence, but not one to celebrate. For as he tried to drum up compounds and fabrics, other thoughts filtered back in instead. 

Nothing scares him. He’s seen enough in his work. But you? 

Absolutely terrifying.

“Uh, this line here, we should use that hose, the black one, it’s… three-quarters.” He ducked down and scrawled in a tiny measurement beside the line in question.

“It’s five-eighths, actually,” you mumbled, worried the loose cannon was about to explode.

And explode, he did.

The pen clattered across the table and flew onto the floor, his hands spreading wide, threatening to scrunch up the plans laid out before you. Or set them on fire.

And when he looked up at you, you knew you were in for it. You steeled yourself for a rant about different hoses, or materials, or some other inane event that had clearly soured his day.

But nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his lips.

“Do you know no one’s ever bought me flowers? Ever?”

He looked at you like you held all the answers in the world. Like this was both your fault, and a problem he wished for you to solve, all at once.

“And, I know it’s more of a gift for a girl, but times are changing. Girls are asking guys out, surely that means it wouldn’t be weird for a guy to receive flowers–”

“Johnny?” you finally interrupted.

He looked up, pausing his rant. 

“Are you asking me to buy you flowers?”

“What? No, of course not, that’s not what I…,” he trailed off, turning his back to you, arms crossed over his chest. 

He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend like his heart hadn’t sped up minutely at the sight of the card sitting there waiting for him. It felt like a cruel joke, the way his hopes were so quickly tossed out, and having to own up to it to his own sister?

He wanted to leave. Itched to let loose and fly out of here.

But you. You were a problem he didn’t have an answer to. And maybe he never would.

“Just… don’t worry about it, okay? I need to… I have stuff I need to do.”

Before you could think of something to say that wouldn’t upset him more, he was out of the room, the door whirring shut gently.

As you knelt down to pick up the pen he’d thrown, you knew you’d have to make a stop on the way home.

The next morning, Johnny wandered into the kitchen, already making a beeline for the cabinet. He pulled out the box of bran flakes and dropped it on the counter. 

Breakfast of champions. Even if it tasted like cardboard.

“That’s not breakfast,” Ben chided, nursing a pan of soft-scrambled eggs. “Take some of these.”

“I’m fine, Ben,” Johnny sighed, but he couldn’t deny a small part of him appreciated Ben looking out for him. 

His eyes caught sight of the bright red petals, the arrangement sitting right where yesterday’s had. 

Taunting. Gloating on behalf of Sue, surely.

The small spark of hope in his chest was ground up and shoved down as quickly as he could manage, a brief flash of the embarrassment from yesterday enough to tamp it down.

“Delivery for you,” Ben gestured with his chin to the flowers. 

He scoffed, crossing the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge.

“They’re not for–”

“They’re for me,” Sue interrupted, earning an eye roll from her brother that she graciously chose to ignore.

Again? Once wasn’t enough? When would it stop? When their whole kitchen island was covered in the small flower arrangements? Who was this mysterious suitor after his sister?

“You hoping it’ll spontaneously combust?” 

Johnny turned back around, sour at the sound of his sister’s amused voice. He poured out a slightly unreasonable amount of cereal before adding just a bit more, setting the open box on the counter.

Nothing like bland bran to start the day.

“Come on, I’m only teasing.” 

Johnny could hear the smile in her voice, listened intently as the small envelope was opened, the card pulled out.

He could imagine the soft smile on her face. He couldn’t fault her for being so happy. He just…

He burned with envy.

The silence hung heavy, the only audible sound being the sliding of paper on paper as the card was placed back into the envelope.

He set the milk down and turned, risking a glance over his shoulder. The card was tucked neatly back in among the flowers.

Sue looked up at her brother for a moment, the look communicating everything. There was a flash of curiosity there too, but Johnny brushed it aside, abandoning his breakfast to walk cautiously around the island.

The flowers were big, layered densely with soft petals. They were vividly red. All he knew was that they weren’t roses. 

Sue offered him a small smile before walking away. She was always the more graceful loser.

Finally, Johnny’s eyes fell to the card. 

Storm.

But that handwriting was impossible to mistake as anyone else’s. 

His spirit dampened. You’d bought him pity flowers.

That’s what this was, right? His insane rant the day before had spurred you into action. As if the mere gifting of flowers was what he was after, and not… 

The intention behind them.

It was silly to ask that of you, and yet…

He really, really wanted it.

Because the city’s admiration of him paled in comparison to what it felt like to earn a laugh from you. And for a long time he resisted what that meant.

Johnny plucked the card from the arrangement and flipped it over, fingers sliding under the envelope flap, gripping the small card and tugging it free. He wanted to see what made Sue look at him like he was keeping secrets. Because he wasn’t, not that he knew of. 

Was he stalling? Yes. He knew he was, and yet he couldn’t bring his eyes to scan the handwriting he’d seen scrawled into margins on his reports, penciled into drafts of schematics and written a bit larger on bright orange sticky notes pasted to his workstation in your absence. That he absolutely, definitely did not have a drawer full of.

Read the card, already.

Johnny let his eyes lower and scan over the small square of cardstock, the blue pen vivid against the cream colored paper. 

I’m very happy to be your first, Johnny.

His fingers traced over your initials and he couldn’t get rid of the fluttery feeling in his stomach. He clutched his newest prized possession to his chest and darted off to his room.

“Who are they from?” Ben called out. When Johnny emerged from his room, now flower-less but tucking a dress shirt into his pants, Ben raised his eyebrows. He gestured to the sad, soggy bowl of bran flakes. “What about your breakfast?”

“Don’t want it!” Johnny answered, stepping into the elevator.

Johnny felt fired up, like he was going to burst into flames at any second, but that would be bad. He had no clue what he would say to you when he saw you. Nothing felt right. He might be good with numbers, but he was absolutely terrible with words.

As the door slid open, there you were, already hard at work. You were leaned over a worktable, fiddling with some circular steel fittings, wearing that yellow sweater he liked. 

Be cool.

As if he could be cool.

“Hey, I got some samples of different fabrics from R&D downstairs.”

Your smile was warm, small, comfortable. It sent his heart fluttering, like it always did.

Johnny couldn’t care less about the space suit right now. He had other things on his mind. He moved without a second thought. Normally overthinking everything, in this he was free.

“Johnny?”

His hands were almost hot on your skin as he pulled you in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. It was simple, quite chaste, but it blew through silent barriers that had been maintained all this time.

He felt the tension under his hands, his worry immediately flaring up as his hands fell to your shoulders, down to bracket your upper arms. Craning his neck as if trying to inspect some damage he’d done.

Idiot. Fools rush in? Is that how it goes?

“So… you got the flowers?”

He looked up, his gaze catching on the corners of your lips as they rose.

What a smile.

His cold, stifling worry was replaced by nervous warmth, sparking up with each heartbeat.

“I got the flowers.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

Right Where You Left Me (2)

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

cw: mention pregnancy and grief

part one

22 Years Old 

San Francisco

You pace back and forth in the hospital waiting room. You’ve never liked hospitals, but you guess you can make an exception just this once. Your brother, Matthew, and his wife, Caroline, are expecting their first child and you can’t help but be excited. You’ve been waiting for this moment since they announced that Caroline was pregnant and now you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Your parents are nowhere to be found which isn’t surprising. They haven’t really kept in touch with you nor Matthew since he got married. They never approved of Caroline or her piercings or tattoos and now they’re going to miss one of the happiest moments in their son’s life because they just can’t accept that he’s happy. 

It’s just you in the waiting room and Caroline’s family is on the way. You haven’t seen them since Thanksgiving so you’re really looking forward to reuniting with them. They’ve always been so kind to you and Matthew but especially so when your parents cut the both of you out of their lives. They invite the two of you to everything which you’re so grateful to have since both families that you had were torn apart. 

You barely remember what happened with the Fisher’s. After Susannah’s passing, it seemed like there wasn’t much of a reason for you to keep going over there during the summer. Especially when everything between you and Conrad blew up. You and Belly tried to stay in contact but it was just getting difficult with your senior years being so busy. So you inevitably drifted apart as well. It seemed like Susannah was the glue that held you all together.

You weren’t really that close to Steven nor Jeremiah so you didn’t really keep in touch with them either. You’re pretty sure the last time you saw them was Susannah’s funeral which was a little over five years ago. Come to think of it, that was the last time you saw Conrad as well. Being there was the hardest thing you ever had to do, but you felt like you owed it to Susannah. That was who it was about, after all. 

You weren’t even a part of the fight, but it crushed you seeing Belly and Conrad arguing. And when she told him to go to hell, you knew you had to get involved, pulling Belly away before things could get ugly. The two of you left and sat on the beach while you cried in each other’s arms. Your friendship kind of faded out after that. And there was nothing you could have done to prevent it either. Things with school picked up after that and then you both went off to college, only catching up by having coffee once every few months. 

You stare down at the text thread between the two of you, the last time you talked having been last year when you were staying in a hotel room together for her cousin’s wedding. She and Jeremiah were on a break, so she invited you to be her plus one. It was the most fun you’ve had in a while and now you feel bad for not even telling her that your brother was having a baby. 

You decide to send her a quick text with a photo of yourself attached to let her know the good news. 

Guess who’s going to be an aunt?!

Once the message is sent, you swipe to your other messages, scrolling down as your thumb hovers over your thread with Conrad. You take a deep breath then tap on it, scrolling through your messages with him, wondering where everything went so wrong. You were so close at one point, him being one of the first people you’d want to tell good news to, but now you’re just strangers. You wonder if you should text him and ask how he’s doing. Maybe you could invite him for coffee since you’re both in the same city for once. 

At least, he was here the last time you checked. He’s not really a social media guy so you really have much of a way to keep up with him. The last time he even posted a photo on instagram was the year before Susannah passed and he only posted it because she asked. It was a picture of all of you with the caption “my family” with a red heart. You long for those days when everything wasn’t so complicated.

You go to type out a message when you hear someone calling your name. You’d recognize that voice anywhere and now you’re wondering if it’s just your mind playing a cruel trick on you. You’re too scared to turn around and luckily, your phone pings with Belly’s reply. 

Congratulations!! Give Matthew and Caroline my love!! 

You smile and lock your phone when you feel him behind you. You slowly turn around and he’s even more beautiful than you remember. He looks much older, like an actual adult now. But he’s still somehow the same Conrad from when you were kids. He’s still got that boyish smile that you’ve always adored. 

You say nothing and suddenly, you’re in each other’s arms, squeezing tight. It’s not at all awkward like you have thought and you stay like that for a while before reluctantly pulling away. You’re both smiling like you didn’t have a huge fight the last time you saw each other. After you and Belly came back from the beach, you chewed him out, saying the most horrible things because of how badly he hurt the both of you. It felt like he just thought the whole thing was a fucking game and you needed him to know how you truly felt. 

Conrad can’t seem to look away from you, wondering how you somehow got even more beautiful in the years you’ve spent apart. He wonders if you’ve missed him as much as you’ve missed him. He wonders if you lie awake at night, itching to text him and tell him how much you regret what happened just like he does. If you imagine the two of you cuddled in each other’s arms, falling asleep to the rhythm of each other’s breath. 

He knows how badly he screwed up all those years ago and he regrets not making a choice and just stringing you and Belly along. Because neither of you deserved that and deep down, he knows it’s always been you.  From the moment he saw you, you were his first and only choice. He did love Belly at one point, but you were the one who never left his mind. 

If he had the chance, he’d do it over. He would have made it clear that you were it for him and maybe the two of you would be together now. Maybe you’d be living together in the shitty apartment that you can barely afford and you’d eat dinner together after work and then afterwards, you’d watch a movie on your couch, all snuggled up together like you were that one summer all those years ago.

“You look amazing,” is what he decides to say and your cheeks heat. Even after all these years, he still manages to make your heart flutter and you hate it. You should hate him, but you just can’t. He hurt you so badly but you can’t find it in your heart to resent him for it. Because deep down, you know that it wasn’t on purpose. And that’s what hurts the most-that there was no malicious intent and that he really didn’t have any idea what he was doing. 

“Thanks, so do you. The lab coat is a good look for you.” 

“Really?” He asks with a chuckle as he stuffs his hands into the pockets. 

“Really,” you nod. “Doctor Fisher has a nice ring to it.” His cheeks flush at the compliment and he’s surprised how easily you’re able to slip back into conversation. 

“Thanks. So, what are you doing here?” He’s curious now and considering how upbeat you are, he’s hoping it’s good news. 

“Matthew and Caroline are having a baby.” You say with a grin and he loves seeing you smile. He hopes you’re happy with whatever you’re doing in your life. Even if he’s not in it. 

“That’s great!” he says with a bright smile. He was really hoping that they were going to make it despite your parents disapproval. He knows he should probably head back to work but he’s got a few more minutes of his lunch break to catch up. Just when he’s about to speak again, a huge group of people enters the waiting room. They’re all saying your name and Conrad steps back as they each take turns to give you a hug. 

“There’s my special girl,” Evelyn, Caroline’s mother says as she gives you a squeeze. She reminds you so much of Susannah in the way she treats you-so welcoming and caring. She’s easily become a mother figure to you since you’ve lost both of yours and you honestly don’t know what you would do without her. 

“And who might you be?” She asks, turning to Conrad and you’re trying your best to give him an out. You know he has to get back to work and don’t want to keep him any longer, especially since Evelyn is a yapper. 

“Conrad Fisher, ma’am,” he puts his hand out for her to shake and she goes straight in for a hug before pulling away. 

“Evelyn Miller,” she replies. “Now how do you know our y/n?” She asks, her arm wrapping around your shoulder protectively. 

“We used to be friends. Our beach houses were down the street from each other so we used to spend every summer together.” 

“Oh, I believe she’s mentioned you once or twice. She told me about how you replaced that book she loved so much as a child when it fell into your pool.” You still have it on your bookshelf somewhere. When your grandparents passed and your parents sold the beach house, you took the book with you. And every time you’ve moved since then, you haven’t been able to get yourself to get rid of it. Even though things didn’t work out with Conrad, that book holds so many fond memories that you can’t ever let go of. 

“Right,” he nods, loving that that was the story you shared and not the one where he broke your heart. You’d never be that cruel, he knows that much. You’ve always talked so highly of him even though he doesn’t deserve it. “That’s one of my favorites.” The timer on his phone goes off and he’s dreading going back to work even more now because he wants to catch up, to talk with your new family. 

“Well, I have to get back to work, but it was lovely meeting you all, and seeing you, y/n.” His eye contact with you is so intense, like he’s trying to tell you something with just a look. 

“We’re all having dinner next week to celebrate the new baby, if you’d like to come,” Evelyn says and you’ve never wanted the ground to swallow you up more than you do at this moment. It isn’t shocking for her to do something like this and you can’t even be mad because there’s absolutely no malicious intent behind it. She just thinks she’s inviting one of your friends to dinner. She has no idea that things have gone sour between you and that you haven’t spoken in years. 

Conrad is completely caught off guard by the invitation and he turns to you to figure out how to respond. You’re nodding vigorously and he never would have expected you to say yes. He would have thought that you would have wanted him as far away from you as possible. He really doesn’t deserve you. 

“Yeah, I’d love to.” Evelyn’s face lights up at that and he knows that he made the right choice. 

“Perfect!” She replies. “Y/n can give you all the information. Well, it was lovely to meet you, Conrad.” 

“And you as well,” he nods. “Y/n,” he gives you a nod as well before turning on his feet, hurrying down the hallway and leaving you alone with your family. They’re all asking a million questions and you don’t know how to answer any of them since this is neither the time nor the place. Because right now, you want to focus on the reason why you’re there, not Conrad Fisher.

-

Elizabeth Grace is born a few minutes after two o’clock in the morning and she’s even more precious than you imagined. As soon as you hold her in your arms later in the morning, you feel so lucky to have her in your life. It’s then that you decide that you’re going to spoil her rotten. You’re going to be the cool aunt. 

You pass Elizabeth off to the next Miller sibling and can’t help but smile as you see how lovingly your brother and Caroline look at each other. Just from the way he talked about her when they first got together, you just knew it was meant to be. And now here they are, years later with their baby girl and you couldn’t be more happy for them. 

You head down to the cafeteria thinking about Conrad about how uncomfortable Evelyn made him feel. She always means well, but she often comes off a little too strong to strangers. You could tell he was caught off guard but you knew it would just be easier if he accepted the invitation because Evelyn is nothing if not insistent. 

You go to send him a text and see that you have a message from him and one from Belly. You go to Belly’s first because you know exactly what she’s going to say. You had sent her a photo of Elizabeth. 

Oh, she’s precious!! Can’t wait to give her a squeeze!!

You hesitantly go over to Conrad’s message after hearting Belly’s and your heartbeat quickens at his words. 

It was great seeing you.

Oh, you’re going to be thinking about this for a long time. You quickly type out a reply then search the cafeteria for Meg. 

Conrad is on his lunch break when he sees your reply. He had typed out his text so many times, backspacing again and again because he was overthinking as always. He’s discussed you in therapy more times than he can count and his therapist has been telling him that he’s allowed to forgive himself and he thinks the only way he can do that is by trying to be friends with you and Belly again. He doesn’t think he can fully forgive himself until you and Belly are part of his life again. 

You too! Btw, here’s Evelyn and Peter’s address before I forget! I know you probably don’t want to come so if you change your mind, I’m more than happy to tell them that you got called into work!

God, you’re still as sweet as ever and he feels like even more of a jackass because of it. He hurt you so bad and you’re still so fucking nice. He hates it. You’re supposed to hate him and he’s confused because you don’t seem to anymore. You said that you did the last time you saw him. He already knew he fucked up but those three words really solidified it for him. 

No, I’d love to come! I’d love to see Matthew and Caroline and you, of course. I’d also love to officially meet the rest of the family. They all seem really nice. 

Okay…but don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’re going to want to play games and they are all super competitive. 

I love games, you know that. I’m coming and you can’t stop me. 

Okay. I’ll see you later, Fisher. 

-

Conrad’s nothing but nervous as he stands on Evelyn and Peter’s front porch. And he’s only nervous because you’re here. It feels weird but exciting to see you again. He doesn’t care if this is the last time he ever sees you-he just wants everything to go right this time. If he had it his way, he’d pull you into his arms and tell you that he loved you before kissing you like he’s never kissed anyone before. 

But he can’t do that. He’s gotta tread lightly. He needs to get you to trust him again. He thinks being just friends is the right move here. As much as he would love to be more, he just doesn’t think that’s possible.

The front door opens and Evelyn is on the other side, ushering Conrad inside before shutting the door behind him. Everyone is already there and once his eyes lay on you, everything else is forgotten. You’re wearing a dress and he swears his brain short circuits because of how beautiful you look. 

“We’re so happy that you’re here,” she tells him but he can barely hear what she’s saying because when he hears you laughing at something Matt’s sister says. He can’t help but smile at that. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed hearing it until now. 

“I’m happy to be here,” he replies and Evelyn introduces the family as they all crowd around Conrad. He would normally feel overwhelmed, but here, he feels comfortable-like he fits right in. 

He looks so good that you can’t help but stare at him. He’s wearing a black button up tucked into a pair of black slacks and black dress shoes on his feet. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and you have to admire how nicely he cleans up. And he’s so polite to your family which is so important to you. 

“And of course you know y/n,” she smiles and Conrad steps closer to you. You’re the first to make a move, pulling him into a hug. He could stay here all night, so captivated by whatever perfume you’re wearing. This is the most comfortable he’s felt in so long. 

“Thanks for coming,” you say. You clearly have no idea that he’d still do anything you asked. You have no idea how much he loves you-that that feeling never left. He’s been pining for you for so long that it doesn’t matter who he gets under, he’s still not over you. 

“Yeah, of course,” he replies as you pull away. You flash him your signature smile and he can’t help but match it. “You look beautiful.” Your eyes widen at his compliment, clearly not expecting it which is a shame because you should know by now that Conrad will never pass up an opportunity to compliment you. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself. You clean up nice.” You’re trying so hard not to go overboard, his compliment replaying over and over. You’re going to let this go or your head, inflating your ego even more. 

“Thanks.” His cheeks are turning pink and you reach up and pinch one of them before following Evelyn into the dining room where the table is already set, the main dish and separate bowls in the center of the table. Everyone takes their seats and of course the only one available when Conrad gets to the table is to the left of you. 

You pull the chair out and pat the seat with that bright smile and he immediately sits down. It reminds him of the summer house and how you would always end up sitting next to each other, giggling as you shared inside jokes. 

You serve yourselves as everyone tries to make small talk with Conrad. He’s nothing but polite as he answers their questions and you hate how you’re tearing up because you just know that Susannah would be so proud of the man her son turned into. 

“So you’ve been friends since you were kids?” Johnny, Meg’s husband asks. “That’s really sweet.” 

“Yeah! We actually briefly dated for a time but we decided we’d be better off as friends.” you answer and Conrad’s grateful for it. You’re still doing your best to not make him look bad and he has no idea why. Every other girl he’s broken up with would jump at the chance to shit talk him. And they have every right to do so. He’d been such a dick in the past and he just wished he could take it all back. He wishes that he had the chance to apologize to every single one of them. 

“That’s a shame,” Evelyn says. “Y’all would be so cute together.” You and Conrad share a look and you feel like he’s thinking the same thing as you. Just the way his face looks pained, like he’s longing for what was. You don’t know if he’s been feeling that way all along or if he’s just caught up in the moment. You swear you see his eyes glance down at your lips and that’s when you have to get yourself to look away. You can’t get sucked in again. Because as much as you would love to let him back in, you just can’t. 

You’ve been hurt for too long to let him reel you back in with those damn hazel eyes and sweet words. Not this time. He’s just going to hurt you again, you know it. You’ve both grown up so much, but you still don’t feel like it’s meant to be. If anything, you can just be friends. That’s all. 

-

Dinner goes much better than you expected. Everyone seems to love Conrad and you’re not surprised. He’s easy to talk to and actually seems interested in what they’re all saying. He fits right in, which can't be said for all your other exes. 

You were all laughing, like you do this all the time-well, you do, just not with Conrad. It feels nice seeing him laugh, seeing him have some sort of enjoyment since Susannah passed away. He looks good, great even. He looks happy. 

He follows you to the kitchen where you set your dishes in the sink. You offer to wash them for Evelyn since it’s the least you can do and you’re surprised when you see Conrad next to you, drying the dishes that you set on the drying rack. 

You scrub the plate in your hands, trying so hard to not think about how close your bodies are. How his shoulder keeps brushing yours. And when your fingers touch as you pass him the plate, you both stare at each other until you finally let the plate go. 

Conrad looks down at the plate as he dries it, trying so hard to keep the smile off of his face. It’s as if no time has passed at all and you’re at the summer house, washing dishes after dinner. You can still practically hear the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen, the laughter and soft voices of everyone talking. You long to be there again even though you know that will never be an option. That chapter of your life is closed along with any chance of ever being with Conrad Fisher again. 

-

The car is completely silent besides the soft music playing on the radio. You don’t remember the last time you were in this car. Or maybe you do and just want to pretend that you don’t because it hurts too much to think about the past. Especially anything having to do with Cousins. 

It was just your luck that your car wouldn’t start and of course, Peter just had to suggest that Conrad take you home since “He’s on the way, right?” And because Conrad is a gentleman, there was no way he’d say no. So you reluctantly got in his car after Peter promised that he’d fix it for you later in the week. 

You and Conrad steal glances the entire trip to your apartment. You apparently don’t live very far from him which is not information you feel like you should know. Seeing him at the hospital was just a coincidence and tonight-well, that was just Evelyn meddling like she always does. It’s clear that she’s trying-and failing-to set the two of you up. 

Conrad pulls into a spot that’s right in front of your building and your shocked that he’s walking you up. Other men have never done that. And if they have, it’s because they’ve expected something in return. But Conrad? No, he just wants to make sure that you’re safe. 

You’re standing outside your door, looking for your keys and Conrad takes this moment to really take you in. That dress is killing him and god have the years been nice to you. He’s always thought you were attractive, but tonight, you look breathtaking. 

He steps closer when you find your keys and his body is moving faster than his brain. He’s staring at your lips and before he can decide whether or not he should go for it, he’s leaning in. 

“What are you doing?” You ask with a chuckle and his face turns white. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this embarrassed in his life. 

“I was just-” He can’t come up with an excuse. You both know what he was doing so there’s no denying it. He thinks maybe he should just go and leave it at that. “Maybe I should just go.” 

He’s turning away, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment. He can’t believe he just did that. You’ve been back in his life for a little over a week and he blew it yet again. What was he thinking? Why the fuck would he think that you’d want to kiss him? You haven't seen each other in over five years and now he thinks he can just do that because he has dinner with your family? 

You don’t know what you were thinking. You wanted him to kiss you but were afraid that maybe you’d be making a mistake. As you watch Conrad walk away, you’re sure of it. You feel like maybe you should have just gone for it. You should have just let him kiss you because now that’s all you can think about. 

So before you can stop yourself, you’re chasing after him, calling his name. You grab hold of his wrist as he turns around, pulling him to you. He’s so caught off guard by your actions but has barely any time to register what you’re doing before your lips are on his. 

He smiles against your lips as his arms wrap around your waist, yours around his neck. This is everything he’s wanted for years and more. It’s sweet and gentle and maybe a little awkward. But you stay like that for a while, completely wrapped up in each other, neither of you wanting to be the first to pull away. 

You only pull away because you need to breathe but you decide that maybe that was enough excitement for one evening. You both stand there in the hallway, staring at each other as your chests rise and fall from trying to catch your breath. 

“Goodnight, Conrad,” you say with a nod and he can see that you’re trying your very best to keep that beautiful smile off your face. Why, hell never know. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” he replies, mimicking you and he waits until you’re inside your apartment before letting himself break out into a grin as he heads for the elevator. And he’s thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’s still got it.

taglist : @wertyuizxcvbnm @fleintur @winharry @im-damnedifidogiveadamn @almostjollypizza

[munsonsmixtapes]

One on the Way

Johnny Storm x fem!reader

This is part two to One of Our Own

cw: mention of pregnancy

You stand in your bathroom as the kitchen timer on the counter tick tick ticks away. You’ve been waiting for this moment and weren’t exactly surprised when you missed your period. But now as you wait for your test results, you’re increasingly becoming anxious. What if you’re just extremely late and there’s no baby at all? You chew on your bottom lip, your foot tapping along to the ticking of the timer. 

There’s a knock at the door and you knew that doing this in the Baxter Building, but you had bought the tests on your way there and just couldn’t wait. You’ve been in here for quite sometime so you’re sure that whoever is on the other side is just worried. You hesitantly open the door and let out a sigh of relief when you see Sue. 

The door is open just enough for you to stick your head out and she gives you a look, like she knows what you’re up to. You both say nothing and you open the door letting her inside. The timer is still ticking-only one minute left to go now-and you grab hold of her wrist, leading her over to the test. 

You turn to face her and all she does is smile at you, almost as if she’s proud. 

She knew the moment you walked in the door. Something was different. She could just tell by the way you were carrying yourself. Well that, and she saw the pregnancy test box sticking out of your purse. And she’s so happy for you-for Johnny. She knew her brother would settle down eventually and she’s so glad that he has you. You’re the person who completes their little family and she’s more than excited to welcome a new member.

“I knew it,” is all she says before pulling you in for a hug. She squeezes you tight before letting you go then turns back to the test. “Congratulations.”

“We don’t even know if it’s positive yet,” you tell her, not wanting either of you to get your hopes up just yet. 

“But it will be.” You both turn back to the test and suddenly, the two pink lines appear and you’re both smiling from ear to ear. Her hand reaches up and rubs your back as her head leans on your shoulder. “You’re going to be a great mom. Now come on, let’s go tell everyone the good news.”

“Just a second.” You pick up the test and can’t help but smile wide. You’re going to be a mom. You and Johnny are going to have a little family of your own, just like you’ve always wanted.

Sue leads you out into the living room where everyone is gathered and you show Johnny the test, tears welling up in your eyes. He stands up from the couch and spins you around, giggles pouring from both of your mouths. And when he sets you down, he peppers your face in kisses before finally pressing his lips to yours. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” he says against your lips as his hands move to your stomach. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” you repeat, the two of you sharing another kiss before the other three gather around you in a group hug, every single one of them looking forward to having another member of their little family.

taglist: @kinokomoonshine @misshale21 @glassbxttless @imnotevenhereatall @robinbuckleywife

[munsonsmixtapes]

It was as a pleasure as always, ma’am!

The Bat

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k+

summary: You’ve convinced Eddie to spend his day off tour at the mall— and Eddie’s determined to win his Cryptid of a wife, her plush counterpart.

warnings: eddie’s on tour! lots of “my wife” comments, lots of love for eds n bats

notes: Thanks to @wheels-of-despair for this one! Eddie n Bats needed some love! Big thank you to @munsonsmixtapes for lookin this baby over and to @peachyproserpina for editing! This was the last thing I had queued, so I definitely will not be posting as often from here on out!

You’ve learned pretty quickly that tagging along on Eddie’s first tour is less like being on a glamorous rock n roll adventure that he promised you and more like babysitting the very loud, very dramatic man-child you married in a different city every other day. It’s been a lot of shitty motel beds, van naps, and late nights in grimy bars where the music vibrates so loud you feel it in your bones. But today— his day off— by some small miracle, you’ve managed to convince him to have a normal afternoon at the mall, mostly because he ripped the knee out of his last pair of jeans last night by jumping off something he really shouldn’t have been jumping off of.

So here you are, somewhere in Missouri, walking through a mall that smells like Auntie Anne’s pretzels and Orange Julius. You’re lugging a Hot Topic bag full of Eddie’s new black jeans and socks while he insists on carrying nothing but his own soda. Lunch at the food court went as you had expected. He had stolen most of your fries, made loud comments about how “corporate America is brainwashing us with sesame chicken,” and somehow got into a debate with the Panda Express cashier. You’re halfway to the exit, exhausted by the day you’d just had, when he stops dead in his tracks.

“Oh shit,” he breathes out, breaking into a grin.

You look around, expecting— you know— a rabid fan? Or maybe a security guard about to throw you both out. But no. Eddie’s eyes are fixed on a claw machine next to the photo booth. It’s stuffed full of colorful plush toys. Bright blue Care Bears. Strawberry Shortcake dolls with those creepy little faces. Neon horses. And smack in the middle of it all, almost camouflaged between all of the colors, is a tiny black bat with shiny wings and big beady eyes.

“Bats,” he whispers, his eyes shining as he turns to you. He reaches out to clutch your arm. “Do you see it? That little guy is you. That is my wife. In plush form.”

You snort, trying to keep a straight face and not roll your eyes. “Oh my god, Eddie, please don’t—”

But it’s already too late to plead with him. He’s patting himself down for quarters and tugging out his wallet.

The first dollar yields a Strawberry Shortcake.

“Well,” he says, holding it up like it’s diseased, “you don’t smell like plastic fruit, so this can’t be you… But you can put it with your dolls, I guess.” He shrugs and drops it to the floor.

The second dollar produces a purple Care Bear.

“Nope,” he declares with a sigh, tossing it on top of the doll. “You’re way more goth than this guy.”

The third? A stupid neon green horse. Eddie pulls it out and scowls at it. “What the hell is this? I didn’t marry a horse. This machine is mocking me now, I swear.”

By now he’s kneeling on the floor, with his forehead practically pressed to the glass, muttering something about “the anti-bat agenda.” You just lean against the side of the machine, sipping your soda as you watch him, thoroughly enjoying the sight of your husband unraveling this rapidly in a Missouri mall.

Eddie just ignores your looks and shoves another dollar into the slot. Nothing. Then another. More brightly-colored rejects hit the pile.

By his eighth try, he’s looking up at you, hair in his face, completely serious and maybe a little heartbroken. “You deserve this bat, okay? You deserve this bat more than anyone in this goddamn mall deserves anything. I’m not walking out of here until I’ve claimed him in your name.”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe by the time he hits attempt number eleven. This time the claw actually hooks around the bat’s wing and Eddie’s entire body goes rigid.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” he whispers, biting his lip, as though he’s definitely watching a miracle about to happen. The claw rises slowly and the bat dangles in the air. It wobbles just a bit. “Don’t you fucking dare drop,” Eddie hisses under his breath, trying to keep his voice low. “You stay there. I’m trying to win you for my wife, you little bastard.”

It sways once more… and then drops perfectly into the chute where he wants it. Eddie lets out a triumphant whoop that echoes all the way to the pretzel stand as he throws his hands in the air. Then he kneels dramatically and retrieves the bat like he’s pulling Excalibur from the stone and not a tiny plush toy from a claw machine. He spins toward you, his hair flying, and then he thrusts it into your hands with a grin so big it almost looks fake. “There,” he says softly and slightly breathless. “For my little cryptid wife. The most beautiful bat in all of Missouri.”

You clutch that stupid little bat to your chest, grinning at him like this was the most valuable thing he could’ve ever given you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re welcome,” he counters proudly, hands sitting on his hips.

You’re still giggling as he scoops up the pile of rejected plushies and stuffs them into one of the shopping bags.

“These guys are coming with us on tour too,” he announces with a shrug, holding a free hand out for you to take. He kisses your temple and starts to name them as you walk away from the machine. “This one’s Strawberry Steve. This Care Bear’s Frank. And this horse? This horse owes me all of my money back for making me play that thing eleven times.”

You just shake your head as you listen to him ramble on, clutching the little bat to your chest. You walk in step with one another, wondering how you’re ever supposed to keep a straight face around him for the rest of your life— and just as you thought your mall trip was coming to an end, he veers you toward the photo booth. He drops your hand to slide his arm around your shoulders and nudge you right along to the booth without even asking.

“We have to,” he grins down at you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Do we really though?”

“Oh, we do,” he insists with a nod, already fishing one of his last crumpled dollars out of his pocket. “Bats, it’s a law. A mall law.”

You sigh dramatically and before you can say anything else, he’s already ducking inside the booth, squishing himself onto the little bench and patting the spot beside him. The curtain barely closes behind you before he’s feeding a dollar into the slot. “This is for the ages,” he grins, resting the bat on his knee like it’s the newest member of the family.

The first flash catches you mid-giggle, Eddie’s sticking his tongue out and holding the bat between you. In the second photo, he pretends the bat is whispering secrets to him while you cover your face, laughing so hard you can barely sit still. For the third photo, he insists you both look as serious and dramatic as possible while he holds the bat above you— which lasts about two seconds before he accidentally drops the bat on his head and you double over, both of you grinning like idiots as the camera clicks. And in the last one… he surprises you. Just as the light goes off, he drops the bat, leans over and kisses you, soft and unhurried. His hand cups your cheek gently, thumb brushing across your cheekbone, like he’s already forgotten about the camera completely.

When the machine spits the strip out, he grabs it and holds it up proudly to inspect each photo. “This is art,” he announces. “This belongs in the Louvre. Or… at least on my wall of fame.”

On the way back to the hotel, he keeps glancing down at the photos in his hand. He runs his thumb over them every few steps, smiling to himself. Once you’re inside the room, he drops the shopping bag of his jeans on the chair, grabs his duffle, flops down cross-legged on the floor in front of his guitar case, and fishes around in his duffel bag until he finds a little roll of black electrical tape.

With great care— his tongue poking out in concentration— he opens the case, tips his guitar up to expose the back, and tapes the strip to the underside, right next to a faded sticker you’d given him a year ago, and a couple of old venue wristbands knotted through the strap.

“There,” he says finally, his voice soft, leaning back to admire it. “Now you’re always gonna be on tour with me. Officially.” Then he takes the little bat and nestles it on top of the duffle-bag, its shiny little wings sticking out awkwardly.

You head for the shower and take your time washing the day away, and when you come back out— wearing one of his old shirts— he’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, elbows on his knees, just watching you step out of the door.

And it’s quiet.

There’s no smirking coming from him, no wisecracks. Just Eddie looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky just for him. “You’re something else,” he mumbles, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

You stand there for another moment, and then he reaches out lazily, tugging you down into his lap. He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his forehead against yours, holding you there like he never plans to let go. “Don’t know how I ever got this lucky,” he breathes out, his fingers curling around the hem of your shirt, his thumb tracing up and down your spine in slow, absent circles.

And when you glance over his shoulder at his— the photo strip taped in place and the little bat perched proudly on top of his bag— you realize this is what he really wanted all along.

A little piece of home to carry with him, wherever he goes.

tags ;; @jj-155 @joyfullyswimmingface @emxxblog @autumneva @samslvrgirl @ironmusictrash @hazydespair @littlemissholy @prettycalla @vinecstasy @thorins-queen-of-erebor @keeryhours @beau-hawkins @preciouslosers @amanitacowboy @crybabyddl @jeangeniex @thejordiverse @kripkie101-blog @robinbuckleywife @dancininseptember

[munsonsmixtapes]

sorry if you read my fics and you see the same very specific phrases over and over again

[munsonsmixtapes]

He's the best Johnny Storm for me and no one can change my mind