joeymunsondjo

[joeymunsondjo]

New Idea!

so, had this idea last night that kept me up wanted to share and see if its something people want to see.

thinking something like reader has a toddler called Gracie (its not my real name so i can absolutely call her Gracie sue me) and she met joe a year after giving birth to Gracie who has a complicated relationship with her biological dad since he has a drinking problem sometimes she is scared sometimes she misses him. but reader has been with joe for 2 years now and is pregnant with7 th7eir first child together. Joe treats Gracie like his own and there is maybe a bit of conflict between joe and Gracie's bio dad??(not over Gracie ofc joe isn’t unreasonable but over Gracie’s dads behaviour). baby is born does this overthrow the balance??

A series that will hopefully be a lot of fluff with a sprinkling of angst. However I know JQ keeps his private life very private buttt for this I had the idea for a chapter where he takes Gracie to work like an interview (maybe the puppy one) or a red carpet and she loves all the attention and it helps take some off him in a non weird way helps him relax.

this is a rough idea how do we feel lovelyssss

just like this (almost like a yes vote) to indicate you want me to write this. Also inspired by this song!!

@snowangie

[joeymunsondjo]

Phenomenal

Love me

Treat me like a fool, treat me mean and cruel

But love me, wring my faithful heart

Tear it all apart

Part 2 of "Johnny Fucking Storm”

summary: it doesn't matter to johnny if you still love him, he'd accept your hatred if it meant you were still in his life

tags: no use of y/n, more angst!, reconciliation, fluff, ayyy slight heartache, things get better unfortunately

4.1k words

You didn't have shoes on. That was the only thing you could think of when you ran out onto the sidewalk. It was around 11am now, the fight felt like it lasted forever when it was just a simple hour. You didn't know where to go or who to go to. So you let your feet walk you around until you couldn't anymore. You definitely looked crazy to the people passing, you could feel the odd glances and the small whispers as you moved along.

You walked for about another hour. The moment you slowed down, you could feel the blisters forming under your feet. You looked up at where you stopped. A simple cafe, not somewhere you've been before but it felt familiar. You didn't go inside considering you didn't have shoes on and you really didn't wanna get anymore weird looks. You sat down at one of the tables outside, letting the fatigue wash over you. You finally let go of the angel, gently laying her down on the table. You raised your hands palms faced up to see the pinkish red burns. You could sense the pain all over your body but it felt numb to you, like the pain hasn't registered to you. There's so much emotional torment you're feeling, it's so overwhelming.

You most definitely looked crazy. Your pretty hair now tangled, makeup looking like a child tried using watercolors for the first time but decided ink was a better option. There was sweat all over your skin, the outfit you saved for today was now sticking to you in ways you couldn't help but cringe at. You kept your head down, hoping to at least look slightly normal. You glanced around before your eyes spotted the antique across the street, noticing an angel statue in the big window. It was surprisingly really big, like it could reach your hip and that's when it clicked. It's the same place you got her. Your eyes watered as they looked back to the poor angel. Sure she was only three dollars and yeah maybe she was painted poorly but she meant something to you. You could feel droplets fall onto your head, soft at first and then slowly getting harsher by the minute. You felt lightheaded as you slowly lowered your head into your arms, letting your arms rest on the table. Your eyes shut as you slowly lose consciousness, hearing the people inside leave due to the weather. Before you fell asleep, you reached for the angel, tucking her into your arms. The rain fell as fast as your tears, and you think How crazy that the one person who gives you so much joy, give you the same amount of pain.

He meant the world to you but it was obvious he valued the world more than he did you.

Johnny was in the air when the rain fell, but nothing tempted him to stop. Not until he found you. The rain against his skin steamed, his fire was too hot for the raindrops. He could hear sizzling from all over his body but he didn't care. Things genuinely couldn't be worse for him. The one person who actually saw him for who he was, didn't want to be anywhere near him. He thought about all those times he left you looking pretty at some diner or all those times you stood outside the theater holding two tickets. The long hours it look you to get all dressed up to see him, just to wait hours for no arrival. The guilt and regret gnawed at him, he felt like a stranger in his skin. He didn't deserve your kindness, let alone your love. Rain wasn't the only thing that steamed against his skin. He let his tears fall and fall until he found you.

It had been hours since he last saw you, scared he might've over looked you or flew right passed you. He landed near a shopping center, not actually much of a shopping center but more of a street that consisted of three stores and a cafe. The rain didn't let up, if anything it got worse. He was going to turn back until he spotted an antique store with a beautiful angel statue in the window. His fists clenched as he was reminded of the angel he destroyed not too long ago. He bit his tongue hard enough to taste copper pooling in his mouth. He turned his head and spat his blood before noticing someone sitting outside in the rain about 25 feet away. He recognized your hair and his eyes shot open.

He immediately lit himself and flew over as fast as he could. He didn't bother running, knowing flying was faster and he could absolutely not waste any time to get to you. He stopped right by your side, just looking at you made him want to tear at his skin. You were slumped over the little table, your breathing was faint, clothes drenched and your hair was glued to your skin. He gently brushed your hair back, putting it to the side so he wouldn't pull it while he carefully picked you up. You were freezing, skin cold to the touch. He deserved his own spot in hell for how he treated you. He could see the little angel gripped in your hand, it fit perfectly considering it was melted in his palm. He winced as he remembered your reaction to his stupidity.

He held you bridal style as he looked around, no clue where he was and the rain was not making it better to see. It wasn't until he spotted the faint building that carried the big number four. He immediately flew up, only lighting his bottom half to prevent burning you.

He crashed down on the balcony of the Baxter Building with a heavy umpf. He weaved threw the doors as he tried to find a spot to lay you down. At this point, everyone heard the commotion, making their way towards Johnny with concerned looks.

Sue noticed you first, gasping at the state of you. "Johnny is she okay? Where was she?" She held a hand to your forehead, flinching at your icy skin. Reed was next to notice, eyes wide with worry. "Bring her to the spare room now, keep her warm while I gather equipment."

Johnny didn't bother nodding, quick to rush you to the room. He made his way through the long hallways before bumping into Ben. Johnny didn't let him speak first, "She hasn't eaten." He forced out. Ben only turned away, heading straight to the kitchen. He didn't need the details, he could tell how serious this was with just the energy in the air and the sound of Sue telling Reed what equipment to grab.

Johnny busted open the doors to the room, gently laying you down on the bed. He looked for a moment before crying. How could he let this happen, how could he be so careless?

Sue entered a minute after, holding a change of clothes and multiple blankets. She put them down on the side of the bed before moving to Johnny's side. There was silence until Sue whispered, "I'm not gonna condemn you for something you already did, I'm sure you've learned your lesson. I am, however, going to tell you to make things right before I do something I'll regret." There was no hatred in her voice, only truth. Sue loved you the moment she met you, she felt like you were her little sister. She greatly appreciated you, especially when they had came back from space, you being there helped get back that normalcy they were all missing.

Reed came in not too long after Sue, hooking up all the things needed to help you. Your body was shivering, limbs hardly moving, they felt frozen. Reed checked your pulse, it was there thankfully, but it was weak and small. Sue set up an oxygen tube and carefully placed it under your nose, it wasn't required but it was better to be safe than sorry. Johnny could only sit next to you, both hands holding one of yours. He let the tears roll, unbothered by Reed and Sue's quiet whispers.

"Here's what you'll do when she wakes up," Sue's words were gentle but stern. "You are going to give her a bath with barely warm water, she is freezing and putting her in hot water will hurt her. She slowly needs to get back to room temperature and that is the most efficient way to do so."

Johnny nodded, not daring to speak another word. Sue grabbed a blanket before softly draping it over you, making sure you had something before they left. They closed the door quietly on they're way out. Johnny looked back to you, letting the silence consume him. He couldn't sit still for long, he had to clean you up. He left to the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinets to find a makeup remover or something maybe similar. He came back with cotton balls, some cleansing balm Sue probably left behind, and a hair tie. He didn't really know how to use the balm but he needed to do something. He cleaned you up as best as he could, brushing your hair back with the hair tie. He laid by your side, softly rubbing his hand over yours. All he could do was wait and pray for you to wake up soon.

You woke up around 15 minutes later. Your eyes stinged when you tried opening them, the harsh air taking advantage of your sensitivity. You couldn't move, feeling a warm body tucked by your side. The second you shifted, Johnny rose twice as fast. "Baby? Are you awake?" He whispered, not wanting to disturb you if you were still asleep. You could only stare, you didn't want to talk to him or maybe you knew if you spoke, you'd start crying again. You looked away, suddenly noticing an I.V. and oxygen tube. "Did I really need all this?" You thought. You moved to sit up but failed as your elbows buckled by your side. Johnny softly caught you, helping you up. "Oh, maybe I do." You noticed your angel on a table not too far away, you breathed a soft sigh of relief. She's still with me.

"Sweetie, you're still very cold so I'm going give you a bath. Is that okay with you?" He said softly, eyes catching yours. You gave a soft nod before looking away, not wanting to look at him any longer. He stood up to get everything off of you, gently moving your legs to the side of the bed so you could stand. He was helping you walk all the way to the bath. He set you down on the side of the tub, moving to turn the water on. You watched as he tested the temperatures with an intensity, it made you wanna crack a smile but you thought bare minimum. Johnny would comment on the things he was doing, making sure you knew what he was gonna do before actually doing them so you weren't uncomfortable.

Johnny peeled the clothes off of you, carefully letting you hair down, and gently washing you. The warm water felt nice, it didn't burn or sting your wounded skin. You closed your eyes and let Johnny take care of the rest. You felt the warmth return to your skin, slowly letting the heat cover your body. Once the bath was done, he helped you with your clothes and you smiled softly noticing that they were Sue's. He sat you down on the bed, leaving to grab some things before coming back. He asked for your hands, tenderly applying an ointment for your soft burns and carefully wrapping them with gauze. He moved to your feet to do the same, tugging up some fluffy socks right after. He pressed a small kiss to your knee before standing up to tidy the room.

Soon, you found yourself slowly heading to the kitchen. Johnny's arm around your waist, not tight but firm. He was silent the majority of the walk, obviously feeling the guilt start up in his mind. You hadn't spoke either, your throat feeling like two sharp rocks grinding on each other every time you even thought about speaking. Not that you even wanted to speak to Johnny anyways, this morning heavily lingering on your mind. You both made it to the dining table a little early, Johnny setting you down first. He looked over you, making sure you weren't uncomfortable before joining Ben and Herbie in the kitchen. You watched them as you bit your tongue, was it that hard for Johnny to do the same in your own home? To join you and help you make dinner? You looked away, feeling your heart cave within your chest.

You didn't notice Sue until you felt the back of her hand on your forehead. You flinched at the sudden motion before looking up at her with a little smile. "Hey honey, how you feeling? Feeling better?" She smiled at you as you gave her a nod. You pulled at the knitted sweater she let you wear, and gave her a bigger smile. She lurched forward, scaring you at first before realizing she was giving you a hug.

"I'm sorry for my idiot brother, I would've killed him if I knew what he was doing to you." She murmured, holding you a little tighter. You felt tears pricking your eyes before hugging back, moving your face into her shoulder. She softly pulled back as she heard Reed walk in. The edge of his mouth curled upwards as he saw the two of you hugging. He walked over next to Sue and planted a small kiss on the top of your damp head. He gave you a nod and a smile, it was odd seeing him so warm but it made you feel seen.

Unbeknownst to you, Johnny watched from afar. He was leaning against the counter, chewing at his nail to keep him occupied. He was feeling more awful by the minute, watching his sister and his brother in law greet you with sympathetic smiles. Like they were trying to apologize for his ignorance, for his stupidity. He bit back a sigh, he just didn't know how make things better between you two. He thought back to the angel he melted, maybe he could..? The sound of Ben announcing dinner caught him off guard, snapping him back to reality.

"Okay! Dinner is done!" Ben smiled wide as he listed off the menu. He had walked up to you with your plate, it was different from the others. "And for this beautiful girl, she gets the best of the best! My famous macaroni and cheese with a side of mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli." He sets the plate in front of you, before whispering. "Don't worry, they're all smooth and easy to chew. Figured you needed something soft to cancel out this hard day."

You gave him a smile and mouthed the words "Thank you", you assumed he understood because of the big grin he gave you. He walked off to serve the other after patting your head with his big, surprisingly soft hand. Johnny came up to you right after him, holding a cup of tea and some pills.

He set down the tea before leaning over to show you the pills, "I got you some painkillers, just incase you wanted them." He gave you a small smile as he set the pills on a napkin, moving to leave so you could have some space. He stopped when he felt a hand reach his, viewing over his shoulder to see you looking away. His heart thumped as he moved to kneel next to you. "Do you need anything, angel?" He whispered, eyes looking at the side of your face. You slowly turned to him, opening your mouth to speak but stopping before you could feel the pain register in your throat. He watched before quickly leaving, your hand reached out but couldn't catch him time. You pursed your lips, turning back to face the food until you suddenly felt his hand on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised at how fast he returned. He held up a little cup with a spoon, you tilted your head in confusion. Huh?

"Sorry for leaving but your throat hurts doesn't it?" He showed you the contents of the cup. It looked like syrup? Still unsure, you looked at him weird, almost as if you were asking What is it? "It's honey, it helps a lot when your throat hurts." He held up a spoonful, letting you look at it. You were still confused but you opened your mouth anyways. He gave you two spoonful's before putting it down on the table. You swallowed, you waited for the pain to hit until it didn't. You swallowed your spit next, and your eyes widened. It didn't feel like you were swallowing razor blades anymore and finally a smile broke from your face. You looked up at Johnny with that smile and he froze, this was the first smile you've given him since you woke up forty minutes ago. All you had met him with before were stares or no eye contact in general. His jaw clenched as you looked back to your food, your smile getting bigger with your first bite. He moved to sit next to you, watching you eat with your focus on the others. Their bickering and family antics kept your smile from leaving. He could feel his heart cramping, he did this to you. Your burns, your aching feet, the sore throat, he did that to you.

You didn't speak to him for a couple of days. You weren't angry anymore but you still needed time. You couldn't let months of anguish disappear because of one good deed. Your voice was still hoarse, so you only whispered when you needed it. Often speaking with Sue, usually about your interests, Sue's dreams of a baby, or the highlights of the day. He had gotten hour long lectures from Sue, Reed, and Ben, even getting stuck doing the chores Herbie usually did. He didn't mind any of it, he knew he deserved it. Johnny never said anything about the silent treatment, actually feeling like he deserved far worse. It wasn't until the third night when you finally decided to break the silence.

You were both in bed, the blankets draped over the both of you. He was the big spoon, holding you close to his chest. He didn't expect it, simply pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he heard your voice.

"Johnny." Your eyes were facing the glass wall, staring out to look at the city lights. He didn't speak at first, thinking he was hallucinating you speaking to him. He felt your hand tap at his arm, snapping him back to reality.

"My love?" He spoke under his breath, as if he was scared to wake up from a dream. His eyes were on the back of your head, watching you slowly turn over. You faced him, the blanket resting right under your nose as you had tucked your hands under your pillow.

"Why'd you stop loving me?" You whispered softly, letting your eyes rest upon his. You weren't trying to twist the knife, it was a genuine question to you. Why did he his love for you flicker like a candle meeting its demise?

He winced at your words, his heart thumping in his ears. He sighed as he felt his eyes water. "I never meant to leave you behind, I'm-" He choked up before continuing, "..I'm sorry." He didn't want to fill the conversation with excuses. He couldn't do that to you.

You were silent for a minute. You didn't know what to say next.

"What let you think I would stay forever?" The words left your mouth before you could stop them. You didn't say anything after that, letting those words hang in the air. Minutes had passed before he responded.

"You always had your love for me since the day we met. It was so strong, so constant, that I stopped seeing how important it was to keep." His voice cracked, but he couldn't care less. He needed you to hear the truth, no matter how sick it was.

Your eyes shut as he spoke. Now you were truly speechless. It wasn't until you felt his arms bring you closer to his chest, that your eyes opened again. You didn't realize you were crying until his thumb wiped away your tears. He let you cry into his chest, getting fistfuls of his shirt in your hands as you sobbed.

You woke up around noon, your eyes feeling heavy. You looked over and noticed Johnny was gone. You let out a small sigh as you stayed in bed. You didn't have the energy to start the day, let alone actually getting up. Fifteen minutes passed before you heard the door open. You hear footsteps getting closer until they reached the end of the bed. There was a pause until you heard more footsteps, then a body slowly entering your field of vision. Johnny looked down at you, holding something behind his back, waiting until you acknowledged him. You looked up, meeting his gaze.

"Good morning, angel." He spoke softly before kneeling down, your faces now on the same level. He didn't wait for you to speak to show you what he had. Your eyes widened as you moved to sit up. It was your angel, the angel he melted was now refigured. You held your hands out, letting him slowly place her in your palms. Your eyes took their time looking over the new angel.

She was the same but she felt different. Her wings were bigger, now holding an ombre of light blues in her feathers. Her face wasn't hopeful anymore, she looked content, as if she was set with what she was letting go of. The dove in her palms was barely attached to her, almost as if it really decided to fly back into the sky. You looked at Johnny, your lips parting to say something but you couldn't find the words.

"..How?" You whispered, biting back a gasp. You looked up at him and then back to the angel, hoping you weren't still asleep. He barely smiled, obviously still holding the guilt of ruining the angel. You watched as he scratched the back of his neck, trying to find the right words or where to even start.

"It took me a while to find an experienced ceramic artist. Some tried convincing me to just throw her away, to try and find a better angel." He looked at her before meeting your eyes again. "But I couldn't do that to you, to her. Not again."

You set the angel on the side table, letting her face the two of you. Johnny's face held confusion watching you put down the angel. You moved to hug him, letting your body fall against his. He caught you before you fell, both of you meeting the carpet with a soft thud. He felt his shirt get wet as he held you on top of him. You shifted your face to look at him, closing your eyes as you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. He stared at you, eyes wide with shock as his fingers touched the spot on his cheek you just kissed.

"Thank you." You whispered.

It had been three weeks of the same routine. You wake up in the same bed together, letting him get you ready for breakfast before walking with you to the dining room. You both eat, then move to the living room for awhile, letting his heated body hold you. Time passes till it's lunch, the family converse and chat in between bites, a tender hand on your knee. The day goes by as he sticks by your side, never letting you out of his sight for more than it was needed. Dinner begins once the sun sets, the stars softly showering over the Baxter Building. You can't help but end the night with a smile, Johnny's arms pulling you closer in bed. Every night, he presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering the same words and promises. I won't let you go, I'm yours forever, I'm sorry for everything, I love you, I will never leave again, I'll never take you for granted, Your my beautiful angel.

And for once, you actually let yourself believe it.

authors note: heyyyyy ts long asf lwk because i rlly like detail. when im reading, i wanna know where i am and how i got there or what im doing and why. yk? i yap a lot....hope you enjoyed! ALSO VERY IMPORTANT, i was gonna make two part twos and post them at the same time but im gonna post this one and then post the other one later…lmk what you think about that!

@partygirl14 @thefandomplace @casey1-2007 @walleloveseve @hipsternerd9 @ziggeddie @1950schick

[joeymunsondjo]

ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl ts12 is called the life of a showgirl

[joeymunsondjo]

johnny fucking storm

johnny storm x f!reader

'Cause you're just a man, it's just what you do

Your head in your hands, as you color me blue

summary: johnny has fucked up too many times and you've finally met your breaking point

tags: no use of y/n, mostly entirely angst, no smut unfortunately, johnny might be ooc 💔

Things weren't supposed to go like this. Johnny felt the regret lingering in his head, his teeth biting down on his fingernails. "Idiot", he mumbled, holding back tears that were fighting their way out. He was stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, right outside your shared apartment and no where near the Baxter Building. He shook his head trying to shake the fog from his mind. He had no clue where you were. Of all days, of course he forgot the single most important event of the year. Your birthday.

An hour earlier-

You were all dolled up: hair was done, makeup that actually felt right on your face, and the most beautiful outfit you had saved for today. Of course you didn't need to do all this for your birthday, you were just hoping that a certain someone would finally give you the attention you were lacking the past few months. You slowly walked around your room, holding yourself as you disassociate. It's not like he's doing this on purpose, he's a super hero, he has to protect Earth somehow. Your jaw clenched, looking out your window as you fell onto your bed with an umph.

For the past few months, Johnny had either forgot about the plans you made or disregarded them in general. With no ill intention obviously, it was either you or the families burning in a common house fire, or the monster of the month terrorizing the city, or the annoying interviews he had forgot were scheduled. He had always made it up to you somehow. Your favorite flowers, big gifts left on your doorstep with a note that read "From your favorite fireplace", or maybe just maybe, he was actually there to hold you while you woke up. Caressing you softly as he planted a kiss on your temple. Just for his smile to turn into a pout as he explains that he needs to get back to the Baxter Building because he needs to convince Reed to think about going back to space. These gestures stopped working for you after the first month was filled with "I'm sorry baby but you know duty calls". He didn't notice obviously, how could anyone notice when they have the weight of the world on their shoulders.

So today, just for today, you had a bit of hope that he would make up for all those times you cried yourself to sleep in your shared bed. The shared bed that was slowly turning into only your bed. You shook your head as you got up from your bed. No, today was going to be different, you thought. You walked through your apartment barefoot, not putting on your shoes yet, incase someone wanted to stop by and have some nice at home time. Your apartment wasn't a mess, it was just cluttered with things you and Johnny love. Different vinyl's from Etta James to Frank Sinatra to The Beach Boys, lots and lots of books, and various thrift finds you found by yourself when someone would forget about your plans. Your favorite find was a little porcelain angel. She's seen sitting on her knees, holding a dove in her outstretched hands. Her face looks hopeful, looking into the dove as it looked ready to take off. You especially liked her wings, they were beautiful shades of light blue, you liked how pure she looked. She was sat on a shelf that was facing the kitchen, overlooking the entire apartment. You walked past her, glancing at her, a soft smile graced your lips. It felt like she was wishing you a happy birthday.

You had yet to hear a happy birthday from your boyfriend. It was currently 10am, it wasn't late at all but considering it was your special day, you were hoping to hear from Johnny a little sooner. You walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge to sneak a little snack when you heard keys jingling and the front door opening with a squeak. You turned your face to the door, making eye contact with the one and only Johnny Storm.

Johnny walked in and closed the door with a smile, "Hey baby, how have you been? I've missed you." He walked up to you and pulled you into a tight hug, lifting your feet off the ground.

"Johnny!! Be careful, I just did my makeup!" You squealed with joy, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck. He spun you around before putting you back on the ground with a big kiss to the forehead.

You both shared a laugh as he rested his hands on your waist, your hands moving to his chest. He took a good look at you and suddenly a confused expression appeared on his face. "Is it my birthday or something? You look like a gift sent from the gods." He grinned, his eyes slowly moving from your hair to your pretty jewelry. His lips moved to peck yours, not wanting to mess up your makeup as you had just mentioned. You let out an uneasy laugh, he's not being serious is he?

"What do you mean?" You chuckle, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. You took a small step back, not enough for him to notice but enough for you to feel separated.

"Well you look absolutely fantastic, no pun intended, so I'm wondering what the special occasion is." He smirked, moving to open up the fridge and take a peak inside. You watched as he plucked a strawberry from it's container, closing the fridge while putting it into his mouth. He turned to look at you, waiting for an answer.

"You're joking right?" You said, smiling softly, trying to convince yourself that this was a little prank. Your arms suddenly feeling heavy, your hand moving to tuck a piece of hair behind you ear. Did Johnny actually forget?

"No? I'm so confused. You know my days have been out of whack, can't even remember if its tuesday or thursday sometimes." He snickered, waving his hand in the air as if it were an everyday thing. He moved his way towards you, looking around as he did so. You watched as he noticed unfamiliar trinkets scattered around the apartment.

You felt the sting in your throat as you tried to speak. "..So you have no idea on what today is?" You forced out the sentence as if it were stuck in your mouth. You didn't know how to feel at first, although, your body did; your palms feeling damp, your makeup feeling heavy, your legs moving slowly backwards as if they were rooted into the ground. If this were three years ago, he would've been here since morning with flowers in hand, filling the room with gifts, and a prepared breakfast in bed. You suddenly felt like a stranger, feeling like the man in front of you was just an intruder in your home.

Johnny hadn't noticed you shrinking back, he had picked up a cute trinket, something you bought in the store a while back. He glanced at you before answering your question, "Angel, I just said I'm not keeping track of time. Give me a hint, is it like a family dinner I forgot about?" He said, putting the trinket down to pick another one up. You could only watch as he walked around the apartment, looking at all the things you slowly bought over time due to the lack of his attention. You couldn't speak, you couldn't even feel your heart beating in your chest.

This is not the Johnny you fell inlove with all those years ago. Not the Johnny that held you to sleep almost every other night, and definitely not the Johnny that surprised you with planned dates every week. You knew Johnny before his accident in space, barely starting to get used to the title "Boyfriend and Girlfriend". You were the first to meet them when they got back from space, you were there when he was first experiencing his powers. You helped the family get accommodated, you were there helping them become a family again. You had spent 5 birthdays with Johnny, and each year your day was slowly turning into any other day. And now? Forgotten completely.

Your eyes glossed over with tears, your vision slowly getting blurry as you watched Johnny pick up your favorite angel. "Get the fuck out." You whisper, feeling the tears fall one after another. Johnny turned his head and watched as your head fell into your hands.

"Woah woah woah. What happened??" He exclaims, looking shocked to see your mood do a complete 180. "Baby what are you crying about? Was it because I missed our movie date? Sweetheart, I sent you those flowers! Did you not get them?" He explained as he started making his way towards you, his hand still carrying your angel. You fell to your knees as you cried, not sparing a glance at him. You couldn't look at him, it would only make you feel worse. Your forehead met the hardwood floor, one hand gripping the back of your neck and the other pulling at your hair. You couldn't feel like this anymore, you couldn't feel like a nobody in your own skin anymore. You can feel your makeup melting with your tears, the mascara bleeding down your cheeks and your fake eyelashes sticking to your bottom lashes. Everything was just too much and nothing at all. I'm so fucking stupid. You didn't even notice the warm hand on your back or the words coming out of his mouth.

"Baby come on, I just got back from work and I'm so tired. I promise we can talk about it later, please I'm just so exhausted, I don't think I can do this right now. We can order food and watch movies on the couch, c'mon I'll order your favorite." He rambled on about fixing things in a bit but you couldn't stand to be anywhere near him.

You shoved him off of you, a hand wiping at your eye as you got a closer look at him. He had softly fell back as he looked at you confused, noticing how your face went from heartache to anger. "Are you fucking kidding me? Are you serious?" You spat those words at him, feeling your pulse quicken. Johnny could only look at you and sigh.

"Baby you know I'll make it up to you, just tell me what I did wrong and I'll buy you something nice. You know I always do." He said, smoothing back his hair with his free hand. He looked annoyed, as if this should've happened on a different day. "I've had a tough day, there was this warehouse that went on fire and someone was locked inside and then I had to go and-" "Shut the fuck up."

He looked up, shocked to hear what you said to him. His eyebrows furrowed together, slowly getting irritated. "Baby" He spoke sternly, "What is happening to you? I know I've been busy but I have the job of protecting this earth, you are not my first priority!" He stopped before he could add more to that. "That's not what I meant, it's just-" "That's not the point! I am your girlfriend and it feels like I'm just some chore to you! Don't act like I don't see you hugging and flirting with all those women on tv!" You hiss as you got off the floor and truth be told, those women never bothered you. It only started bothering you when you realized he was seeing strangers more often than he saw you.

He got up right after you, scoffing in the process. "Now you gotta be joking, you know I'm not being serious with them. It's just a little act I put on, you know that!"

"You've missed 7 dates, 4 dinners, and do you know how many fucking times I've stayed up late waiting for you to come home? Well enough for me to feel fucking stupid. I can't believe I actually thought you would remember." You watched as he sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration.

"Please, I thought you understood that things are different now. I can't always spend my time with you, I am busy, I have no days off, and god forbid I just wanna go home and rest!" You could tell he was getting upset, the air around you slowly getting warmer with ever word. "First, Reed pisses me off and now you wanna start complaining about something I still don't fucking know about and it's so annoying to come home and have to deal with more bullshit!"

"Bullshit? You're calling my feelings bullshit? Johnny, I can't stand you! You aren't the guy I fell in love with all those years ago." You huff, wiping away another tear. It hurt more saying it out loud but you couldn't have him walk away feeling like he's in the right.

"What's that supposed to mean? Do you think it's my fault for getting these powers? Do you think I wanted to turn into this? Don't blame me for shit I can't control! You know, I was so excited to come home and spend my day with you but if you wanna be ungrateful than I can just go. I don't need you giving me shit on my free time!" He shouted, not loud but enough for you to feel small. You stood there dumbfounded, until a smell broke you from your trance. Something was burning.

Your eyes looked over Johnny until you saw the angel in his hand. Your favorite angel. The once hopeful figure now disfigured and unrecognizable. Your eyes widened, your blood running cold. Johnny soon followed your eyes and moved to look at the porcelain in his hand. He let out a long sigh, letting go of the anger that once controlled him as he rubbed his head with his other hand.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I'll get you another one, I promise. I've just been feeling so worn out, I didn't mean-" "She was my favorite." You cut him off, feeling your fists clench by your sides.

You move to stand in front of him, snatching the angel out of his hands. You get it close to your face, getting a better look at it. It was still hot but you could care less about the burns that were soon to come. The dove was merged with her hands, her wings fusing into her back. She didn't look like anything anymore. You couldn't feel anything anymore.

You looked up at him, he was waiting for you to say something.

"It's my birthday today." You mutter, more tears forming at the edges of your eyes.

His eyes widened, jaw opening to say something but you shove past him. He quickly grabbed your wrist before you could get any farther. "Angel, I am so sorry. I would've never raised my voice at you. I didn't know, I didn't remember-" "Get the fuck away from me." You say, ripping your hand away from his.

"I don't want to fucking see you ever again." You grabbed your phone and threw it across the living room before rushing out the door. You couldn't have him contacting you in any way. He could only scramble after you, fear crossing his face.

"Baby wait! I'm sorry!! Please forgive me!" He called out, walking out the door where you had just been. You stopped in the middle of the hallway, making him stop before he could bump into you.

"Johnny. If you want any chance of my forgiveness, you better start with leaving me alone." He couldn't see your face, he could only watch as your hand gripped onto the disfigured angel. He didn't speak, he only stood there as he saw you make your way down the stairs. He could hear your soft sobs and the sounds of your footsteps slowly disappearing. He couldn't believe it.

He walked back inside, grabbing his phone to look at the date. Fuck, it is her birthday. He immediately went to call Sue, he didn't know what to do. Do I go after her? Do I leave her alone?

Sue picked up on the second ring, "Hey Johnny! I was just thinking of you two! How are you guys celebrating today? We should go out for dinner later, unless you already had something special planned? Ben and Reed wrapped gifts last night."

Johnny choked back a sob, of course Sue remembered. He tried to speak but nothing came out. On the other line, Sue was starting to feel worried. "..Johnny? You there?"

"...Sue, I really fucked up." He whispered, his voice breaking. "I treated her like shit and didn't even remember her birthday. She looked gorgeous and I hadn't even seen her in a week. I told her she wasn't my first priority, that she was disposable, I ruined her favorite trinket. She walked out before I could fix anything, leaving her phone behind."

He could hear her sigh through the phone. "Johnny listen to me. You need to make sure she is somewhere safe. Emotions are running high but you need to prioritize her safety."

Johnny grabbed his keys and ran outside. It wasn't until he was on the sidewalk when he realized he had no idea where you could've gone. He doesn't know where you like to go these days, where you spend your time or where you go to clear your head. He's been away for so long, he doesn't know who you are now.

(Part 1)

Authors note: hey chat first time making a fic....how'd i do? im making a part 1 first so i can see how it does...im already making part 2 incase this does good lmk what you think!!

[joeymunsondjo]

Okay I’m going to update my prompt list with this information aswell but when you are requesting with numbers and a character or actor could you please tell me if you want fluff angst or smut. You don’t have to but that means I’ll choose and it might not be what you wanted to read. Because most of the prompts could be interpreted differently. Thank you loves

[joeymunsondjo]

Tough Love

Part 2 - please read my notes of waffle

Gracie waffle: starting from readers POV. I decided to drop my normal (poetic) style for the smut bc I don’t find it fits tbh. I often find that in dialogue it gets rlly pointless saying “you said” or “he muttered” over and over and can sometimes get confusing who is saying what so I colour coded the dialogue purple is you blue is Joe. SUE ME!

This is super angsty and reader is uses vile words. the fight scene from readers POV is next. it explains their anger in this chapter more.

Content warning: smut unprotected sex, p in v, talk of infertility, reader being so upset about the breakup she lashes out and says things she doesn’t mean. Angry sex.

@quinnyficsy @snowangie

—————————

You suddenly become aware of how much you've just agreed to. A tight knot forms in your chest, and a familiar warmth spreads through your body—against your better judgment, desire still claims you. Your thoughts race: he hurt you, but the love you feel is tangled around every memory.

Thirty minutes slip by almost unnoticed—time blurred by longing and regret. Then, the knock at your door jolts you back. Your heart thuds dangerously fast.

You pause, breath catching. The room feels too silent, too near your skin.

Standing up, you steady yourself, fingers brushing against the doorframe. The knot in your stomach pulses. You know it’s him waiting behind the wood.

Silence hangs between your palm and the door. And in that stillness, everything you’ve felt—all the anger, the ache, the lingering love—presses against the surface, begging to be acknowledged.

As you open the door his familiar voice echoes throughout. Filling your entire body with that warmth you remember all too well.

“Hey, you look gorgeous” he nods down to your new pyjama set from Victoria secret. “Thanks” you respond keeping it short in a futile attempt to keep your walls up and not let him in again. To not give him the opportunity to cause such destruction again. Not give him the chance.

Chance.

But suddenly his lips are on yours. Your breath hitches as you both shuffle in the hallways to close the door behind him - lips not detaching for the duration of this manoeuvre - “I need you angel, one last time please. I’m sorry”. Your mind whirred with all the possibilities and responses you could come up with but none of them seemed to fit. Unless.. you could teach him one last lesson.

“Fine but I’m in charge” you spit out.

You find yourself dragging him upstairs by the collar of his shirt with his big brown eyes glued to your body - refusing to look anywhere else - like you might stop or break if he does look away. Pushing him to the bed he shuffles up to the headboard and spreads his legs. “So perfect” you whisper and for a second you could almost swear you heard him half whimper.

“You took everything from my life so I’m going to take something back for myself” you add. “Please take anything you want use me” Joe squeaks out. “Is that what you want pretty boy want me to use you?”. A beat. “Yes use me y/n fuck you deserve it after-ngh-everything,fuck” midway through his sentence you straddles his hips and started grinding down angrily on his hard cock. Joe is usually very vocal in bed but today he was LOUD. If the neighbours didn’t already know your name they did now.

All that could be heard was “ngghh angel you are so tight, Fuck you feel so good”, “y/n faster please I’m begging” and “please don’t stop I’m so sorry mnn yes fucking Christ use me take what you need from me”.

He is the same in bed as he is outside of it he lets his emotions run raw and loud. He will show you he is upset or happy but won’t ever talk about it or tell you why. One time you came home and he was slumped over the ottoman sobbing and heaving and to this day you don’t know why but he let you comfort him never the less.

You start rocking your hips backwards and forwards instead and this time at a much quicker pace. “This what you wanted,huh?” He nods his head vigorously. “Use your words pretty boy” he keens at the nickname and responds “y-yes fuck YES baby don’t stop I’m so close”. “Oh shit Angel I’m going to explode where- where should I?” He stutters suddenly realising he isn’t wearing a condom.

Both of you have struggled with infertility issues in the past which added to the strain on your relationship. You were able to get pregnant it would just be harder than most people since you have had a few miscarriages and Joes sperm count was lower than normal.

“Do it wherever I don’t give a shit it’s not like your good enough to knock anyone up anyways” you went there. A single year rolls down his face and he cums. Not because what you said pushed him over the edge but because he wanted this to stop he was hurt. Felt vulnerable. You kept rocking your hips for a few more minutes riding out his orgasm into overstimulation chasing your own high. When it’s all over the memories all come flooding back and you are even angrier than before even though you just took it out on him. You get up off of him as he hissed with overstimulation.

The noise of vulnerability reminding you of him but you ignore the feeling and push it down and you make your way to the bathroom to do your own aftercare and clean yourself up. “You can Clean yourself up. You’re not a baby,” you spit at him, the words dripping with disdain as you turn away.

You step into the bathroom, the cold tile of the floor biting at your skin, reminding you of the emptiness that clings to you. The water is scalding as you scrub yourself, as if you can wash away the part of you that he has taken. But it doesn’t go away, does it? You know it won’t.

The memories come back, vicious and unforgiving, seeping into the vulnerable parts of yourself. The nights when it wasn’t just his touch that broke you, but his silence—the kind that echoed louder than any words ever could. The way he’d looked at you like you were everything, only to tear you apart like you were nothing. And yet, here you are, giving yourself to him again, hoping for something that’s never going to come. Something real.

You’re not sure when he leaves but all the only trace left is his watch draped purposely over the pillow.

—————————

Gracie post waffle: sorry if there are any mistakes it’s 1am and I needed to update. There is a massive shift in tone and I was hoping to convey readers conflicted feelings as she goes from feeling like a lay to fucking horrible. I promise it’s gna get fluffier just a bit more angst pretty please. And also reader is really hurting and Joe said some really bad shit during the argument but I’ll get onto that in the next chapter hopefully. “I never was the best to you” really fits this scene so listen to the songgg Xx -gracie mwah

[joeymunsondjo]

Was thinking smt like angry sex after the breakup bc they still love eachother but can’t be together bc JQ pushed reader away.

For hurt more of JQ post breakup maybe on the press tour for f4 and costars have to comfort him bc reader is no longer there.

LMK!

[joeymunsondjo]

My sexuality is whatever this is

[joeymunsondjo]

Thisssss

Two Weeks

JQ Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader

TW: implied sexual assault (non-graphic but predatory behavior), imprisonment, trauma, fear, emotional distress, physical violence, escape, captivity, blood/bruises, panic

The mission was supposed to be simple.

A tech raid. Standard breach-and-recover. They’d done it a hundred times — in and out, twenty minutes max. No supervillain theatrics, no big flashy explosions. Just a hidden bunker deep beneath a forgotten industrial park on the edge of New York.

Y/N had gone in first — intel said the place was abandoned, nothing but servers left behind from a failed startup with questionable investors. Reed had tracked strange power readings to the underground floor. Sue and Ben were sweeping the perimeter. Johnny was close behind her, heat signature humming in the shadows.

It was quiet. Too quiet. She should’ve known.

The minute her boots hit the sub-level, the power readings spiked. And suddenly—

boom.

The floor collapsed beneath her feet.

She barely had time to scream before she dropped three stories into a concrete coffin lined with reinforced steel. Her ankle rolled on impact. Her breath knocked out of her lungs.

Alarms shrieked.

And from the shadows, they came.

⸻

Six men. Masked. Military-precise. She fought like hell — plasma bursts flying from her palms, kicking and clawing and screaming into her comms. She could still hear Johnny shouting her name through the earpiece. Still hear the rage in his voice as he tried to fight his way through.

But they were waiting for her.

For her specifically.

They jammed the signal. Threw a bag over her head. Hit her hard enough to make her see stars. The last thing she remembered was Johnny screaming through static before the tranquilizer bit into her neck.

And then…

Black.

⸻

That was two weeks ago.

⸻

The cell was small. Sterile. Every surface cold and smooth. There were no visible cameras, but she knew they were there. She’d tested the walls, tried every angle of pressure, tried using her powers until her fingers bled and her body ached — nothing. It was designed for her. Like a trap built by someone who knew her better than they should.

Her captor, a man who called himself Kerrick, never wore a mask. He was tall, well-dressed, charming in the way that made your stomach turn. CEO vibes, if CEOs ran private mercenary labs and believed the world owed them godhood.

He said he had plans for her. That he’d studied her for years. That she was the key to his technology — her powers could amplify his systems, if only she’d cooperate.

At first, he was distant. Clinical. He spoke in theories and equations. Promised she’d be free if she just agreed to work with him. That Reed Richards didn’t understand her true potential. That Johnny would forget her by the end of the month.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t eat. She didn’t flinch when he paced too close.

Until he started getting too close.

⸻

It started subtle.

A hand on her back as he guided her to the cot. A brush of his fingers beneath her chin when he told her to “smile.” Standing behind her while she ate, watching her mouth move around every bite. Whispering things she couldn’t unhear.

“I’m not the villain here.”

“You need me.”

“They won’t come. They don’t miss you like I do.”

She ignored him.

The more she did, the more his patience fractured.

He touched her again — not enough to bruise, but enough to make her skin crawl. A palm pressed against her shoulder too long. His breath on her neck as he spoke softly behind her. One night, he tucked a blanket around her body and let his fingers linger way too low near her hip.

She jerked away.

He grabbed her wrist.

The threat in his eyes was silent, but deafening. Don’t test me.

That night, she stayed awake.

Staring at the door.

Thinking about the Baxter Building.

Thinking about Johnny.

⸻

She spent every hour after that watching the guards. Timing the shifts. Testing the floor.

There was one hallway. Two guards. A retinal scanner she couldn’t access — but a weak spot in the wall, just left of the oxygen vent, where the seal clicked louder than the rest.

She didn’t have a plan. But she had desperation.

And rage.

And a fork she’d stolen from a breakfast tray four days ago — hidden inside the cot.

⸻

When the guard brought her food that night, she played along.

Sat quietly on the edge of the cot. Waited for him to bend over.

Then—

SLAM.

The fork drove straight into his thigh.

He screamed. She tackled him to the ground, slammed his head against the floor once, twice — he went still. Blood pooled fast. His comm crackled.

She moved.

Grabbed his keycard. Swiped the door. A blaring alarm went off — too late.

The hallway was chaos. A second guard rounded the corner and she barely dodged a stun round, sprinting barefoot down the slick concrete corridor.

Kerrick’s voice boomed over the intercom:

“Y/N. You’re making a mistake.”

She didn’t look back.

⸻

The hideout was buried in the Catskill Mountains. Underground. A hidden fortress beneath a private “research facility” with no windows and no soul.

She climbed out through a ventilation shaft that left her covered in dirt and blood, then dropped ten feet into a wooded ravine. She ran for miles.

Branches sliced at her skin. Her feet bled. Her ankle screamed from old injuries.

But her mind was louder.

Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.

⸻

She hitched a ride with a passing truck driver who didn’t ask questions — just stared wide-eyed at the bruised girl in the hoodie who whispered, “Please take me to Manhattan.”

It took all night.

And when the sun rose — weak and gray — she saw it.

The Baxter Building.

Safe.

Home.

⸻

By the time she made it inside, her legs were trembling.

She slammed her hand against the glass door once, the last of her strength burning out like a dying match.

The doors opened.

And there he was.

She was barely standing — drenched in sweat and rain and blood, her arms hugging herself like she was holding her own ribs together. Her face was pale, lips cracked, one eye swollen half-shut. Her clothes looked like they’d been torn apart and sewn back together by a ghost.

But it was her.

“Johnny…?” she whispered, breath catching on his name like it physically hurt to say it.

His whole body stilled. Like time cracked in half around him.

Then —

he ran.

No hesitation. No words.

Just pure instinct.

His arms wrapped around her with a force that made her knees buckle, and she collapsed into him like her soul had finally exhaled. She made a sound — some horrible, broken sob that she tried to swallow but couldn’t — and Johnny just held her tighter.

His fingers dug into her spine. One hand cradled the back of her head like he was scared to break her.

He didn’t say anything at first. He couldn’t. His chest was shaking from how hard he was breathing — from rage, from panic, from heartbreak. From two weeks of not knowing if she was alive or dead.

She buried her face into his shoulder, fists gripping the back of his shirt so hard the fabric tore beneath her fingers. She was trembling. Not from fear — from finally letting go.

“I thought—” she choked, “I thought I wasn’t gonna make it back—”

“Don’t,” Johnny whispered, pulling back just enough to look at her face, both hands framing her cheeks. “Don’t say that. You’re here. You’re here now, okay?”

Her lip wobbled. “I didn’t know where else to go—”

“You came home,” he said, his voice low and thick. “You did everything right.”

She crashed into his chest again. Her body was giving out, but he didn’t let her fall. He just lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing and carried her across the polished lobby floor like she was something sacred.

The elevator dinged.

Sue gasped. “Johnny…?”

Ben stepped forward, eyes wide. “No way. No way.”

Reed’s voice cracked like he forgot how to speak. “Is that—?”

Johnny didn’t even glance at them. His focus was entirely on the girl curled in his arms, one arm still locked tight around his neck.

“Johnny,” Sue finally said, stepping closer with tears in her eyes, “I think the rest of us want to say hi too.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered Y/N to the ground — but kept his arm around her waist like he still didn’t trust the universe not to rip her away again.

Y/N looked at each of them in turn. Reed. Sue. Ben. Faces she never thought she’d see again.

“Hey,” she croaked.

Ben was the first to step forward. Gently. Like she was glass. He knelt a little, just to be eye-level, and gave her the softest smile.

“You gave us a hell of a scare, kid.”

Y/N gave him a watery laugh and reached for his hand. “You miss me or something?”

“I missed throwing popcorn at your head during movie nights.”

“I missed catching it in my mouth.”

Sue pulled her into a tight, careful hug, whispering, “You’re safe now,” over and over like it was a prayer. Reed stepped forward after, putting a hand on her shoulder and saying her name so softly she nearly broke all over again.

But the moment the team gave her space again — she turned and sank right back into Johnny.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

He wrapped himself around her like a shield, one hand tracing slow circles across her spine, the other cradling her head to his chest. She could hear his heartbeat. Fast. Frantic. Alive.

“Talk to us,” Sue said gently. “What happened?”

Y/N stayed buried in Johnny’s chest, her voice muffled against him. But she started to speak. Quietly. Shakily.

“…they knew I was coming. It wasn’t random. They had a trap. Not for the team — just for me.”

Johnny stiffened.

“They… they didn’t just want me for leverage. He said I was useful. That he’d been tracking me for months. Studying me.” Her voice faltered. “He touched me.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched so hard she felt his chest go still beneath her ear.

“I think he was trying to condition me. Groom me, maybe. I don’t know. He said things—he’d get closer and closer every day. He wanted me to need him. Like he could convince me I didn’t need you guys anymore.”

Reed sat down slowly on the edge of the couch. “Did he ever—”

“No,” she cut in quickly. “Not… all the way. But he tried. And he would’ve.”

Johnny was vibrating now. Not just shaking — burning. Heat radiated off his body like the air was warping around them.

Ben stepped between them and Johnny’s fire. “Hey, man. Breathe. She’s safe now.”

Johnny exhaled, flames dying down, but he never stopped holding her. Not for a second.

Y/N looked up at him. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

“You’re alive,” he said, staring at her like he hadn’t blinked once since she got here. “That’s the only thing that matters.”

Sue cleared her throat. “Where was the base?”

“Upstate. Catskills, I think. Underground. No signals, no windows. I memorized the hallway layout. I know how to get back.”

Reed straightened. “Then we’re taking the jet tonight.”

Ben cracked his knuckles. “Let’s burn this freak to the ground.”

Johnny didn’t speak. He just lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You tell me what he did — everything — and I’ll make sure he never touches anyone again.”

She didn’t reply right away.

But her hand curled tighter in his shirt.

“I want to be there when you do.”

Johnny didn’t leave her side.

Not when they got her into the elevator. Not when Sue pressed the penthouse button and Reed gently suggested she sit down. Not even when she said, quietly, “I don’t want to be away from you.”

He just nodded. Wordless. Firm.

His arm stayed around her shoulders, warm and grounding and real — the only real thing she could feel since her escape. She leaned against him with the weight of someone who hadn’t rested in weeks. And she hadn’t. Not really. Every time she blinked, she still saw his face. Every creak in the floor made her flinch. Every quiet moment still felt like a setup.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

The Baxter penthouse hadn’t changed. Same cream-colored walls, same floating screens, same scent of lavender and ozone. But the second she stepped inside, her knees wobbled.

Johnny caught her before she hit the ground.

“I got you,” he murmured, scooping her into his arms again without hesitation. “I got you.”

She didn’t argue. Didn’t fight. Just buried her face in his chest as he carried her past the kitchen and down the hall, through a door she hadn’t opened in a month.

His room.

She didn’t even remember how long she’d been staying there before she was taken — but the second the door closed behind them, the air changed.

It was warm. Safe.

Smelled like him.

Her shoulders began to shake.

⸻

He laid her on the bed, slow and gentle, like she’d crack open if he let go too fast. The blanket touched her skin and she flinched.

He froze. “What is it?”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “Not in this. Not like this. I feel dirty—”

Johnny was already moving. “I got it. I got it. You want a shower?”

She nodded quickly.

“I’ll stay outside the door, I swear.”

“Johnny.”

He paused.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, but they were still hers.

“I don’t want you to wait outside. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

The heat in his chest almost broke him.

“You won’t be.”

⸻

The steam hit her first.

She stood in the middle of the tiled shower, arms wrapped around herself, letting the water pour down like it could wash the last two weeks off her skin. It couldn’t. But she stayed anyway.

Johnny sat on the other side of the glass wall — close enough to see her outline through the fog, far enough not to intrude. He didn’t look. He didn’t need to. He just sat with his back to the tile, knees bent, one hand pressed gently against the glass like it could reach her that way.

She spoke first. Her voice was small, but steady.

“I kept thinking about what you’d say if I died in that place.”

His hand clenched into a fist.

“I wanted you to be the last thing I thought about. So I kept saying your name to myself. Over and over. Every night.”

Johnny pressed his forehead to the wall. The heat around him rose a few degrees, but he forced it down.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, “you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. But no one should have to survive what you did.”

“I didn’t want to survive,” she admitted. “Not at first. Not until I thought of you.”

⸻

She came out of the bathroom in one of his sweatshirts, sleeves down to her fingertips, her damp hair pulled back in a weak ponytail.

He was already in bed — shirtless, blanket around his waist, sitting up with his back against the headboard.

She hesitated.

He opened his arms.

She crawled into them like she belonged there. Because she did.

Johnny wrapped her in his arms, her back to his chest, blanket tucked around her tightly like a cocoon. He held her like she was something breakable that he refused to let anyone else near.

They sat in silence for a long time. Just breathing.

Then her voice broke it, quiet and scared:

“What if I never feel normal again?”

“You won’t,” he said, honest and careful. “Not right away. But I’ll be here every second it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

She turned toward him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know what happens now.”

“I do,” he said. “We burn that place to the ground. And then I take you on a stupid vacation somewhere sunny where no one can touch you.”

Her lip twitched. “Is that a promise?”

He leaned in, forehead against hers.

“Hell yeah, it’s a promise.”

⸻

That night, she didn’t sleep much.

Every time she twitched or whimpered in her sleep, Johnny pulled her closer.

Every time she started to bolt upright, shaking and gasping for breath, he was already there — whispering her name, grounding her, stroking her back until she melted into him again.

The sky outside was still dark, the first traces of dawn just beginning to bleed through the penthouse windows. But Johnny hadn’t slept. Not once. He’d stayed awake the whole night, one arm around her, the other hand gently tracing slow circles along her back. Any time her breathing hitched or her fingers twitched in her sleep, he’d whisper her name until she calmed.

Now, she stirred in his arms, blinking slowly. Eyes open, but unfocused.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You with me?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him — looked through him — like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

Then she nodded once.

“I’m here.”

But she didn’t sound like it.

⸻

She sat at the kitchen counter thirty minutes later, wrapped in his hoodie, a blanket around her shoulders, and hands locked around a steaming mug she hadn’t touched. Her eyes were dull. Her hair still damp. Her lips pressed into a line that hadn’t moved since she sat down.

Johnny was standing a few feet away, watching her. He had a plate of pancakes in front of her, perfectly golden. Syrup on the side. Her favorite.

She hadn’t even blinked at them.

“You should eat,” he said gently.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten anything since you got back.”

“I know.”

Silence.

He sat beside her, dragging the stool closer, careful not to crowd her.

“Do you wanna talk?”

Her eyes flicked toward him for just a second — and then away.

“No.”

“Okay.”

Not pushing. Never pushing.

Just staying.

⸻

Sue and Reed came in not long after. Quiet. Careful.

“Morning, Y/N,” Sue said, stepping into her line of sight.

Y/N managed a small nod. “Hi.”

“We were thinking of taking the day off. No meetings. No labs. Just rest.”

Reed added, “There’s no rush on debriefing, alright? We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

She didn’t answer.

Her fingers were trembling slightly around the mug now. Johnny noticed.

Ben entered last. He didn’t say much — just gave her a small smile and a fresh apple fritter from the bakery down the street. Placed it gently next to her pancakes.

Then they all gave her space.

Johnny stayed.

⸻

Later that morning, she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Still wearing his hoodie. Still not having eaten. Just… staring at herself.

Her reflection looked like someone else.

There were bruises along her arms. A cut on her cheek. Her eyes were sunken. Lips dry. Her hair was unrecognizable — matted, tangled. Her skin was pale.

She lifted the hoodie and looked at the bruises on her ribs.

Kerrick’s voice echoed in her head.

“You need me.”

“They won’t come for you.”

“You belong to me now.”

Her vision blurred.

“Get out of my head,” she whispered.

She tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come.

She dropped to the floor, knees hitting tile, both hands pressed to her ears as her chest tightened, her throat closed, her body shook.

She couldn’t stop it.

⸻

Johnny burst in seconds later.

He found her on the floor, eyes wide, tears running down her cheeks, hands trembling like she was seconds from snapping apart.

He didn’t say anything.

He just knelt beside her, pulled her gently into his arms, and held her.

It wasn’t soft this time. It was tight — firm, grounding, like he needed her to feel how solid he was. How real this moment was.

“You’re not there anymore,” he whispered. “You’re not there. You’re with me. You’re home. Breathe, baby, please—just breathe.”

Her hands gripped his shirt. Her face buried in his chest. And finally — after what felt like forever — she sobbed.

Messy. Loud. Ugly.

Johnny didn’t flinch. He took every ounce of it. Let her cry until her body went limp from exhaustion, until her breath slowed, until she stopped shaking.

And then he whispered:

“You never have to be strong for us. Not right now. You don’t have to fight. You just have to rest.”

⸻

She stayed in his bed the rest of the day.

The team didn’t disturb her.

She didn’t leave the room. Barely moved. But Johnny was always there — bringing tea, adjusting the blanket, brushing her hair gently from her face, whispering dumb things just to get the smallest twitch of her mouth.

At one point, her voice broke through the quiet.

“I don’t know how to be normal again.”

Johnny sat beside her. Not touching — just close.

“You don’t have to be normal,” he said. “You just have to be here. And I’ll be here with you.”

A pause.

Then she whispered:

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“You won’t be.”

“Even if I can’t sleep.”

“I’ll stay up with you.”

“Even if I have a nightmare.”

“I’ll wake you up before it gets bad.”

“…Even if I scream?”

“I’ll hold you through it.”

⸻

And he did.

All night.

Because healing doesn’t come with one hug and a plan for revenge.

Sometimes, it comes with one person who never leaves the room.

The silence had teeth. Sharp ones.

She heard it the second she left the room.

It was faint — just the low murmur of voices coming from the conference room down the hall. Doors weren’t fully closed. A rookie mistake.

And she wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.

But she did.

She moved quietly down the corridor, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, barefoot on the hardwood floors. She didn’t know what pulled her forward. Maybe curiosity. Maybe instinct.

Maybe the feeling in her gut that something was happening without her.

⸻

“We go tomorrow night,” Reed said. “The coordinates match her description. That entire complex is off-grid, privately owned, and doesn’t exist on any government registry. We take the jet to Albany and move on foot from there.”

“Security?” Ben asked.

“Automated, mostly. Drone tech. Possibly a small in-person crew.”

Sue’s voice came next. Low. Careful. “And if Kerrick’s there?”

“We end him,” Johnny growled.

She froze.

His voice sounded different. Rough. Deadly. Like fire was simmering beneath every syllable.

“And what about Y/N?” Sue asked, hesitant.

Reed paused. “She doesn’t need to be involved.”

“Damn right she doesn’t,” Johnny said, louder now. “She’s still healing. She doesn’t need to see that place again.”

“She might want to,” Sue offered.

“No. I saw what it did to her. She’s not going. That’s final.”

She stepped into the room before she could stop herself.

“Like hell it is.”

⸻

The silence that followed was instant.

Four sets of eyes turned toward her. She stood in the doorway, blanket sliding off her shoulders, arms crossed over the hoodie she hadn’t changed out of, feet bare, face still pale — but her jaw was clenched.

Johnny stood up immediately. “Babe—”

“You’re planning to take him down and didn’t think to include me?”

Reed adjusted his glasses. “We weren’t hiding it from you—”

“Then why didn’t you ask what I wanted?”

“You’re not ready,” Johnny said firmly. “You’re still shaking. You haven’t even eaten a full meal since you got back.”

“I don’t care.”

He stepped forward. “I do.”

She swallowed hard. Her eyes burned — not with tears. With fury.

“I’m not some girl you found in the woods. I’m not a fragile thing you need to protect from the big bad world. I was there. I lived it. I survived it. Don’t you dare treat me like I’m not capable.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened. “I’m not treating you like you’re incapable. I’m treating you like someone I love who just went through hell.”

She flinched.

He realized what he said, but didn’t take it back.

Reed and Sue exchanged a look and quietly left the room. Ben gave her a soft nod and followed, leaving the two of them alone.

The air was thick.

Johnny sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Don’t apologize for meaning it,” she said softly. “I just… I need to do this.”

“No, you want to do this. Because you think it’ll fix something. But it won’t.”

Her voice cracked. “He touched me, Johnny.”

His whole body tensed. “I know.”

“He made me feel powerless. Like I was just some—some tool he could use and throw away. He made me question whether any of you were even coming for me.”

Johnny stepped closer.

“And now you’re home. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But he can hurt someone else.”

She stepped toward him.

“And if I sit this out, if I stay here and pretend I’m fine while you take care of it, then I’m still letting him win.”

He looked at her — really looked at her. She was still shaking. Still not steady on her feet. Still covered in invisible bruises that no amount of showers could scrub away.

But her eyes?

They were on fire.

“…You’re not ready,” he said again, softer this time.

She held her chin up. “Then train with me.”

“What?”

“Train me. Get me ready. We’ve got a day, right?”

“Y/N…”

“Please.”

He paused.

Then sighed, defeated. “I’ll talk to Reed.”

⸻

That night, they were in the gym.

She could barely hold a fighting stance. Her muscles ached. Her balance was off. Her reflexes were dulled. Every loud noise made her flinch.

But she kept trying.

Johnny stood across from her in the sparring ring, arms crossed, eyes narrowed — not out of judgment, but concern.

“Your hands are too low.”

She adjusted.

“You’re leading with your weak side.”

She switched.

“You’re breathing too fast.”

She stopped. Frowned.

“I can’t do this,” she muttered, stepping back. “I thought I could, but—”

Johnny caught her hand. “Hey. No. Look at me.”

She didn’t.

“Y/N. Look. At. Me.”

She raised her eyes.

“You’re not broken,” he said, voice steady. “You’re healing. And healing looks like this — like trying when it hurts. Like showing up anyway.”

“I’m not strong enough—”

“You’re stronger than all of us.”

She blinked hard.

Then — finally — nodded.

“Again,” she said. “Let’s go again.”

The ride to upstate New York was silent.

No banter. No music. Just the dull hum of the jet engines and the sound of her breathing in her own ears — slow, controlled, like Johnny taught her.

She sat strapped in across from him, wearing a black tactical suit that Sue adjusted to avoid pressing on her bruises. The sleeves were slightly too long. Her gloves too big. She didn’t care. Her fingers were clenched so tight her knuckles went white.

Johnny hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they lifted off. Not once.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he said, quietly.

She nodded. But didn’t look at him.

Because if she did — she might break.

⸻

The jet landed on the outskirts of the forest.

Night had already swallowed the trees. Fog hung low, thick and curling around the trunks like claws. It smelled like pine, and decay.

Reed adjusted his goggles and whispered, “We go in quiet. She leads.”

Y/N exhaled.

“Copy that.”

⸻

She took the first step into the woods.

The rest followed.

⸻

Every inch of her body screamed with memory.

She remembered the exact incline of the path. The way the trees thinned the closer you got. How the leaves stopped rustling once you passed the third clearing — like the world itself was holding its breath.

They reached the ridge — and there it was.

The facility.

Cold metal buried beneath the earth, disguised as an old observatory from the outside. Lights humming beneath the fake dome. Cameras scanning.

Y/N crouched behind a tree and pointed. “There. Left side. Service duct. I came out of it when I escaped. It’s a straight shot down to the lab level.”

Johnny looked at her. “You sure?”

She didn’t blink. “Positive.”

They moved.

⸻

The duct was tighter than she remembered.

Climbing back inside nearly sent her spiraling. She felt it immediately — the metallic smell, the weight of the walls, the sound of her breath echoing too loudly.

He touched me here.

She nearly froze.

But Johnny’s voice came through the comms, gentle but firm.

“You’re doing great. Just a few more feet.”

Her hand gripped the edge of the crawlspace. She pulled herself through.

And they were in.

⸻

The lab floor.

Sterile. Bright. Dead quiet.

She led the way down the hall.

Every turn hit her like a ghost — this is where she was dragged. This is where he whispered to her. This is where she bled.

She pressed her back against the wall near the security checkpoint and took a shuddering breath.

“You okay?” Johnny whispered.

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. But she kept moving.

⸻

They breached the control room first. Reed and Sue took point, disabling the comm systems and cameras.

Ben cleared the side hallway.

Johnny stuck close to her — a silent shadow at her back.

Then—

“Movement, east wing,” Sue reported. “Armed. Six total.”

“Let’s go introduce ourselves,” Ben grunted.

They peeled off. Y/N and Johnny continued forward.

“Kerrick’s chamber is three floors down,” she said. “Private lab. He doesn’t let anyone in.”

“How do we get there?”

“There’s a freight elevator—”

Before she could finish, the lights flickered.

And the voice came on.

His voice.

“Well, well,” Kerrick drawled over the intercom. “Took you long enough, sweetheart.”

Her blood ran cold.

Johnny stepped in front of her instinctively.

“I was wondering when you’d come back to me.”

Y/N grit her teeth. “Shut up.”

“I left the place just the way you liked it,” Kerrick purred. “Miss the bed? I do.”

Johnny’s hand lit up with flame.

“Say another word, I swear to God—”

Y/N touched his arm.

“I got this.”

She stepped forward.

“Listen to me, you sick fuck. I survived you. I crawled out of this hell you built and now I’m coming back to tear it down. You don’t scare me anymore.”

Silence.

Then — “Let’s see if that’s still true when you’re face to face with me again.”

The line cut.

⸻

They moved fast after that.

Down the emergency stairwell. Weapons ready.

Y/N’s legs shook with every step, but she didn’t stop.

Johnny whispered, “You can wait here. Let me go first—”

“No.”

“You’re not weak for taking a second to—”

“Johnny. I’m not waiting.”

He nodded, jaw tight.

⸻

The private lab doors hissed open.

And there he was.

Kerrick stood at the center of the room — sleek, polished, not a scratch on him. Surrounded by tech. Arms crossed. Smiling.

He looked exactly the same.

She felt her stomach twist.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, like they were old lovers.

Y/N raised her hand.

A plasma bolt fired straight through his shoulder.

He staggered back, shocked.

“No,” she said. “But you’re about to miss a few limbs.”

He lunged for the console.

Johnny moved faster.

Fire exploded across the room — heat so intense it cracked the walls. Kerrick screamed as flame licked at his legs, cutting off his escape route.

Y/N walked forward.

Step by step.

Her vision blurred at the edges. The lab swam in front of her.

Flash. He’s behind her again, breathing on her neck.

Flash. His hand is on her wrist, bruising.

Flash. His voice in her ear — “You’re mine.”

“NO I’M FUCKING NOT!”

She screamed as she fired again — this time at the console. Sparks flew. The whole system lit up in flames.

Kerrick turned, bleeding, coughing, smoke choking him.

Y/N stalked forward, eyes glowing with rage.

“You don’t get to win.”

And she punched him — hard — right across the face.

He hit the ground.

Hard.

Johnny stepped in beside her, breathing heavy, hands still glowing.

“You done?”

She stared down at Kerrick’s crumpled body. Broken. Pathetic.

She nodded.

“I’m done.”

The helicopter blades were loud. The night was colder now.

She sat on the edge of the extraction ramp, blood drying beneath her fingernails, smoke still clinging to her clothes. Johnny stood beside her, silent. Watching. Always watching.

Behind them, the complex burned.

Reed had made sure of it — thermal charges laced through the foundation. The whole facility collapsed in on itself like a dying star.

There was nothing left.

Not the room.

Not the cot.

Not the voice in the dark.

Just ashes.

⸻

Kerrick had been taken alive.

The feds that Reed had looped in loaded him into a black transport van, gagged, cuffed, and half-conscious. He hadn’t spoken since she knocked him out. No last words. No threats.

She didn’t want any.

She didn’t even look at him as they dragged him away.

He didn’t deserve her rage.

Not anymore.

⸻

The flight back was quiet.

She sat curled up on the jet bench seat, wrapped in a thermal blanket, her head against Johnny’s shoulder. Her eyes stayed open the whole ride.

Not from fear this time.

Just… processing.

Burning it down hadn’t brought the closure she expected.

There was no great relief. No flood of peace. Just stillness.

And silence.

And the ache of healing that didn’t happen overnight.

⸻

The Baxter Building was warm when they returned.

Sue offered her tea. Reed said the debrief could wait. Ben gave her a bear hug that didn’t make her flinch this time.

But all she wanted was sleep.

Johnny walked her to his room without saying a word. He laid out fresh clothes. Pulled the covers down. Turned off the lights.

She stood frozen in the doorway.

He looked back.

“You okay?”

She didn’t answer.

He stepped forward. “You don’t have to sleep if you’re not ready. I’ll stay up. We can just sit.”

Her voice came out barely audible.

“Can I just… lie next to you?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Always.”

⸻

They didn’t speak for a long time.

She laid on her side, facing him, their fingers loosely linked between them.

Finally, she whispered, “It’s over.”

Johnny nodded.

“But I don’t feel different.”

“That’s okay.”

“I thought I’d feel… stronger. Whole again.”

“You are strong,” he said gently. “And whole doesn’t come back all at once. You’re allowed to feel hollow for a while.”

She blinked hard. “Who am I now?”

Johnny looked at her — not with pity, not with fear. With awe.

“You’re someone who clawed your way out. Who stood up when she didn’t have to. Who went back into the fire to make sure no one else ever has to live what you lived.”

Her lip trembled.

“You’re a survivor, Y/N. You don’t owe anyone your light. But you still shine anyway.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

He reached up and brushed it away.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

“Never,” he promised.

And she believed him.

⸻

That night, she dreamed of sunlight.

Not cages.

Not voices.

Not fear.

Just warmth.

And a boy made of fire wrapping his arms around her like she was the only thing he needed to keep the world spinning.

[joeymunsondjo]

Tough love - JQ

part 1

Content warnings: implied mental health and image struggles for JQ

Word count:1.1k

Requested by:@quinnyficsy

Thank you to @snowangie for talking to me about ideas and helping this become as realistic as possible you should all go check out her work it’s awesome!

Gracie waffle: ok this section will just be me adding little notes as i write. firstly going to write this in alternation POVS starting with Joe's but ill make the switch clear. Second part will be your/her POV. I also apologise if any numbers are randomly in my work I’ve noticed a few (my keyboard defininatly works perfectly well and I defo didn’t spill Pepsi on it) so just ignore that if you see it call it an individual flare 😮‍💨

𐙚☆⋆｡ ֺ ָ ⋆: 𐙚☆⋆｡ ֺ ָ ⋆: 𐙚☆⋆｡ ֺ ָ ⋆: 𐙚☆l

"Her love was the kind you don’t earn — the kind that arrives without asking permission and only leaves when you force it to. And like hell, did I force her.

If I could go back in time and redo it all, I would. Filming Fantastic Four was one of the most challenging few months of my life. I couldn’t have done it without her. She was with me every step of the way — traveling to set with me, waiting in my trailer some days, and being my safe place in between scenes.

I never had to ask her to be there. She was already reaching for my hand before I even knew I was falling.

The only constant in a life built on scripts and strangers was her. She was the real thing — when everything else was pretend."

"The best years of my life were spent loving her — and God, I wish I’d told her that when it still mattered.

I wish I hadn’t mistaken her loyalty for obligation, hadn’t worn her devotion like it was something I could set down and pick up again when it suited me.

She stayed without conditions. Loved me through versions of myself I didn’t even recognize — and I, blinded with pride or fear or something uglier, treated that kind of love like it would always be there. Like she would always be there.

But even the most patient hearts eventually get tired of waiting to be chosen. I made her wait.

I pushed her away — slowly at first, then all at once. With silence, with distance, with words I never should’ve said and apologies I never made in time.

And now all I can do is wish.

I wish I had seen her for what she was — not a crutch, not a constant, not a phase — but a home. She walkways listened to my problems but I never gave her the time of day to tell me about hers. God knows what she could have been going through.

I wish she had stayed.

But more than that, I wish I had given her a reason to.

Then one night, when the air was thick and restless, and the clouds hung low — heavy with everything they’d been holding back — threatening to break like a dam and pour out all they carried after so much effort had been spent just trying not to… she broke.

I should’ve seen it coming. After all, I was the one who pushed her away, piece by piece, with every careless word and every wall I built around myself.

Sh7e did it gently, with that quiet strength I’d always admired, murmuring, “I still love you, Joe. You’ll always have a special place in my heart… but it’s just not the same.”

Her voice trembled ever so slightly — a whisper of grief wrapped in acceptance. Like an unwanted present wrapped perfectly with a bow and presented to me on a silver platter. The kind of heartbreak that doesn’t shout but seeps into your bones, slow and steady.

“It’s just not the same.”

Those words echoed in the hollow space I’d made inside myself. I deserved that. And maybe even more.

I’d taken her loyalty for granted, mistaken her love for something endless, forgetting that even the strongest hearts can only hold so much before they break.

That night, as the sky finally gave way to rain, I realized some storms don’t wash away the pain — they just remind you how deeply the wounds run.

And I was left standing in the downpour, watching the one person who had been my safe place slip away, knowing I might never find shelter again.

I sat in the quiet of my trailer, the weight of the night pressing down like the storm still raging outside. Every corner held a memory — of laughter, of whispered promises, of the warmth I’d taken for granted.

My phone trembled in my hand. I hadn’t meant to reach out. Not tonight. Not after everything. But some part of me, stubborn and desperate, whispered that maybe — just maybe — one last night could change something.

I typed the message slowly, each word soaked in hesitation.

“Can we have one night? For old times’ sake. No promises. No expectations. Just... one night.”

I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

Waiting felt like drowning. My mind raced through every possible answer — a yes, a no, silence that cut deeper than any word.

Then, the reply came. Simple. Short.

“One night.”

My heart slammed against my ribs, a strange mix of relief and fear.

When she arrived, the air between us was thick with everything left unsaid. We didn’t need to pretend. We didn’t need to promise forever.

That night, for a few hours, the world outside faded.

We were just two people who once loved fiercely — imperfect, broken, but still holding onto the fragments of what made us whole.

And maybe that was enough.

The whole it’s just not the same thing was based on what my ex bf said to me when we broke no contact after a year last month. I asked him to requote himself for this fic..

Please comment and reblog it makes my day and it’s always nice to know my work is appreciated - Gracie, mwah

[joeymunsondjo]

Would love to see what you come up with for 24 x

Not me fangirling rn. I have an idea but since I want to make it a series wanted to see if it’s something people would like to read!!

so prompt 24 is "you're...pregnant...with..my?" i was thinking the reader and JQ have been dating for a while maybe 2-3 years and they have a massive fight but after all the drama they are mature people. They move out and get their own separate houses and before locking the door to their old shared home they decide to have one last night together because even though they are broken up they still cherish the old memories. the night consists of cheap wine and pizza and watching a movie. As you might have already guessed the movie isn't the only activity they get up to. After the night is over they settle on a low contact agreement since they have shared friends in London. But a few weeks later while out with their shared friend group.. reader has something to tell Joe. Hoping to create some original characters and mood-boards.. making it super angsty and fluffy with a sprinking of smut, inserting some lines from my poetry maybe like i did with my first JQ work? I want to do alternate POVS aswell because Joe deserves to showcase his version of events.How would we feel about this...

Yes I want to call this tough love..any ideas and input very much appreciated will try and get p1 out today or tmr if its something people want x

-Gracie, mwah

Edit: p1 is up

[joeymunsondjo]

Definition of perfection please go read!

✦ soft launch. a joseph quinn x girly girl influencer!reader fic.

summary: a week after joseph quinn’s life changes forever with his biggest movie yet, he finds himself at a rooftop party in la and finds you. you’re not the type to lose control, but then again, neither is he. what started as one impulsive night with joseph quinn — the newly minted marvel star — wasn’t supposed to turn into anything bigger. you weren’t looking for a boyfriend (your life’s already a full‑time job: brand trips, deadlines, and quietly supporting your single mom and siblings). he wasn’t looking for headlines (he’s fresh off fantastic four’s release, drowning in press, and dead‑set on keeping anything real far from the tabloids). but one night blurred into morning. a “don’t make this complicated” kiss turned into him making you breakfast with nothing in his fridge. a joke about keeping things private turned into late‑night facetime calls — some soft, some not so soft. and now? he’s still the man everyone wants. you’re still the girl who swore she wouldn’t fall for a man like him. but something about the way he treats you is starting to make you wonder if this is quietly turning into something real.

cw: fluffy fluffs. angst. light smut (18+, m!receiving), soft dom joseph, dirty talk.

—————————————

read part one here!

read part two here!

✧ part three of soft launch.

they kept talking for a few more days after that.

not as intense as the first few days when she was in hawaii and he was doing the press tours for fantastic four — but still steady.

a few voice notes. a couple sleepy calls.

one text where he sent a photo of his dinner and said, you’d hate this. it’s beige and deeply unseasoned.

you replied, how british of you.

it was easy. comfortable.

and then you flew home.

back in LA, the air felt different. drier. familiar, but in that way that made your skin feel too tight for a second. lana dropped you off at your place with a half hug and a “text me if you spiral,” and you promised you wouldn’t.

the next day, he missed a planned FaceTime.

you had both said “tomorrow night?” the night before — casually, sleepily — but still, it was a plan.

you sat in bed that night, phone charged, hair washed, just in case.

he didn’t call.

he didn’t text.

not that night.

not the next day.

three days.

then four.

then six.

no blue ticks. no “sorry, crazy week.” just… silence.

you weren’t mad.

he didn’t owe you anything. he was working. promoting. flying.

but still — it landed.

not like a slap. more like a soft, quiet thud in your chest. the kind that made you reread old texts and wish you hadn’t been so eager. the kind that made you rewatch the screen recording of one of your FaceTimes — and then delete it right after.

and — as if the universe could feel your mood — you got invited to a brand dinner.

rooftop, west hollywood. all champagne flutes and linen napkins and “oh my god, hi babe!” every three seconds. you didn’t want to go, but lana made you. said you needed to “put your face back in the wild.”

you wore a backless silk dress, low bun, glossy lips. looked good enough to forget for a second that your chest felt a little hollow.

he was there.

not him him — not joseph.

a him.

someone’s plus-one. someone’s model-slash-actor-slash-dj boyfriend’s best friend.

clean jawline. messy hair. grey t-shirt that clung a little too nicely to his arms.

he said something funny about the lobster rolls and you laughed without meaning to.

later, when you stood by the railing with a half-drunk glass of rosé, he found you again.

“you’re the girl who ghosted me,” he said, and when you blinked, confused, he added, “last fashion week. you DM’d me. then disappeared.”

you tilted your head. “maybe you bored me.”

he smiled. “maybe you’re trying not to admit you remember.”

you didn’t deny it.

he didn’t touch you. didn’t press. just stood a little too close, looked a little too long.

it wasn’t a moment.

but it could’ve been.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the point.

post-party. late night. post-flirtation, still stuck in her head.

you got home before midnight.

still half-dressed, still wine-sweet in your mouth, still thinking about that guy.

what was his name again?

no clue.

but you remembered the jawline.

you sat on your floor in the dark with your phone on low brightness, scrolling through your message requests.

god.

you needed to clean this thing out.

there were probably three hundred DMs in there from the last six months — some guys asking for skincare routines, some girls asking about your lip combo, some blue-check thirsts you never opened.

and then finally — him.

tiny profile pic.

blurry.

but it was him.

you’d sent a “hi :)” during fashion week last year. never replied after he answered. forgot why.

you clicked his page.

his name was kai.

not super famous, but booked enough to be invited to stuff.

asian, tall, soft around the edges but handsome.

you remembered thinking he looks like trouble but in a kind way.

you didn’t even think.

you typed:

hey cutes xx

sent it.

locked your phone.

stood up.

paced.

then — without warning — your eyes flicked to your nightstand.

pink, leather-bound, obnoxiously sparkly under the moonlight.

your journal.

you hadn’t touched it since hawaii.

actually, no — since before hawaii.

since before the FaceTimes.

since the only thing between you and joseph was two hook-ups and a hangover.

you picked it up, slowly.

flipped it open to the last used page.

and wanted to die.

in glitter pen — actual, literal glitter pen — it said:

mr. & mrs. quinn 🩷

j+me forever

i think i’m gonna marry this man help

there were hearts.

stars.

little lipstick kisses.

you screamed.

into your pillow.

twice.

then kicked your feet for extra drama.

this was dumb.

and so embarrassing.

and yet — your eyes stung a little.

because even after all that quiet,

even after texting someone else,

even after pretending you were over it…

you still wanted him.

badly.

pathetically.

in a way that felt like being 17 again.

you hugged the pillow tighter.

tried to sleep.

and hoped kai wouldn’t reply too fast.

because if he did — you didn’t trust yourself not to use him to forget someone who might’ve already forgotten you.

you were in bed, mascara still smudged from the brand party, your hair scraped up in a lazy clip and your hoodie zipped to your chin. the apartment was dark except for the glow of your screen as you scrolled through kai’s old stories for the third time.

you tossed your phone to the side and rolled onto your back.

and then — buzz.

your screen lit up with a FaceTime call.

joseph.

your heart dropped.

joseph.

you just… stared at it.

you could ignore it. you should ignore it. it had been, what — four days? five? no “hey.” no “sorry.” not even a “was thinking about you.” just silence. and now this?

the phone was still buzzing in your hand when your thumb hit accept.

“hi,” he said, voice low, scratchy.

he was in a hoodie too — black, with the sleeves pushed up. his hair looked messy, curls pushed back like he’d been running his hands through it. he was in his rental, back in LA. you recognized the kitchen counter behind him.

“hi,” you said back, guarded.

he looked at you for a second, like he was taking you in. “you okay?”

you shrugged. “yeah. just tired.”

“me too,” he said softly. “landed two days ago and it’s been a madhouse.”

you just nodded.

he scratched the back of his neck. “i should’ve texted sooner. things got a bit nuts when i got back.”

“it’s fine,” you said quickly. too quickly.

“i didn’t mean to ghost,” he added, like he meant it.

you looked at him. “you didn’t think you were ghosting me?”

he blinked, surprised. “no… i thought we were just…”

he trailed off, searching. “letting it breathe. not crowding it.”

you stared at him, blank.

“was i supposed to be texting every day?” he added, cautious.

you laughed, but it was bitter. “no. i mean — yes? i don’t know.”

his eyebrows pulled together. “you’re upset.”

“i’m not,” you lied.

he tilted his head. “you are.”

you looked away.

“i didn’t know there was a rulebook,” he said gently.

“there’s not,” you muttered, suddenly embarrassed. “it’s just… you kissed me like you gave a shit. and then nothing.”

he went quiet.

you turned the camera off, not hanging up, just off.

“okay,” he said after a beat. “i deserved that.”

there was silence.

“you seeing someone else?” he asked eventually.

your heart jumped. “what?”

“someone’s caught your attention. hasn’t he?”

you sighed. “…someone always tries.”

he hummed lowly. “and?”

“i don’t know. he’s just a guy. just… there.”

you could hear the shift in his breathing.

“i want to be honest,” you added, still not turning your camera back on. “i don’t want to play games. but i also don’t want to feel like i’m waiting around for someone who only shows up when it’s convenient.”

“ouch,” he said quietly.

you felt bad. but not enough to take it back.

he cleared his throat. “you’re right.”

you turned your camera back on.

he looked… gutted. not angry. not defensive. just like he didn’t know he’d hurt you until now.

“i don’t function like you,” he admitted. “i don’t move that fast. but i do care. i wasn’t trying to make you feel small.”

your eyes burned.

“i just thought…” he went on. “if we slowed down, we’d make it last longer.”

you swallowed. “maybe.”

he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “i missed you.”

that cracked you.

you didn’t say it back. but your lips curled, just a little, and he caught it.

his voice dropped lower, warmer.

“is that a smile?”

you rolled your eyes and hugged your blanket tighter. “you’re seeing things.”

“hm.” he leaned back in his chair, screen tilting a bit with the movement. “then maybe i should get my eyes checked.”

you tried not to laugh. he saw you try. he looked smug.

“hey,” he added, suddenly casual, like he was just thinking it now — but you could tell it was planned.

“random question.”

you raised a brow.

“is that one particular tiktoker- no, influencer,”

he paused, acting like he couldn’t remember your handle (you knew he could),

“free in two nights?”

your breath caught.

“…why?”

he grinned. “thought i’d take her out. somewhere low-key. romantic.”

then he added, all too casual:

“maybe Nobu?”

you blinked.

he definitely saw that reel you posted two months ago where you said sushi is your love language. and the picture from last year’s collab dinner in Nobu Malibu, where you were laughing in a pink slip dress with a lychee martini in hand.

“you stalked me,” you accused.

he lifted his hands. “i researched.”

you snorted. “you don’t even follow me.”

he smirked. “doesn’t mean i don’t look.”

you stared at him.

“my followers are nosy,” he said, half-apologetic, half-amused. “they’d go feral if they saw your @ in my following tab. i’m trying to keep this… between us. for now.”

you nodded slowly, understanding. “so you stalk me to flatter me?”

his smirk grew. “maybe i want to win.”

“win what?”

he looked right into the camera.

“you.”

your throat went dry.

you tried to cover with a scoff. “you’re so full of shit.”

“but you’re smiling again.”

you rolled your eyes — but this time, you were laughing. real, quiet, giddy laughter.

and for a moment, neither of you said anything. the screen glowed between you, and it felt like something… real.

“so,” he said, dragging the syllable out.

“Nobu?”

you bit your lip.

“…pick me up at seven.”

———————————

“wait. wait. REWIND,” lana said, hands in the air. “he FaceTimed you, said he missed you, and then asked you out to—”

“nobu,” you said, trying to act calm as you sipped your almond milk latte.

lana screamed into the throw pillow on your couch. “NO ONE IS NORMAL. YOU’RE LIVING A FANFIC.”

you were in your pink NYU hoodie and tiny pajama shorts, barefoot, fresh-faced, and trying not to let your cheeks split open from smiling. lana had just come over with cinnamon buns and tea. you weren’t expecting her to go full Sherlock Holmes mode about the FaceTime, but… here you were.

“and then he said,” she repeated, imitating him in a very bad British accent,

“‘maybe Nobu?’”

you rolled your eyes. “he didn’t say it like that.”

“he SO did. and you were like, ‘omg i’d love to sexy britsh man with the biggest d’—”

“i wasn’t—!”

DING DONG.

you both froze.

“that’s not food,” lana whispered. “we didn’t order anything.”

you blinked. “ooh maybe my mom sent something?”

you padded over to the door, unlocking it slowly —

and nearly dropped your phone.

a florist. holding the most ridiculous, lush, dreamy bouquet of soft pink peonies you had ever seen in your entire life.

like. twenty of them. fresh, fluffy, slightly dewy.

you stood there like a cartoon character, mouth open, your heart flying out your chest.

“delivery for… you,” the guy said, reading your name.

you took it. still in a daze.

lana was already halfway to the door. “WHO— WHAT— WHO ARE THEY FROM???”

you looked at the little card tucked into the wrap. it was handwritten, neat, a little crooked like he wasn’t used to writing notes.

“saw them somewhere on ur profile and then saw what ur room looks like so i thought they’d look good next to your bed. — J”

you clutched the bouquet to your chest and screamed. like fully screamed.

lana screamed too. it was instant. like a chain reaction.

“PEONIES?” she yelled. “NO BECAUSE THIS MAN…”

“i’ve never gotten peonies before,” you whispered, almost breathless. “no one’s ever gotten me peonies.”

lana snatched your phone. “and this is after not following you. not even liking your posts. but this man is DEEP in your repost tab?? watching your tiktoks?? oh he’s gone.”

you stared down at the bouquet in your arms, eyes shining.

you could see it. your nightstand, your perfume bottles, your tiny pink journal — and now these.

joseph.

peonies.

a date at nobu.

you were in trouble.

you smiled down at the card again, tracing the “—J” with your fingertip.

“girl,” lana said, hand on her chest, “this is soft launch coded. this is wife coded.”

———————————

you hadn’t heard from him since the FaceTime.

well. not directly.

but the flowers? the peonies?

yeah, they were talking plenty.

you took the bouquet to your kitchen island and gave them fresh water like they were babies. it was embarrassing how many photos you took. close-ups, wide shots, even a timelapse of you fluffing them with a butter knife like you learned on TikTok.

you tried not to check your phone, but obviously failed. twenty minutes after putting the flowers in their vase, you caved and opened his chat.

you typed and deleted twice before settling on:

they’re beautiful. thank you x

then, two minutes later, you added, because you were you:

(i screamed into a pillow btw. violently.)

and THEN, because you were even more you, you sent a mirror selfie:

hair in a messy claw clip, off-shoulder top, holding the peonies like a bridal bouquet.

he replied twenty minutes later.

you’re welcome babe x

you suit them.

you stared at your phone and bit your lip. hard.

next day, you had an early start.

woke up at 7. put on a little concealer and lip tint. threw on a hoodie and leggings. picked your mum up from her place to take her to her specialist appointment.

it wasn’t serious — just routine checkups. but she liked when you came.

she liked pretending you were a little family of two. girlies only. forever.

you brought her back to your place after, just to spend a little more time before the date tonight. you even made her lunch — grilled cheese and soup. classic.

and then.

you unlocked your front door.

hands full. bags and receipts from the pharmacy. leftovers.

and stopped.

there, on your console table, right in front of the mirror —

another bouquet.

this time: lilies.

ten of them. ivory white. clean. elegant. regal.

you gasped.

your mum squealed.

“oh my god.”

she walked past you to touch them, poking the bouquet like it might explode.

“he sent you another one??”

you nodded. blushing. frozen. still clutching the brown paper takeout bag like it could save you.

“who is this man??”

“you better call him. i wanna hear his voice.”

“mum—”

“call. him. now.”

you caved.

after helping her into a chair and setting the bag down, you picked up your phone and tapped his name.

the ringing made your hands sweaty. what if he didn’t pick up?

he did.

“hey, you.”

“hi—um.”

“i just got back. and there’s… lilies.”

you looked over your shoulder at your mum, who was pretending not to eavesdrop while sipping soup straight from the cup.

“i’m with my mum. she’s literally forcing me to call you right now.”

“hi joseph!!” your mum called from behind you.

“…hi,” he said, a little surprised but charmed. “hi, missus…”

“just call me holly, i’m not that old.”

“also—thank you for the flowers. my daughter almost screamed.”

you groaned and slid down your fridge in embarrassment.

“joe she’s beautiful, you know.”

“oh i know,” he said, quietly. “i’ve seen miss pretty holly on your story. think that’s why i’m nervous.”

your mum mouthed “oh my god” and fanned herself dramatically.

“so im seeing u for dinner tonight yeah?” he asked.

“she is,” your mum answered for you. “i’ll drop her off myself if i have to.”

after you hung up, you stared at the lilies again.

they were so different from the peonies.

simpler. more mature. like a second thought. a follow-up.

like he meant it.

you turned to your mum, already knowing what she was gonna say.

“i like him,” she said. “he sounds… intentional.”

you smiled.

“he is.”

your mum finally left at 4pm, your brother picking her up. she blew a kiss at you from your brother’s car window like she was the one going on the date.

she said not to overthink it. but you’d been overthinking it since before the lilies. and even before the peonies.

you were overthinking it the moment he even asked if you were free.

you had three hours to get ready.

which sounded like a lot until you realised you had no idea what to wear.

you texted lana while standing half-naked in your bedroom:

you: help

you: i can’t look like i care too much but i also wanna look like a virgin he wants to marry

you: but sexy

you: but not like slutty

you: but maybe like a little slutty

lana: LOL

lana: i’m coming over. hide the dress you wore to your cousin’s wedding or i will burn it

by 6:00 she was sitting cross-legged on your bed, drinking matcha she made for herself in your kitchen and making you do a full runway show in your own room.

you ended up picking a soft baby blue silky midi dress you forgot you even had — one that hugged your waist and showed just enough collarbone to keep it classy but devastating.

paired with small silver hoops. white platform heels. soft glam. your hair blown out just the way you liked it.

you looked like a grown woman.

you looked like someone who could break his heart.

at 6:54, your phone buzzed.

joseph: outside baby

you peeked out your window — his rental car was parked across the street. nothing flashy. simple. clean.

you grabbed your purse, gave lana the most screaming-silent-excited face ever, and ran.

he stood outside the passenger door, waiting.

he looked like your undoing.

grey knit sweater. silver rings. sun in his hair.

he saw you, smiled slow, and said:

“you wore blue.”

“you’re trying to kill me.”

you slid into the passenger seat, the car smelling like clean laundry and his cologne — not too strong, just warm, a little woody, and unfairly addictive.

he shut the door behind you before getting in on his side.

the silence was calm. comforting. his playlist was low — something jazzy, ambient, very this is a man who reads scripts in coffee shops.

“you look beautiful,” he said without looking at you, both hands on the wheel.

“you’re not too bad yourself handsome,” you teased.

he glanced over, that knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

at the next red light, his right hand left the steering wheel and rested gently on your thigh.

his touch was casual. natural. like he had every right to put it there.

but it still made your breath catch, heat crawling up your neck.

“you nervous?” he asked, thumb brushing along the hem of your dress.

“a little.”

“good,” he said. “i’d be offended if i didn’t make you nervous.”

you laughed, turning to face him. he was smiling — that lazy, tilted smirk like he was seconds away from saying something that would make you want to scream into a pillow again.

“i saw your tiktok, by the way,” he added, eyes still on the road.

your heart stopped.

“…you what?”

“you didn’t send it to me first. smart girl,” he said, squeezing your thigh lightly. “but i recognize those peonies.”

he was talking about the tiktok you posted last night.

the whole night, as you waited for the lasagna you made for dinner, you’d set your phone onto your kitchen island. you took maybe 30 tiktoks with the first bouquet he sent. the peonies. you eventually posted 4 out of the bunch.

it was alot but they are peonies. it was her first ever peonies bouquet. she has bought them for herself from time to time but never from a man she dated. they think roses are the staples but there’s just no substance in it. no thoughts. like they just picked up a random stalk and called it a day.

joseph learned about you. what you like. he paid attention. he listens.

so of course, you lipsynced to ariana grande, hugging the peonies to your chest. in your satin baby blue victoria secret pjs. twirling around with your hair following you.

Need your hands all up on my body

Like the moon needs the stars (like the moon needs the stars)

Nothin' else felt this way inside me

Boy, let's go too far

I want you to come claim it, I do

What are you waitin' for? (Ooh)

Yeah, want you to name it, I do

Want you to make it yours

It's like supernatural

This love's possessin' me, but I don't mind at all

It's like supernatural

It's takin' over me, don't wanna fight the fall

It's like supernatural

he saw it.

you covered your face.

he chuckled.

“you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

the hostess led you both to a corner booth with a view of the ocean — low lighting, clinking glasses, the soft hum of very rich, very famous people pretending not to notice each other.

joseph let you slide in first, then settled beside you instead of across. close. warm. his knee against yours under the table.

“what do you usually get?” he asked, opening the menu.

“the salmon sashimi. and… like, everything.”

he grinned.

“dangerous.”

halfway through dinner — between the second round of sushi and you stealing a piece off his plate — you felt a soft gaze on you from across the room.

you glanced over. a couple seated diagonally across. well-dressed. older. probably industry people.

they definitely recognized joseph. they even smiled politely at him.

but they didn’t say a word. didn’t take out their phones. just gave a nod of quiet respect — as if to say: your secret’s safe here.

you instinctively leaned in a little closer to him.

he noticed.

“they won’t say anything,” he said quietly.

“places like this — people come here to disappear.”

“so we’re disappearing now?” you joked, playing with your chopsticks.

“i think we’ve been disappearing since i kidnapped you from the party we met at.”

you blinked.

he didn’t look away from you.

just sipped his drink and let the words hang there like he didn’t just say something that made your heart jump and your stomach flip.

the valet pulled the car around, and you both got in quietly — the kind of quiet that felt full.

his hand was back on your thigh like it belonged there.

the city blurred by as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other on you.

“you okay?” he asked, eyes flicking to you at a red light.

“mm-hm. just… thinking.”

“about?”

“disappearing,” you said, voice light. “you say it like it’s a good thing.”

he smiled.

“with the right person, it is.”

he didn’t ask. didn’t pressure. just parked, looked over at you, and said:

“i was gonna offer to drive you home. but i’ve got dessert inside.”

you blinked.

“like, actual dessert?”

“like actual dessert,” he said, grinning. “unless you’re in a rush.”

you weren’t.

your world had been moving so fast lately — collabs, events, photoshoots, pretending not to care about things that hurt — but this moment felt slow. deliberate.

you nodded.

⸻

he moved around the kitchen like he’d done this before.

pulled out a tub of icecream. neapolitan. and grabbed two spoons.

the second night you were together almost two months ago, both of you bonded over your favourite things and this. the neapolitan ice cream was a favourite you shared.

“you really bought this just for tonight?” you asked.

“no,” he said, handing you a spoon.

“i bought it hoping you’d come over after you left my place that morning before you went to hawaii. it just… took a while.”

“oh my god. joe. you’re obsessed with me.”

“idk baby. maybe i am. that good with you ?”

you ended up sitting on his couch, curled toward him, both of you half-finished with dessert, and completely ignoring the movie playing in the background.

“i like that you don’t talk too much,” he murmured, voice low.

“most people feel the need to fill silence.”

“i like that you don’t either.”

he looked at you for a beat.

“can i ask you something?”

you nodded.

“was the tiktok for me?”

you snorted, eyes widening.

“you’re obsessed.”

“a little.”

“yes,” you admitted, cheeks hot. “maybe.”

“i saved it,” he said casually, like it was nothing.

you’re both still on his couch.

your knees are pulled up, his arm behind you on the cushions — not quite touching, but close enough that you could just lean back and let your head rest there.

you weren’t even watching the movie anymore. it’s on, sure — but it’s just noise.

“you always this quiet after sushi?” he asks, glancing sideways at you.

you hum.

“you always this nosy after dessert?”

his mouth lifts, slow.

“you were different first time we met,” he says, after a beat.

“you were drunk.”

he laughs, soft and raspy.

“still remember everything.”

you don’t reply. not right away.

you’re staring at the little gold spoon in your hand, tapping it lightly against the rim of the big ice cream tub. the half-melted chocolate is starting to look sad.

“joe…you know you don’t talk like a 30-year-old,” you murmur.

he turns to face you a little more.

“how do 30-year-olds talk?”

“like they’re too sure of themselves, joe. like they’re above everything. like they’re always trying to prove something.”

you pause, then glance up.

“but you… you feel like a secret.”

he’s quiet. like that hit somewhere it wasn’t supposed to.

his voice is lower when he speaks next.

“you feel like a risk.”

your eyes flick to his.

“a bad one?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you, slow and sure, like he’s searching your whole face.

then softly—

“no. just… one i don’t know how to take yet.”

your chest tightens.

you almost want to brush it off, turn it into a joke. but the air is too still. too real.

so instead, you ask:

“do you ever think about that night? the first one?”

he leans back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling like he’s playing it all back.

“all the time princess,” he says, so casually it makes your heart thump.

“me too.”

you pause, then—

“but i wasn’t supposed to.”

“me either.”

a beat.

he shifts, finally reaching for your hand — not your waist, not your thigh, just your hand, resting on your knee. his fingers wrap around yours gently. thumb brushing over your knuckles.

it feels… grounding.

“i think,” he says quietly, “we owe it to ourselves to just see where this goes. no pressure. no labels. no weird timelines.”

“well joseph quinn. you sound like a guy who’s about to ghost me again.”

he flinches, then gives a guilty little smile.

“i deserved that.”

“a little bit.”

you both laugh. it’s soft, but warm.

he brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“you deserve to feel chosen. even in silence. even in the in-between.”

you blink. like that line physically made your heart flip.

you don’t say anything for a long time.

you just curl your fingers into his hoodie and lean your head against his shoulder.

the bathroom light is warm, golden, like the rest of his place. you’d just brushed your teeth, taken your makeup off, hair tied up in a lazy claw clip. you’re standing there in black lace — not technically purposely matching, not for him, just your favorite comfort set.

joseph’s oversized black t-shirt is folded on the counter, the one he gave you to sleep in.

you put it on, the oversized cotton shirt hanging just a little over your underwear, the black lace strap peeking through the loose neckline. you smiled to yourself. you can’t believe that you’re here. well, you’ve been here already but not like this. not after an actual date the eddie munson a.k.a johnny storm a.k.a joseph quinn planned very thoughtfully. you lifted your phone, camera angled at the mirror — soft flash, hips popped, tongue out just slightly. it’s for your close friends, maybe. or maybe just your memories.

and just as you snap it—

arms wrap around her from behind.

his voice, low and playful by your ear:

“you always take mirror selfies in other people’s bathrooms?”

your heart skips.

“only when they look like this.”

he dips his head into the frame, face slightly hidden in your neck, his arms locked around your waist. they’re both in the photo now — you, barely dressed; him, in grey sweats and a sleepy hoodie, grinning into your shoulder.

“keep that one,” he murmurs, “for someday.”

your stomach flips.

you press your phone to your chest, suddenly shy.

joseph kisses your neck. once. twice.

you pull him by the hand out of the bathroom, still giggling, still giddy. tossing the phone on the bed, then flops down urself, hair loose now, his shirt on.

he drops beside you, one arm slung over your waist.

the duvet’s soft. it smells like him — clean, woody, a bit like pine.

“you’re trouble,” he mumbles, nose nudging your temple.

“and you’re obsessed.”

“can you blame me?”

you turn to face him fully. he’s looking at you like he already knows he’s in deep — but still trying to play it cool.

they kiss.

slow. not like the first time — not urgent, not rushed. just slow, deep, fond.

your fingers slide into his curls. his hand finds the dip of your waist.

eventually, you shift a little, sliding a hand lower, just to tease — the lightest touch over the waistband of his sweats.

he groans into your mouth, low and surprised.

“you’re really trouble,” he mutters.

“shh. go to sleep.”

your hand’s been there a while, resting just under his ribs. absentmindedly tracing along the soft hem of his shirt, brushing your thumb over the dip of his stomach. and you feel it — that little shift in his breathing, that subtle twitch when your fingers dip a bit too low.

you smile into his jaw.

“what?” you whisper, teasing.

he doesn’t answer at first — just breathes out a quiet laugh, like he’s already too far gone.

so you kiss him again.

and this time, your hand moves deliberately — sliding lower, over the soft cotton of his sweats. you feel him, half-hard, already responding to your touch, and it sends a quiet thrill through your chest.

he exhales sharply, his hips tilting just slightly into your palm.

“jesus,” he mutters, voice low. “you’re— fuck.”

you kiss the corner of his mouth, then lower — your nose brushing his neck as your hand wraps around him properly, just beneath the waistband. he’s warm. heavy. the sound he makes when you stroke him — slow, deliberate — is quiet and ruined and completely beautiful.

“is that okay?” you ask softly.

he nods, eyes fluttering closed. “yeah. don’t stop. please.”

you don’t. you watch him.

the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tighten in the sheets. one arm finds your waist, pulling you closer like he can’t stand the space between you.

you keep your movements steady, your thumb sweeping over the head, your wrist flicking just enough to draw out another broken moan.

joseph looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, dazed and flushed and sweet. “you’re unreal,” he says, voice wrecked.

you just smile, your lips ghosting over his cheek, his neck, as you keep going.

he’s breathing harder now, thighs tensing, muscles twitching under your hand. you can feel how close he is, how badly he wants to hold on — but it’s no use.

he comes with a sharp gasp of your name, head thrown back into the pillow, hips twitching into your touch. his hand is gripping your waist so tightly now, like he needs to anchor himself to something.

you ride it out with him — soft kisses to his chest, your hand slowing gradually until he’s breathless and blinking at the ceiling like he’s forgotten how to form a sentence.

then he looks at you.

just looks.

and there’s something in his eyes that’s not just lust,

not just relief.

it’s something deeper.

his hand lifts to your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. “you’re gonna ruin me,” he says, almost a whisper.

you press your smile into his palm. “you started it.”

they don’t say much after.

you’re curled into his side, his shirt hanging off your shoulder, the sheets tangled around your legs.

he’s tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

yoyr hand is resting against his ribs. your breathings syncint.

“don’t disappear again,” you mumble, half-asleep.

joseph laughs softly, pulling you into his chest, both your bodies melting together under the covers. your breathing slows. his hand finds yours again, fingers lacing. his eyes flutter closed. he kissed your shoulder.

“not planning to,” he says softly.

“not from you.”

his hand stays on your thigh, a silent thank you. you fall asleep like that — the scent of peonies and lilies still faint in the air, your name still on his lips.

[joeymunsondjo]

Hi! :) for the request thingy, may I please have #4 with Eddie? :3

Of course you can lovely, first time writing for him so wish me luck!! i kind of ended up leaving this on an edge. if you would like me to continue this with a part 2 please lmk. I wasn't sure whether you wanted smut or fluff and i have an idea for this with a more fluffy plot line so if anyone wants that to leave my drafts also give me a shout.

Quote: “woah- don’t move. Don’t move please”

Content warnings: strong language, sexual tension, power dynamics, restraint, dirty talk but not really

Don’t move

—————————

You should have been gone at least an hour ago. It was late. Or early? You are then made aware of how unsure of the time you are.

The party's at that sloppy, late-stage point where everything's sticky—floors, counters, conversations. Tequila and Mountain Dew are getting mixed up in the kitchen. There's a girl sobbing on the front steps over a boy in a band who "doesn't even write his own lyrics." The universe is collapsing in real time. Th7e bass loud enough to shatter your own sternum.

And then there's Eddie Munson.

He's wedged into the corner of the sofa as sin in blue jeans, legs spread, one boot pushed up on the coffee table like it's his territory—which, where charm is concerned, it largely is. You lock eyes and you get the smile. That smile. It's off-kilter and self-satisfied and slightly too relaxed, and before you even realize it, you're intensely conscious of your lips.

"Gonna sit there and stare at me all night?" he asks, voice more relaxed than he usually is, already amused.

You arch your eyebrow. "Maybe I am."

He leans back further, arms wide in a dare. "Then you may as well come sit down."

So, with that you stroll across the room, side past a disregarded bag of chips and a girl, sprawled on the floor with glitter on her face, and before you can think twice about it, you're sitting on his lap like it's the most natural thing you've ever done. Almost second nature to you.

You feel him tense under you. Just slightly.

His hands drift against your waist as if he doesn't know what to do with them. You do.

You shift slightly, snuggling closer, and that's when he stumbles—his breath catches- his grip on your waist tightens. Just a fraction. And then his voice lowers.

"Woah—don't move. don't move, please."

You freeze. The tension between you sparks like a struck match in a room full of oxygen. Dangerous, inevitable and already beginning its life.

The air is heavy now - with all the unspoken words the two of you have yet to say to each other – and suddenly you feel it upon yourself to tease the poor boy even further. He's looking at you like you've just rewritten newtons third law. His eyes wide as if they had been blown, his jaw clenched. You're not even touching, but it feels like his whole body is fighting not to recoil. Is it all too much for him? You consider then push the thought down as you decide to tease more.

You smile, because you can't help yourself. "Sensitive, Munson?”

He exhales with a breathy laugh, but it catches in his throat when you shift again—purposely this time. Just enough to push. To prod.

"You're playing with fire," he snarls, voice rough like smoke and need.

You creep in cautiously, lips barely against his ear. "You started it."

And when your hips roll forward, slow and deliberate, he makes this sound that you are certain doesn't belong in public.

His hands ultimately curl into action, wrapping around your waist with a hold that's got intent behind it now.

"I can happily fight fire with fire sweetheart” he growls, low, directly into your left ear. But you just keep on grinding your hips instead, watching the last of his composure snap like a guitar string wound too tightly. He groans, low and almost-grateful. "Fuck. Okay. You win." And you will. Later. On the floor. Or in the bathroom. Or wherever the party lets its guard down with you long enough for him to collect on the sparkle in his eye. But now you simply smile, fingers wrapped around his neck as if you've been there forever. Because perhaps you have.

[joeymunsondjo]

Request prompts

“You wanna tell me who did this to you or you want me to find out the hard way”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to look like that”

“Woah don’t move..please don’t move”

“You look so pretty.. pretty like…”

“I-i you’re perfect, literal angel”

“I’m so proud of you”

“I’ll take the couch”

“Im not gunna last long if you keep that up”

“You’re really warm”

“Stop squirming”

“I’m going out I need to clear my head.. of course you are you always walk away instead of facing your problems”

“How do I keep this brain of yours quiet, give you a rest?”

“It’s (her/him/them) isn’t it”

“You’re still the same to me”

“It’s my fault”

“You’re not acting like you..”

“Why are you acting like (full public name) I want (nickname)”

“They’re gunna wish they hadn’t laid a finger on you”

“Shhh.. I’m here now”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there”

“Listen to me, your not listening to me”

“My parents are in town they wondered if they could swing by and meet you”

“You’re… pregnant.. with..my?”

“I just like hearing your voice”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Don’t you dare walk away from this”

“Oh.. I thought there would be more than one bed.”

Ok so a lot of this is kinda angsty but with the potential for some smut bc I wanna try it okay. I overuse ellipses and em dashes for clauses but we roll like that!! I’m going to add to this quite regularly so please keep checking back. I’m going to set a limit of no more than 2 numbers per fic as it could get confusing and hard to fit in x

[joeymunsondjo]

enchanted by your last work Oml there is no way in hell that’s your first fic??? No pressue but need to know when you’re writing more and if requests are open ect.

Hey queen, thank you so much that means a lot! It’s my first time writing for this fandom and first time actually publishing my work. I study English (poetry) and whenever I write I worry it’s too poetic in my descriptions.. I’m going to write a prompt list later to encourage requests bc I legit can’t write without them. Lols. I might put another out tonight or tmr depends how tired I feel 💅

[joeymunsondjo]

This. Just this.

✦ soft launch. a joseph quinn x influencer.f!reader fic

summary: what started as one impulsive night with joseph quinn — the newly minted marvel star — wasn’t supposed to turn into anything bigger. you weren’t looking for a boyfriend (your life’s already a full‑time job: brand trips, deadlines, and quietly supporting your single mom, your stay-at-home older sister, and your brother in flight school). he wasn’t looking for headlines (he’s fresh off fantastic four’s release, drowning in press, and dead‑set on keeping anything real far from the tabloids). but one night blurred into morning. a “don’t make this complicated” kiss turned into him making you breakfast with nothing in his fridge. a joke about keeping things private turned into late‑night facetime calls — some soft, some not so soft. and now? he’s still the man everyone wants. you’re still the girl who swore she wouldn’t fall. but something about the way he calls you darling — like it isn’t a question — is starting to make you wonder if this “soft launch” is quietly turning into something real.

cw: smut (18+), soft dom joseph, oral (f!receiving), facetime smut, dirty talk, praise, slight angst about fame & privacy, mention of reader’s family struggles.

an: a lot of u messaged me to continue the soft launch oneshot i posted yesterday soooo here you go 🩷 it got way longer than i planned (like… this might be a whole series now??) and i’m posting more parts soon!!! thank u for loving this the way i do

—————————————

✧ part two of soft launch.

sunlight spilled across the room in thick, golden strips, lighting up the mess of sheets, his cardigan crumpled on the floor, your dress half hanging off the arm of a chair.

joseph was awake first.

he lay on his side, head propped on his hand, just… watching you. your cheek was squished slightly against his pillow, lashes stuck together from sleep, your lips parted. you looked so unbothered, so warm.

and joseph felt this low thud of panic in his chest. what the hell do i do now?

he’d had one‑nights before. this didn’t feel like that.

you stirred, stretching slightly, and his breath caught when your eyes blinked open, sleepy and soft.

“…hi,” you murmured, voice raspy.

his lips curved. “hi.”

you glanced around the room — his discarded clothes, the fact that his arm was still resting over your waist like he’d forgotten to move it — then back at him.

“so…” you whispered, teasing but shy, “do i do the awkward sneaky‑out thing, or…”

he cut you off with a small, crooked grin. “you’re not going anywhere. not yet.”

“i’ll make you breakfast,” joseph said a little too confidently, pulling on his sweatpants and heading toward the kitchen like a man on a mission.

ten minutes later, you stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to laugh.

his fridge contained:

– three beers

– half a carton of almond milk

– three pieces of light babybels

he turned, sheepish. “right. so, maybe… breakfast out?”

you ended up at a tiny diner five minutes from his house. he’d shoved on a baseball cap and sunglasses — the “celebrity incognito” starter pack — and handed you one of his button‑downs to throw over yourself.

“you look ridiculous,” you teased, sipping your coffee.

“you’re wearing my shirt,” he shot back, smirking, “don’t think i didn’t notice.”

you grinned. “i’m an influencer. i can stealth better than you. you? you look like you’re hiding from the CIA.”

he laughed, real and unguarded, and it made the waitress do a double take.

outside the diner, it happened.

just one click — a long lens from across the street — and suddenly there was a grainy photo of joseph quinn holding the door open for a mystery girl in his shirt on twitter before you’d even made it back to his house.

your phone buzzed with a notification and you turned the screen to him, smirking. “you’ve been soft‑launched.”

he groaned, running a hand over his face. “christ. i’m rubbish at this, aren’t i?”

“the worst,” you teased, but your heart beat a little faster anyway.

back at his place, he brushed crumbs off your lips without thinking, thumb lingering there a second too long.

“darling,” he murmured absently, like it was natural, like he’d called you that for years.

you blinked, then grinned. “darling? that’s very 1950s of you.”

“hm.” he kissed you suddenly, cutting off your teasing, hands braced on either side of the kitchen counter.

you pulled back breathless. “you can’t just do that every time i mock you.”

“watch me,” he said, and kissed you again.

the kiss didn’t stay innocent.

his hands slid under his shirt — still on your body — until he’d pushed you back against the couch, his mouth hungry but unhurried.

he tugged at the buttons lazily, halfway unfastening them, and then his head dipped lower, lips finding your stomach, then lower still.

“joseph…” your voice cracked on his name.

“just relax,” he murmured, pushing the shirt wider so he could kiss between your thighs, not even bothering to fully undress you.

it wasn’t the desperate, rough heat of last night — this was luxurious, drawn‑out, him taking his time like he just wanted to see you squirm, then stop before sex, leaning up to press a kiss to your lips.

“we’ve got all day,” he whispered, smirking, and you groaned, swatting his chest, already wanting more.

a little later, tangled on his couch, your phone buzzed again.

“work?” joseph asked, glancing at the notification lighting up your screen.

you laughed softly, sitting up, hair a mess. “yeah. i’ve got a dior dinner tonight. one of my longest brand deals — i can’t skip.”

“and pickleball,” you added casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my best friend will murder me if i cancel again.”

he raised a brow, amused. “pickleball. of course.”

he hesitated, then: “i’ve got a Fantastic Four promo thing later — another red carpet. you should come.”

you smiled, teasing. “are you soft‑launching me, mr. marvel?”

he smirked, leaning back. “depends if you want to be.”

you slipped his shirt back on, buttoning only two buttons, standing in his living room like you owned it. “i’ll think about seeing you tonight. maybe after.”

you made it all the way to the door before turning, plucking one of your delicate gold rings from your finger and setting it on his nightstand.

“you forgot something,” he called, smirking.

you smirked back. “no, i didn’t.”

the dior driver picked you up at five, and by then joseph had already slipped back into “busy actor” mode — phone buzzing with texts from his publicist, a suit bag slung over his shoulder, muttering something about “a bloody press line” before kissing you once, quick, like he didn’t want to make it a thing.

you didn’t push.

you got it.

you weren’t new to men like him — you’d talked to plenty of actors, dated one or two for a minute, and you knew the rules: keep it quiet. no “hard launch,” no casual red carpet dates.

not because he didn’t like you, but because that’s just how it worked.

and you? you didn’t have time to pout about it.

your life was already a balancing act — brand deals, content calendars, invoices, all while making sure the mortgage on your mom’s house was paid and your sister’s therapy sessions cleared.

by the time you arrived at the dior dinner, you’d shifted into “influencer mode” — hair glossy, skin perfect, charm on autopilot.

the table was full of familiar faces: other girls with millions of followers, a couple of actresses, one editor from Vogue who called you darling in a way that made you feel like you were being sized up.

you smiled for the cameras, filmed a clip of your champagne glass clinking against another for your stories.

you didn’t mention the grainy paparazzi photo from this morning. you didn’t mention joseph at all.

because that wasn’t how you built your platform. you didn’t need him for clout — you’d built this from scratch, from nothing. from a childhood of eviction notices taped to the door, from nights your mom’s latest boyfriend forgot to leave grocery money.

after dinner, you changed in the car — dior slip swapped for bike shorts and a vintage tee, glam makeup wiped down to just gloss.

your best friend, lana, was already waiting on the pickleball court with a paddle in hand and that look on her face — the one that meant she’d been on twitter.

“so.” she swung the paddle like she was about to interrogate you with it. “you and joseph quinn?”

you groaned. “you saw that stupid photo.”

“everyone saw that stupid photo.” she grinned, then added, “i recognise my own best friend girl. you do realize my entire personality was eddie munson for, like, two years?”

you smirked, tossing her a ball. “and i told you i didn’t have time to binge stranger things because i was busy paying the water bill.”

lana softened for a second, because she knew the truth of it: you’d hustled your way here.

your mom — gorgeous, chaotic, men orbiting her like moths — had raised you and your siblings the only way she knew how. she’d been “the other woman” so many times she joked about it.

but jokes didn’t put food on the table.

so you learned to.

you took your mom’s looks, your own sharp instincts, and turned them into something. a ring light. a phone. an audience.

and now you supported them all — your mom, your older sister who hated leaving the house but sends you the funniest late‑night texts, and your brother in flight school.

you couldn’t afford to fumble this life for a boy. even if the boy was joseph quinn.

lana hit the ball back to you. “so what’s he like? is he… y’know…”

you rolled your eyes, grinning. “stop. i’m not giving you the play‑by‑play.”

lana smirked. “you’re glowing, though. so i’ll take that as confirmation.”

you laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny it.

later, as you were shoving your paddle back into its case, your phone buzzed.

joseph: press thing done. didn’t hate it. wondering if you might hate me if i ask to see you later?

you stared at the text for a second, smiling without meaning to.

lana peered over your shoulder, gasping. “oh my god.”

you shoved your phone in your bag. “don’t start.”

but you were already thinking about it — the way you’d “forgotten” your ring on his nightstand this morning, the way he’d called you darling like it wasn’t even a question.

you texted back:

maybe. after. if you’re lucky.

you were still damp with sweat when you knocked on his door.

pickleball hair, flushed cheeks, bike shorts and a hoodie you hadn’t washed in three days — not exactly “dior dinner glam.”

the door swung open almost immediately, like he’d been standing behind it.

joseph looked… tired. not in a bad way — just human. the suit was gone; his hair was damp like he’d showered but given up halfway through drying it.

“hi,” you said, suddenly shy.

he smiled, soft. “hi. come in.”

the apartment was dim except for a single lamp. his jacket was draped over the couch, his shoes kicked into a corner.

you sank into the sofa, tucking your legs under you, still a little breathless from the walk up his stairs.

joseph sat on the other end, close but not touching, watching you like he was trying to decide what version of himself to be right now.

finally, he spoke.

“i should say this now, before…” he gestured vaguely, like he couldn’t say the word before i inevitably kiss you again and end up with you on my lap.

you tilted your head. “before what?”

“before we make this more complicated.” he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “i… i keep things quiet. relationships. anyone i care about. not because i want to treat them like a secret, but because…” he exhaled hard. “because once it’s out there, it’s not yours anymore. it’s everyone’s. and they don’t care if they rip it apart.”

he looked at you, waiting for you to flinch, or push back, or make it a bigger thing than it was.

you didn’t.

you just nodded slowly. “i get it.”

he blinked, like he wasn’t expecting that.

“joseph,” you said softly, pulling your hoodie over your head and tossing it on the arm of the couch, “you think i built my whole life to throw it away on… likes? comments? a headline?”

you shifted closer, knees brushing his.

“i worked too hard for this. for my family. my sister, my mom, my brother… it’s me. it’s always been me paying the bills, holding it together. so no, i don’t need anyone ‘claiming’ me. i don’t need you to tell the internet i’m this girl you’re seeing.”

you smiled, small, a little wry. “i already know i’m with you right here at this moment.”

the words landed between you, heavy and warm.

he reached for you then — not in a lunge, not desperate — just steady.

his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your damp hairline, and he kissed you like the words mattered. like your understanding meant something.

the kiss deepened fast, his other hand sliding down to your hip, pulling you onto his lap until you were straddling him on the couch, his breath breaking against your lips.

“you smell like…” he muttered between kisses, smiling against your mouth, “…sweat and… victory?”

you laughed breathlessly. “shut up.”

he kissed you again, harder this time. “never.”

the hoodie was gone; the tee followed, tossed somewhere.

his hands were on your thighs, squeezing, spreading you wider over him. you felt him, already hard under his sweatpants, and it made you groan into his mouth.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “still sure about this?”

you nodded, too quickly. “yes.”

his smile turned sharp, just for a moment — that soft dom streak slipping through.

“good. because i’m not letting you tap out this time.”

you kissed him again, messy and deep, as he lifted you effortlessly, laying you back on the couch.

he stayed kneeling between your legs, pulling your bike shorts down slowly, dragging them over your knees, then tossing them aside like he’d been waiting for that moment all night.

“been thinking about this since you left this morning,” he muttered, fingers brushing up the inside of your thigh.

you gasped when he pushed your underwear aside and bent down without warning, his mouth hot and greedy against you.

this time wasn’t slow.

last night had been worship; this was hunger.

his tongue moved like he’d mapped you out already, knowing exactly where to press, how to circle, how to make you cry out his name before you could stop yourself.

your hands buried in his hair, tugging hard, and he just groaned against you, like he wanted it rougher.

he pulled back for a second, lips wet, breath ragged. “don’t think… i’ll ever get tired of this.”

then he pushed two fingers inside you and sucked your clit at the same time, and you nearly sobbed.

“joe, i—”

“let go,” he murmured against your skin, voice low, commanding. “now.”

you shattered.

came hard, thighs clenching around his head, gasping his name over and over as he kept going, kept licking you through it like he wanted every last drop.

he kissed you after, slow but filthy, like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue.

and then he was tugging his sweatpants down, not fully off — urgency taking over.

he pushed into you on the couch, both of you still half-dressed, the angle messy, perfectly messy.

“fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, hips snapping harder, “you feel—god, baby—”

his hands gripped your thighs, guiding every thrust, his control sharp even when his breathing wasn’t.

you came again first, clinging to him, nails digging into his shoulders.

he wasn’t far behind — hips stuttering, a low groan tearing from his throat as he pressed deep, staying there, trembling slightly as he kissed you again and again, like he couldn’t stop.

after, he didn’t move away.

just stayed on top of you, breath mingling, one hand brushing your hair back, his voice low and raw.

“you should know…” he whispered, like it was almost a secret, “…i don’t do this. not like this.”

you smiled softly, stroking his cheek. “yeah. i know.”

the next morning you left before sunrise — not in the “awkward sneak‑out” way, but because you had a 7 a.m. shoot call.

you scribbled a note on the back of a receipt (his only scrap paper, of course): cant walkkkk n i need to work early, but i’ll forgive u bcs ure too handsome to be mad at. – xx and left it on the counter.

by the time joseph padded into the kitchen, hair sticking up, rubbing his eyes, you were already halfway across town.

the first few days apart were easy.

busy.

then a week passed. then two since they last saw eachother.

not because anything was wrong — but because life just… happened.

you flew to hawaii for a brand trip with three other influencers and a drone guy named kyle who insisted on filming “content moments.” it was 12-hour days of bikini shoots, ocean “lifestyle reels,” and late-night networking dinners where you were too polite to say you just wanted to be asleep by 9.

joseph, meanwhile, was hopping from toronto to new york to chicago for Fantastic Four promo — junkets, red carpets, interviews where he smiled and told the same anecdotes over and over until he started to hate the sound of his own voice.

the texts. (not constant, but steady)

jo quinn 🦈 : you’d hate this press line. all i’ve eaten today is a granola bar and fear.

you : sounds like me at every lululemon dinner i fear.

you : what’s toronto like?

jo quinn 🦈 : cold. lonely. can i call?

the calls weren’t daily — maybe twice a week.

sometimes at midnight his time, when he’d be sitting in another anonymous hotel room, still half in his suit, tie pulled loose.

you’d be cross-legged on a balcony in maui, hair damp from the pool, phone propped on the railing.

“you look sunburnt,” he’d tease, voice warm even through the grainy FaceTime screen.

“you look exhausted,” you’d shoot back.

and then it would go quiet for a second — not awkward, just… comfortable.

you were shooting three looks a day for the hawaii trip — sundresses, swimsuits, behind‑the‑scenes “candid” moments that were anything but. your inbox filled with urgent emails: revisions to contracts, deadlines for reels, reminders to tag brands “organically.”

joseph was drowning in his own way — morning shows, press junkets, airport lounges that all blurred together.

the calls & texts started tame.

you: what city are you even in right now?

joe quinn 🦈 : …had to check the hotel notepad. atlanta. definitely atlanta.

joe quinn 🦈 : how’s hawaii? are you just… sitting on beaches all day?

you: if by sitting you mean doing six sponsored shots for sunscreen brands, yes.

then the calls started.

the first one was after a brutal press day — you FaceTimed him without thinking, and he answered in a hotel bathroom, tie loosened, jacket draped over the sink.

“didn’t think you’d call,” he said, voice low, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to sound relieved.

“didn’t think you’d answer,” you shot back, smiling.

and then, a week in, one of the calls… changed.

you were in bed, hair messy, wearing one of those soft tank tops you never wore out of the house.

he was sitting up in bed too, shirtless, the lamp on his side dim.

he smiled, slow, when he saw you. “you always look like that before you sleep?”

you raised a brow. “like what?”

he tilted the phone, running his hand through his hair, letting his gaze sweep over you in a way that made you press your thighs together.

“like trouble.”

it started innocent — you teasing him about his terrible hotel lighting, him asking to see the ocean view from your balcony.

but then his voice dropped lower.

“come closer,” he murmured, and you did, shifting the phone so your face filled the screen.

“closer,” he said again, softer.

you laughed, nervous and warm. “you’re bossy, you know that?”

“and you like it,” he said without hesitation, and your breath hitched.

it wasn’t planned.

it wasn’t some dramatic, sexty performance.

just you slipping a strap down your shoulder, almost casual, his breath catching on the other side of the screen.

him leaning back against his headboard, phone angled just enough to show his hand sliding lower.

you whispering his name when you saw, biting your lip when his voice broke.

it didn’t happen every night. not even every other night.

but every few days, one of you would say “can you call?” and the other would know exactly what that meant.

sometimes it was you, in a hotel robe, legs tucked under you as you set the phone on the pillow and let him watch you come apart slowly.

sometimes it was him, groaning your name softly, telling you in that low, ruined voice exactly what he’d do if he had you there.

and every time, you’d end the call flushed and breathless, more aware of the distance — but also more aware that this thing between you wasn’t cooling off.

three weeks in, the calls were shorter again — you were shooting at sunrise, he was doing back‑to‑back interviews.

but even then, there were voice notes.

his voice in your ear at 2 p.m.:

“thinking about you. can’t focus.”

yours, later that night, whispered into the dark:

“just got back to my room. wish you were here.”

lana was scrolling on her phone as you sat cross‑legged on her couch, still damp from a hawaii pool shoot, hair wrapped in a towel.

“so,” she said, not looking up, “are you like… just talking to him?”

you blinked. “what?”

she finally looked at you. “joseph. the facetime guy. the… soft‑dom‑british‑movie‑star guy. are you like… making him your only option?”

you hesitated, fiddling with the seam of your hoodie. “i mean… he’s the only one i want to talk to right now.”

lana set her phone down, leaned forward. “i love you, you know i do, but babe…” she gave you that don’t kill me for saying this look.

“what?” you said, bracing yourself.

“you don’t really think you’re the only girl he’s doing this with, right?”

you frowned. “what do you mean?”

lana raised a brow. “he’s joseph quinn. he’s on a press tour. he was literally photographed with doja cat like… three months ago?”

you groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “oh my god, i forgot about that.”

“yeah,” lana said, matter‑of‑fact. “so unless he’s had a sudden ‘one‑girl‑only’ revelation, you should just… be realistic.”

you peeked up at her, defensive but thoughtful. “i’m not stupid, lana. i know what this is. i’m not sitting here doodling ‘mrs. joseph quinn’ in a notebook.”

lana softened. “i’m not saying don’t like him. i’m saying… don’t bet everything on him. keep talking to him, have fun, whatever. but don’t stop living your life. don’t make him the sun your whole world orbits around.”

you sighed, leaning back against the couch. “you’re right.”

“of course i’m right,” she said, smirking, grabbing her phone again. “also, if you do end up dating him, i am absolutely using that to get into steve harrington’s dms and get my stranger things box set signed.”

you threw a pillow at her.

[joeymunsondjo]

ok so like gorl I’m loving the idea of like a non famous gf who isn’t in the industry at all maybe a teacher or something like that and maybe gets bothered at work by someone bc she is dating joe? Anything like that would be awesome. I love watching new accounts grow

Oh goodness. Thank you for this beautiful idea. I might accidentally make this a little too fluffy.. sorry not sorry.

You don’t deserve this.

Content: verbal abuse, infidelity accusations and public humiliation, miscarriage.Lmk if I missed any.

Your day began like any other. Joe woke up about thirty minutes before your alarm was due to go off and quietly slipped out of bed to get ready for filming—not before stealing a quick kiss from you, of course. You drifted back to sleep, only to stir moments before your alarm was set to interrupt the morning calm. Joe reappeared in your shared bedroom, gently placed a coffee on your bedside table, and leaned down to say goodbye.

You sat up, giving him a quick peck on the lips. He grabbed a couple of pillows and propped them behind your back, letting you settle in to drink your coffee—the one constant in your life lately that kept you even remotely sane. Teaching twenty-five unpredictable four-year-olds five days a week had a way of fraying your nerves, and caffeine had become a non-negotiable.

Joe lingered in the doorway, clearly stalling.

“Get your ass to set, Quinn,” you called after him, smirking. “You were late yesterday. Don’t make a habit of it.”

Your mind drifted momentarily to the events of that previous morning—the playful chaos, the heat of it—and suddenly the room felt a little warmer. Joe winked in response, then disappeared, the front door clicking shut behind him.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed and began the ritual of preparing for the day: more coffee, a hastily assembled breakfast, getting dressed, finishing the lesson prep you’d abandoned the night before—Joe had had a rough day on set and needed you, and you hadn’t thought twice—and finally, you caught the bus to work around 7:45.

It was one of those days where you could just feel it was going to be difficult before anything had even gone wrong. You were bracing yourself for the usual suspects: a classroom meltdown, forgetting your lunch and being forced to eat the borderline inedible food from the school canteen, or—worse—being pulled aside by your traditionalist headteacher for “favoritism,” a word they used whenever you spent extra time helping the SEN children in your class consolidate their learning.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was to be standing at your classroom door at 8:00 a.m. on a Tuesday, facing a parent who looked you up and down with thinly veiled disdain before muttering that you were unfit to teach her child.

“I’d rather an animal educate my daughter than a homewrecker,” she spat.

Your breath caught.

You and Joe had been together for six months now—six beautiful, grounding, and wholly supportive months. It had taken time and care to navigate the beginning of the relationship, especially with Joe still fresh out of a broken engagement. But contrary to the theories the tabloids liked to spin, you had nothing to do with the breakup. Joe hadn’t even met you until three months after it ended.

Still, the weight of public speculation—and now private judgment—was something you were learning to live with. But no part of you had been prepared for it to follow you into your classroom.

You took a deep breath, trying—failing—not to let her words sink beneath your skin. The moment demanded composure, and so, with all the restraint you could muster, you did what you’d been trained to do: you smiled, nodded briefly, and turned your attention to the children.

Ignore it, you told yourself. You’re the adult. Be professional. Keep breathing.

The woman guided her four-year-old daughter to her usual spot on the carpet, smoothing the child’s coat and brushing a curl behind her ear. You caught a glimpse of the child’s eyes—confused, unsure—and it struck you that she hadn’t missed her mother’s bitterness either.

As the parent turned to leave, she paused in the doorway. And then, deliberately—her voice sharp, unwavering, and loud enough to carry across the room to every wide-eyed child and parent within earshot—she twisted the knife.

“Why don’t you try having your own child instead of poisoning other people’s? Oh—wait. You don’t have one, do you? Because you’re not engaged to him. She was. And you ruined that.”

The silence that followed her exit was suffocating. It fell like a curtain, heavy and stunned.

You stood frozen in place, your mouth parted slightly as if your body had wanted to speak in your defence—but your brain was still buffering. A few parents averted their eyes, others lingered, curious and awkward, pretending to fuss with their children’s coats as they clung to the scene like spectators.

Your hands, though hidden beneath your desk, had started to tremble.

You’d assumed—hoped—no one at the school connected you to Joe beyond casual mention. But now it was obvious. This woman must have known his ex. Or, more likely, knew of her. The way people did. The way tabloids made it impossible for a breakup to be private, for a new relationship to just… begin without it being tarnished.

Still, you swallowed the ache in your throat and moved forward. You had a classroom full of little faces looking to you for structure and warmth. You couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.

You poured yourself into the morning’s lessons with quiet intensity—phonics, numbers, hands-on activities, smile after smile forced through gritted teeth. You read stories with your voice as steady as possible, though the words blurred at times behind the sting of unshed tears. You made it to lunch without cracking. You answered questions, handled squabbles, sorted glitter spills and tantrums with the same tenderness you always did.

Then came the afternoon. Then the final bell.

You gathered your marking books, pressed them tightly to your chest, and made your way out of the building as quickly as you could without drawing further attention to yourself. The moment you stepped outside, the sky opened up in a downpour, as if the universe had finally decided to match your mood.

Classic British weather, you thought grimly, the irony almost laughable.

You didn't run. Not right away. You let the rain soak through your coat, your cardigan, the fabric of your dress, the thin layer of tights you regretted wearing that morning. Your hair clung to your neck and face, the cold settling into your bones.

By the time you reached the front door of your flat, you were shaking. Not just from the rain, but from the slow collapse of everything you’d been holding in since 8 a.m.

Inside, you dropped everything in the hallway—your bag, the books, your soaked coat—and stumbled into the living room. You collapsed onto the floor rather than the sofa, your knees too weak to hold you anymore.

And then the tears came. Messy. Involuntary. Gasping.

You sat there in the dim light, drenched and shivering, your hands pressed to your face as the sobs racked through your body. It wasn’t just the woman's words that had broken you—it was the cruelty. The assumption. The injustice of being cast as the villain in a story you didn’t write.

You had spent the last six months slowly, carefully loving Joe—not as a replacement, not as a conquest, but as a human being who had been hurt and was healing alongside you. The media didn’t see that. Strangers didn’t see that. They saw headlines and timelines and decided you must have been the reason something ended, simply because you were the next beginning.

You reached for your phone, stared at it in your lap, and debated texting him.

But you didn’t need to say anything. You just needed him.

You needed the way his voice quieted the noise. The way his arms made you feel like the rest of the world couldn’t reach you. You needed him to look at you the way he always did—like you weren’t a scandal or a mistake, but a person worth choosing.

And so you waited, wet and raw and quietly unraveling, for the sound of his key in the lock.

————————————————

The silence in the flat was broken only by the hum of the radiator and the soft drip of rainwater from your sleeves onto the hardwood floor. Your clothes clung to you, heavy with rain, and your limbs felt leaden from the weight of the day, of the shame, of the words that refused to stop echoing in your head.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there—ten minutes, maybe thirty—when you finally heard the familiar jingle of keys outside the front door. Your heart caught in your throat.

The lock clicked. The door opened. And then you heard his voice.

“Hey, love—” Joe stepped inside, brushing rain off his shoulders, setting his bag down, halfway through calling out his usual cheerful greeting before he spotted you.

He froze in the doorway to the living room.

You were curled up on the floor, soaked through, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold your body together. His face dropped instantly, every bit of ease gone from him in a breath.

“Jesus, what happened?”

You tried to speak, but all you could manage was a breathy, cracked sound as your bottom lip quivered again. You didn’t want him to see you like this—vulnerable and wrecked—but the effort of pretending had already burned itself out.

He was kneeling in front of you in seconds, hands hovering first, not sure where to touch, then gently landing on your arms. His thumbs rubbed along your sleeves instinctively, as if trying to warm you through the damp fabric.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, brows knitting. “You’re soaked. Why didn’t you call me?”

You shook your head, wiping your face with your wrist. “I didn’t know what to say,” you whispered.

Joe moved carefully, kneeling lower so he was eye-level. “Alright. Then don’t say anything right now, okay? Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

He stood and offered you his hands, pulling you gently to your feet. Your body resisted—sore and cold—but he was patient, guiding you toward the bathroom, peeling off your coat first, then your jumper. He didn't say much, just moved with a quiet kind of tenderness that made your chest ache more than anything that had happened that day.

Once you were dry and wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies and a blanket, he guided you to the sofa. He disappeared briefly and returned with a cup of tea—your favourite, the one he always made you when the world felt too much. He handed it to you carefully, then sat beside you, his body angled protectively toward yours.

Only then did he speak.

“Who was it?”

Your breath hitched. You’d been dreading the moment, but it was inevitable.

“A parent,” you murmured. “This morning. She… said some things. About me. About you.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. You saw it—the small tightening of his expression, the anger threading just beneath his concern.

“She said I was poisoning kids' minds. That I should have my own before teaching other people’s. Then she brought up your ex. Said I ruined your engagement. Loudly. In front of everyone.”

Joe closed his eyes for a moment, processing. You watched him, heart racing, wondering if this was the moment where things got harder, where his patience snapped—not at you, but at the weight of it all.

But when he looked back at you, his expression wasn’t angry. It was something else entirely.

Devastated. And fiercely protective.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms. You curled into him like you were trying to disappear into the space between his ribs. He held you tightly, his hand running slowly up and down your back, grounding you.

“None of what she said is true,” he murmured into your hair. “Not a word of it. You didn’t ruin anything. That relationship ended before you were even in my life. And you, love… you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You pressed your face against his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat settle your own.

“It’s just so hard, Joe. I try to ignore it, I try not to let it get to me, but when people say things like that… in front of children, in front of my coworkers…”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “I know. And I hate that you’re carrying this. You shouldn’t have to.”

There was a long silence then. Safe. Heavy, but not suffocating. Eventually, Joe pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Do you want me to say something to the school? To her?”

You shook your head. “No. That’ll just make it worse. I just… needed to come home.”

Joe kissed your forehead, lingering there. “Then that’s exactly what you did. You’re home. And I’ve got you, yeah? No matter what.”

You nodded, letting yourself believe it. Letting yourself rest in it.

For the first time that day, you felt warm.

Joe’s arms were still wrapped tightly around you, his chin resting against your head, but even in his warmth, there was a chill you couldn’t shake—one that came from far deeper than wet clothes or stormy skies.

You wanted to speak. To tell him the real reason her words had landed like a knife between your ribs. But the truth was tangled in grief, in silence you hadn’t yet broken aloud. Not even to him.

Your throat tightened.

He felt it. Your body subtly tensing against his.

“Love?” he murmured, pulling back slightly to look at you, concern shadowing his features.

You swallowed hard, eyes glassy again.

“It wasn’t just what she said,” you whispered, voice trembling. “It’s what it meant.”

Joe waited, giving you space, his hand still gently rubbing your arm.

You stared at the floor, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “She told me to have my own child before teaching anyone else’s… and it—” You paused, breath catching in your chest. “It hurt because… because I was supposed to.”

The words hung between you, fragile and heavy.

Joe stilled completely, a flicker of understanding crossing his face.

You had never said it aloud. Not even after the hospital visit. Not after the vague assurances from doctors about how “early” it had been and how “common” it was. As though that somehow lessened it.

As though a loss is less of a loss just because no one else knew.

“I was going to tell you,” you said quietly. “I found out about the pregnancy the week you left for the shoot in Wales. I didn’t want to distract you. And then… before I could say anything, it was just… over.”

Joe’s face was unreadable for a moment—then a devastating sort of softness overtook him. His mouth parted, then closed again. He reached out and gently took your face in both hands, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You were pregnant?” he asked, as if needing to hear it again to believe it. You nodded. “And you went through all of that—alone?”

Tears spilled again before you could stop them. “I didn’t want to burden you. You were so excited about the job, and it all happened so fast. I didn’t even know how to feel about it myself yet.”

Joe let out a shaky breath, his eyes brimming now too.

“Christ, love…” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “You should never have had to go through that by yourself.”

You let out a sound—half cry, half exhale—and finally let yourself fall forward into him. This time, the sobs came not from humiliation or shame, but from the unspoken grief that had been sitting, heavy and undigested, in the corners of your heart for weeks.

Joe didn’t try to stop the crying. He just held you, one hand curled protectively around your back, the other running slowly through your damp hair. He kissed the top of your head, again and again, like it was the only way he knew how to say all the things there were no words for.

When your breathing eventually began to slow, he spoke again, voice low and hoarse.

“She had no right to say those things to you. None. And if I’d known what you were carrying... God.” He shook his head. “You are the strongest person I know. I’m so sorry you went through that alone.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently. To feel… sorry for me.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes again. “I feel heartbreak *with* you. That’s different.”

You blinked hard. His words pressed against something deep inside—something you hadn’t realized needed to be heard.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he added, voice fierce now. “You didn’t deserve any of what was said to you today. And you are *not* a homewrecker. You're my home.”

Something inside you cracked at that—something worn thin and quietly aching—and for the first time that day, your sobs gave way to something softer: release.

Joe leaned in, kissed your forehead, your cheek, then your lips, each one slow and reverent. You clung to him like a lifeline, and for once, letting go of the pain didn’t feel like forgetting. It felt like beginning to heal.

Later, when the rain outside had softened and the flat was wrapped in the dim golden light of early evening, you curled against Joe on the sofa, his arms still around you, a blanket shared between you like a truce with the world.

“I wish people knew the full story,” you murmured.

Joe looked down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“They don’t have to,” he said gently. “As long as *we* do.”

And somehow… that was enough.

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Ahhh that was so scary to write but also so much fun wth. I’m going to make a masterlist once I’ve written a few more fics but please lmk what your thoughts are!! Also apologies for any spelling or grammer mistakes it’s 1 am.

Please like, reblog and comment as it really helps me out xx