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lilmisshellfireswritingblog · 5 months ago

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Play With Fire - Johnny Storm x fem!Reader

Authors Note: Well, since we have officially been introduced to MCU Johnny Storm, here's a little one shot I wrote a month ago because I am absolutely feral for Johnny Storm. We don't know much about how he's going to be portrayed so, I used my imagination. I hope you enjoy!

PS: Smut is not my forte so I hope it's...satisfactory.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, contains adult content, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, smut, lots of fire puns (I'm not sorry or maybe I am), lots of yapping

Pairings: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k+

The glimmering lights of the charity gala bathed the New York skyline in golden hues, casting long shadows on the sleek, chrome surfaces decorating the event. The décor was a striking blend of mid-century modern aesthetics—smooth, flowing lines, geometric shapes, and vibrant colors—reminiscent of a time when the future was just a few glamorous steps away and held a more optimistic approach.

You didn’t want to be here but there you were, trapped in a sea of tuxedos and satin gowns, your father’s arm draped possessively over your shoulder like a shield. It had been his idea to bring you along, of course, a desperate attempt to put up a "family-first" front after the affair rumor hit the front pages of The New York Post a week ago.

You hated galas. You hated the small talk, the polite smiles, and the thinly veiled gossip that filled the air. You hated the way your father’s overbearing presence had turned the night into a performance, with you as the unwilling starlet.

“I’ll only be a minute,” your father whispered to you, his fingers tightening around your arm in that way that said, don’t move. “Keep a smile on your face. This is important. Our family needs this.”

You barely suppressed a groan, nodding stiffly before he was off, mingling with the city's elite. His eyes, always sharp, locked onto the wealthy faces around him, like a predator hunting for its next meal.

You took a deep breath, turning away from the throng of people, hoping for a moment of solitude. The jazz band played in the background, their smooth melodies swirling in the air. You found yourself in the back corner, near a large glass window overlooking the city.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped into the room, a confident swagger to his stride. Johnny Storm, better known to the world as the Human Torch, was hard to miss. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, his blonde hair tousled just enough to look casually effortless. He was, of course, dressed to the nines—a sleek black suit that hugged his athletic frame and a white shirt that gleamed in the ambient evening lights.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. His exploits were plastered across every major newspaper and the tabloids couldn’t get enough of his charisma and charm. He was a man of fire, literally and figuratively, the kind of person who seemed born for attention.

There was something different about him tonight. No flames. No flashy heroics. Just Johnny, looking slightly out of place amidst the formality of the gala.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when he caught sight of you and flashed a grin, as if he’d spotted an old friend. “Well, well,” he said with a teasing smirk, his voice warm with amusement. “What’s a beautiful woman like you hiding in the corner all by herself? You look like you could use some company.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Not really,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the glass. “I’d rather be anywhere but here, to be honest.”

Johnny’s grin faltered for a split second, then he chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. These things can be a pain. All the smiles and the handshakes and small talk.” He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets. “You’re not here for the free drinks, then?”

You shook your head. “My father dragged me here. He thinks it’ll fix... everything.” You waved vaguely toward the sea of tuxedos and gowns. “But you know how it is—people with money can’t stand to be seen as anything less than perfect.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his tone thoughtful, as he glanced around. “I get the pressure. I mean, being a public figure comes with a lot of... expectations.” He flashed a grin, a little wry. “You’d be surprised how many charity galas I’ve attended for reasons that had nothing to do with actual charity.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You? I would’ve guessed you'd be more of a ‘save the day, destroy the bad guys’ type.”

Johnny laughed, his expression softening as he pushed off the wall and stepped a little closer. “That’s mostly me, but tonight… tonight I’m just Johnny. No fire. No superpowers. Just a guy who’s probably as uncomfortable as you are.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, I was thinking about ditching this whole thing and heading to a dive bar. Could be more fun. You in?”

Your lips twitched upward. “I’m supposed to be here for my father. This whole thing’s a mess.”

Johnny shrugged. “Tell you what then. When your father’s done playing the ‘perfect family’ game, I’ll swing by and whisk you away for some real fun. In the meantime, if you ever need a distraction, just holler for me, doll. I’m pretty good at getting people out of awkward situations.”

You met his gaze, amused and a little skeptical, but something about his laid-back confidence and easy charm made the idea tempting. "I'll keep that in mind," you said, your voice softer now.

Johnny’s eyes flickered over to the crowd for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re probably sick of being the center of attention,” he said quietly. “I get it. Sometimes you just need a break from all the... stuff.”

You gave a short, quiet laugh. “If only it were that easy.”

Johnny’s grin returned, this time a little softer, more genuine. “Well, if you need a superhero to make your night a little less superficial, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he turned with a wink, slipping back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of well-dressed faces.

You stayed where you were for a while longer, the sound of the gala and the distant jazz playing in the background. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, was one of the last people you’d ever expect to feel any kind of kinship with, but for a few moments, he’d made you feel a little less trapped in the fake world your father had built around you.

And in a night full of forced smiles and shallow conversation, that small bit of genuine connection felt like a flicker of light in a sea of cold steel and polished chrome.

The gala was starting to wind down. The last glasses of champagne had been sipped, the tables cleared, and the final whispers of forced pleasantries echoed through the room. Yet, despite the event nearing its end, the energy hadn’t quite shifted. The jazz band had given way to a recorded track—a gritty, energetic tune that you instantly recognized.

"Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones.

The heavy, seductive beat reverberated through the room, slinking through the air with a raw, untamed edge. It was unexpected. Unusual for a place that so carefully curated its atmosphere with smiles and good intentions. But there it was—one of the most rebellious songs of the time, now lacing the air, intoxicating and dangerous.

Somehow, as if it were fate, amidst the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, Johnny Storm appeared again, walking toward you like he had some kind of magnetic pull.

He flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming under the cool, metallic lighting, his posture still effortless and relaxed despite the formality of the event. “Didn’t think they’d play this here,” he said, nodding toward the speakers, his voice amused. “I mean, talk about ruining the mood.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the deep growl of the guitar riff matching the beat of your heart. "Definitely not the kind of song you'd expect at a gala like this."

Johnny tilted his head slightly, the mischievous grin never leaving his face. “You know what? I’ve got an idea.” Without waiting for your response, he extended a hand toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Dance with me.”

Your first instinct was to refuse. You weren’t in the mood for any more attention, and honestly, you didn’t dance. However, something about Johnny's easy confidence and charms, the casual way he dared you to step out of the perfectly controlled lines of this polished world, made you hesitate.

He wasn’t asking for anything extravagant, not some perfect ballroom spin or rehearsed routine. He was just... offering a moment.

For a heartbeat, you just stared at him. And then, as the chorus of “Play With Fire” blasted louder, you shrugged and took his hand. "Alright, Mr. Storm. Let’s see what you’ve got."

His grin spread even wider as he gently pulled you toward the center of the floor. The room seemed to narrow around you. Those who had been murmuring and sipping champagne suddenly halted as they took in the scene.

But you didn’t care. Not now.

Johnny’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other still holding yours as the two of you moved together. The pulse of the song matched your quickening heartbeat, and, for once, you didn’t mind the eyes on you.

The music seemed to speak to both of you, something unrestrained and reckless—something wild that had been suppressed by all the proper rules of society. Johnny’s movements were smooth, fluid, and effortless. He had the confidence of a man who knew exactly how to make the world bend to his will, and yet, somehow, his presence didn’t feel as overwhelming as you would assume.

You stepped in time with him, your own body moving with a freedom you hadn’t expected. The lyrics about temptation and fire seemed to mirror the electrifying pull between you. There was something present that was dangerous but exhilarating. Forbidden but impossible to resist.

You looked up at him, half in surprise, half in something else you couldn’t quite name. His eyes flickered back to you, almost searching, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. No, it was more like he was giving you the space to decide just how far you'd go, how far you'd let this wild, reckless moment carry you.

“You know,” Johnny said as he guided you through a slow turn, his voice low, “they say if you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned.”

You raised an eyebrow, the edges of your lips curling upward. "You know what they say about fire, right?" you teased, spinning under his arm. "It can warm you up just as easily as it can scorch you."

He gave you a roguish wink, pulling you close again as the song picked up speed. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The world around you seemed to fade away as the music built in intensity. The room, the gala, the whispers—everything was irrelevant in that moment. All that existed was the two of you moving in sync to the rhythm, bodies close, the heat of his touch igniting a spark in you that you hadn’t expected.

The song surged toward its climax, the pounding drums pushing the beat faster, wilder. Johnny’s hand slipped lower to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and the space between you vanished entirely. You could feel the heat of him. His body was a living furnace against yours, the friction of his energy igniting something within you, something that had always been held in check by the carefully constructed life you’d been forced to live.

You danced like you were both on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the line between control and surrender. Johnny’s laugh was infectious as he spun you one last time, a wild, unrestrained sound that made you realize how much you’d been holding back all night. He twirled you back into his arms, the song roaring in your ears as you laughed.

The moment lingered there, suspended in time. A brief but intense escape from the world you’d known.

When the final notes of "Play With Fire" echoed through the room, you stood there, breathless and laughing softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well,” Johnny said, grinning down at you like a devil. “I think we’re both burned.”

You caught your breath, a little dizzy from the rush but you didn’t mind. “Yeah. Maybe. But it was worth it.”

He gave you a knowing look, eyes full of something that was both playful and... something more. He was the Human Torch, but in that moment, he wasn’t just fire. He was a spark that could have burned everything or lit a whole new path.

And maybe, for the first time all night, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something that wasn’t entirely out of your control.

Johnny winked, lowering his head so his lips were resting at the crest of your ear, his voice just above a whisper. “Sometimes, the best part about playing with fire is the burn.”

You smiled, feeling the heat of it in every fiber of your being. You hadn’t expected to find anything real tonight, but then again, you hadn’t expected to dance with a superhero to this song either. It was dangerous. Reckless.

It felt like freedom. That was the best part of it all.

The last notes of "Play With Fire" still echoed in your ears, even though the beat had long since faded, replaced by the hum of a million voices, all of them too eager to return to the business of looking perfect.

You had somehow ended up on the edge of the dance floor, your breath still uneven, your pulse racing from more than just the rhythm of the music. Johnny stood beside you, his smile more subdued now, a knowing glint in his eyes as if he understood that something in you had shifted—something you hadn’t expected to feel tonight. The dance had been reckless, free, but the moment you’d stepped back, the world around you had tried to pull you back into place.

His presence, however, still felt like a spark. An electricity you didn’t want to let go of. Not yet.

“Well,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, the earlier mischievous tone replaced with something a little softer. “That was fun.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Fun? You could say that again.” Your laugh was a little more breathless than you intended, but you didn’t care. It felt good to be this... unfolded for once.

“You know,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, the heat of his body still too tempting, “the night doesn’t have to end here. There’s a spot… a little hidden place I go to when I need a break from all this.” He gestured toward the glittering ballroom, the clinking of glasses and forced chatter drifting in the background. “It’s up on the rooftop. Private. Quiet. I think you’d like it.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach. Of course, Johnny Storm had a “private spot” for everything. He was, after all, the Human Torch—effortless, smooth, always in control. However, there was something about the way he said it, about the quiet invitation in his voice that made it hard to ignore. Maybe you did want to escape the fake smiles and phony pleasantries.

You glanced toward the entrance of the ballroom, where your father was still busy shaking hands with some benefactor from the event, lost in his world of polished deals. You hadn’t been looking forward to more of that tonight.

A part of you, the part that had spent so long just trying to keep things together, felt that pull. You needed to break free, even if just for a moment. And another part of you? The part that had danced with Johnny, felt his heat like an actual flare against your skin? That part wanted to see where this could go.

“Fuck it,” you said, your voice quieter than you expected. “Lead the way..”

Johnny’s grin returned, the familiar flash of confidence lighting up his face. Without another word, he took your hand, guiding you through the crowd with a smoothness that barely made anyone notice. His fingers curled gently around yours, warm, sure, the touch casual yet intentional. It was like he knew exactly how to move in this world—his world—while making it feel like it was all about you in that moment.

You followed him through a door to the back of the venue, into a dimly lit corridor that led to a discreet elevator. Johnny pressed the button without a word, his eyes briefly meeting yours. There was something unspoken between you two, something that felt like it had been building without either of you realizing it.

The elevator ride was quick, almost too quick, and when the doors slid open, you stepped out onto the rooftop.

The air hit you first, the cool night breeze sweeping through the garden, carrying the scent of the city mixed with something sweet and floral. It was a sharp contrast to the glossy, manufactured world of the gala below. Here, on the private rooftop, everything felt different. The towering buildings of Manhattan stretched in all directions, but above, it was quieter. More intimate.

Johnny led you through the garden, where lush greenery contrasted against the stark steel and glass of the city around you. The lights here were soft, golden, hidden beneath the plants, casting just enough light to make the space feel almost like a dream. The far-off hum of the city was muted here, and the distant skyline stretched like a canvas of muted lights.

“This is… nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. The silence, the peace, the fact that for a moment, you weren’t anywhere but right here with Johnny. No cameras, no whispers, no obligations.

“I come up here when I need a break from the chaos,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, matching the serenity of the space. He stopped beside a stone bench, and you both stood for a moment, taking in the view together. “Sometimes it’s good to just… get away. I don’t know about you, but tonight felt like I needed to breathe.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of that. The gala had been suffocating in its own way. Full of too many expectations, too many eyes watching. Too much of your father’s mask.

Johnny leaned against the edge of a low wall, hands in his pockets, his body slightly turned toward you. His eyes, usually so full of energy and fire, seemed softer in the dim light of the rooftop garden. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come up here,” he admitted with a small smile. “Most people aren’t exactly keen on leaving the spotlight. But I like that you did.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the rush from the dance still lingered, making it hard to keep your calm exterior. “What can I say? I needed a change of scenery. I guess you could say you have a way of making people want to step out of their comfort zone. Besides, the spotlight isn’t my thing. Never was.”

He chuckled, and there was a genuine warmth to it. “I don’t know if it’s me, or just that sometimes you need someone who isn’t afraid to break the rules.”

You met his eyes again and for a moment, it felt like the world around you had gone still. The wind was the only thing moving, brushing through your hair and ruffling Johnny’s shirt just slightly. And yet, there was an electricity between you two, quiet but undeniable.

“You’re a rule breaker, huh?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

Johnny’s smile turned a little more wicked, that familiar mischief lighting up his face again. “Maybe,” he said, pushing off from the wall and stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe it’s just that… sometimes the rules are there to be bent.”

He was close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the same heat that had burned so bright on the dance floor. His presence was magnetic, inescapable, and you had to fight the urge to step closer to him.

“Well, I think you’ve already set my night on fire,” you said, voice a little breathless.

Johnny didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he took another step closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. His touch was electric, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

You could feel the tension building between you—every heartbeat, every breath. The city below, the skyline, and the quiet garden was all just background noise now.

“Maybe we should just let the night burn then,” Johnny said softly, his voice deep and seductive, like he was speaking just for you.

You didn’t know what you were stepping into, but right then, under the stars with Johnny Storm, you didn’t need to. You let go of the last of your reservations.

And for the first time tonight, you let the fire take you.

Johnny was close, closer than you’d expected. His presence, that electric heat that never quite seemed to dissipate, was undeniable. His eyes were on you, dark and steady, but there was something different in them now. There was now something softer, more deliberate than the playful energy that had defined their banter earlier in the night.

You stood beside him, heart racing, mind whirling. The dance had been the first spark, the moment when something unexpected flickered between you. But now? The air felt thick with unspoken words, each one hanging in the space between you like a slow-burning fuse.

“You know,” Johnny said, his voice low and surprisingly serious, “I don’t come up here often with anyone. It’s usually just me and the stars, you know? The chaos gets too loud sometimes. But tonight… Tonight it feels different.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t talking about the view or the quiet of the rooftop anymore. He was talking about you. Something about his tone, about the way his words wrapped around you, sent a shiver down your spine. The fire in him had shifted. The flippant hero, always surrounded by chaos and light, was now speaking softly, his words like an invitation, a promise.

“I get that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is nice. Peaceful. I could see why you wouldn’t want to share it.”

Johnny took a half-step closer, the space between you narrowing until his breath was warm on your face. His blue eyes—those beautiful stormy, electric eyes—searched yours like he was looking for permission, or maybe waiting for you to make the first move. The gravity between you was palpable, magnetic. Everything else faded into the background. All that mattered was the two of you standing there, in the heart of the rooftop garden, this space between chaos and quiet.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his lips curving into a slow, unsteady smile. “I’ve been thinking... maybe I’m the kind of guy who can burn things down and fly, but I also know when it’s time to stop and just... feel. Not many people know that about me.”

His words wrapped around you like a firestorm, the heat of them sinking deep into your chest. It was too much and yet it was everything you’d been craving all night. No pretense. No walls. Just the raw pull of the moment, the intensity that was flaring between you two like a flame in the dark.

With no more hesitation, Johnny’s hand lifted, slow but sure, as though he was asking for permission even now. His fingers brushed against your cheek, warm and light, his touch like a spark against your skin. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, the touch so intimate that it made your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, his voice low, just for you. “I won’t burn you.”

You swallowed, your own breath a little shaky. Something wild had taken hold of you, some primal urge that told you not to hold back. You stepped into him, closing the last of the distance between you.

“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” you said, your voice a little hoarse.

Johnny’s eyes flickered with something hot, something unrestrained. And then, without another word, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that matched the fire he carried inside. The kiss was everything you’d imagined and more urgent, intense, full of heat, yet strangely soft. His lips were warm, the taste of him a mixture of whiskey and something electric, something undeniably him.

His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the warmth of him. His body. His energy. It surged through you like a live wire. You kissed him back, your own hands rising to tangle in his hair, feeling the wild heat of his touch consume you, like he was setting a fire inside you that you didn’t know how to extinguish.

For a moment, there was nothing but the heat of the kiss, the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing through your chest. The world had fallen away. There were no rumors, no expectations, no father or gala or fake smiles. There was only the two of you, locked in this perfect, intoxicating moment, a kiss that felt like it could burn down the whole city and leave nothing but the ashes.

When you pulled back, just for a breath, Johnny’s eyes were darker than before, smoldering with something that went deeper than the fire he controlled. His chest rose and fell with each breath, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his forehead leaned against yours, and he whispered your name, like it was a secret he’d been dying to share.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your chest pressed against his. There was a quiet calm in you now, something that had been absent the entire night. Something that told you, even with all the fire and heat, maybe this was just the beginning.

“Maybe you’re more than just fire, Johnny Storm,” you whispered back. “Maybe you’re something a little softer. Less dangerous than you put on. Fire can be beautiful too. It’s not always destructive.”

Johnny’s laugh was low, his lips brushing against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Maybe,” he said, voice teasing but tender, “but I still have a few flames left to share.”

As the night stretched on, with the soft breeze swirling around you and the city still pulsing below, you knew one thing for certain: there was no going back. Not after this. Not after the fire had burned so bright between you.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to go back.

The city lights below flickered like a sea of stars, but up there on the rooftop, the night felt different. The soft hum of the wind moving through the plants, all of it was a contrast to the tension crackling between you and Johnny. The kiss you’d shared earlier hadn’t been enough—it was only the beginning of something more. Something you couldn’t quite control.

You needed more.

Johnny stood close to you. Too close. But you didn’t want him to step back. His scent lingered in the air around you, a mix of the fresh outdoors and something smoky, something undeniably him. His eyes, dark and electric, never left yours, and every beat of your heart seemed to echo between you. His lips were slightly parted, his breath shallow, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” Johnny says breathlessly. “You’re playing with fire.”

You felt a thrill run through you at the words. Everything about him. From his cocky grin, the edge of danger in his voice, the way his body practically hummed with heat… He was irresistible. You tilted your head slightly, daring him with a soft smile.

“I think you’re the one who started the fire, Johnny,” you said, your voice low, teasing. It wasn’t a challenge, not exactly, but it felt like one all the same. Something between the two of you had shifted and now there was no going back.

Johnny took a step closer, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. You could feel the air between you thickening, crackling with an energy you hadn’t known you craved until now. His hand reached for you, slow and deliberate, but he didn’t touch you just yet. Instead, his fingers hovered near your waist, the slightest of touches, making you ache for more.

“You sure you can handle it?” Johnny murmured, his voice almost playful, but there was an underlying intensity in his words.

You swallowed, your pulse racing. “You’re the one who’s burning up,” you whispered, taking a small step forward, closing the last bit of distance between you.

Your pulse quickens at Johnny's bold words, your breath catching in her throat. You look up at him through hooded lashes, your heart racing in anticipation.

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you ask, you voice barely above a whisper. With a sudden burst of courage, you wrap your arms around Johnny's neck, pulling him flush against your body. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the cool night air.

“Because either way, I'm willing to take the risk,” you confess, your lips hovering tantalizingly close to his. You close the final distance, pressing your mouth to Johnny's in a searing kiss. Your tongue darts out, teasing the seam of his lips before delving inside to tangle with his.

Johnny groans into the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist to pull her tighter against him. He returns your passion with equal fervor, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual duel. The taste of you is intoxicating, and he drinks it greedily, lost in the heady rush of desire. Breaking the kiss, Johnny trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses your back against the cold stone wall. The hard planes of his body molded perfectly against your body. Johnny grinds his hips into yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

“Tell me you want this,” Johnny said breathlessly, his intense gaze on you.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pins you against the wall. The rough texture of the stone contrasts sharply with the heat of Johnny's body, making you acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Yes, God yes,” you moan, your hips bucking against his in a desperate bid for friction. “I want this. Burn me alive, Mr. Storm.”

Your words are punctuated by a series of urgent kisses, your mouth seeking out Johnny's with a hunger that borders on desperation. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his suit. You want to tear the fabric away, to expose the man beneath and claim him as your own.

“That's the spirit,” Johnny praises, his voice thick with lust. He captures your lips again, devouring you with a primal intensity that leaves you breathless and wanting more. His hands roam freely over your curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Johnny slips a hand beneath your skirt, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties before pushing them aside to delve into your slick heat. Johnny groans, his thumb finding your clit and starts rubbing it in slow, tortuous circles. “You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to taste you.”

With a swift motion, Johnny rips open your dress, the fabric ripping with ease. He palms your bare breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they pebble under his touch.

“You're perfect,” he rasps, leaning in to capture a pert bud between his teeth.

You cry out, you back arching as Johnny teases your sensitive nipples. The sensation of his hot mouth on your skin sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core, making you throb around his invading fingers. “Oh fuck, Johnny!” you gasp, your hips grinding wildly against his hand. “Don't stop, please…”

Lost in the haze of desire, you fumble with the fastenings of Johnny's trousers, desperate to free his straining erection. You need to feel him. All of him. As if reading your mind, Johnny relieves you of the task, swiftly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock springs free, thick and pulsing with need. You wrap your hand around it, stroking the velvety length with reverence.

A hoarse cry tears from your throat as Johnny thrusts inside you completely, stretching your inner walls to their limit. The sudden intrusion triggers a wave of intense pleasure that courses through your veins, leaving you trembling and breathless.

“Johnny... oh god, yes!” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to his size. You start to roll your hips, experimenting with the delicious friction as Johnny remains still inside you. The sensation of his hot, hard length nestled deep within your core is almost overwhelming, stoking the flames of your desire to new heights. Impatient to move, you clench your inner muscles around Johnny's cock, urging him to start thrusting. “Please, Johnny,” you beg, your voice husky with need.

Johnny's restraint snaps at your pleading and he begins to move, setting a relentless pace that has you crying out in ecstasy. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air.

“You're so damn tight,” Johnny growls, his eyes locked on your face as he watches you come undone beneath him. “I can feel every inch of you milking my cock. It’s driving me crazy.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. The rooftop garden blurs around them, replaced by a world consisting solely of heat, hunger, and the primal urge to claim and be claimed. Johnny breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin.

“Come for me, baby,” Johnny mutters into your neck, panting as he kept up with his relenting pace. “Come for me.”

The combination of his rough treatment and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge. Your inner walls begin to flutter and clench, signaling your impending climax. You wrap your legs tightly around Johnny's waist, locking your ankles behind his back to draw him impossibly deeper.

“Johnny, I'm gonna—!” you scream as the first waves of an orgasm crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his pistoning cock. The intense pleasure is almost too much to bear, sending you hurtling into a maelstrom of bliss. Through the haze of your release, you feel Johnny's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more urgent.

Johnny's grip on you tightens as he feels your pussy convulsing around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. The sensation of your clenching walls and the sound of your ragged breathing spur him on, driving him to new heights of pleasure.

“That's it, baby, squeeze my cock,” Johnny grunts, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes. “You're mine, all mine.”

With a final, guttural roar, Johnny buries himself to the hilt and erupts, painting your insides with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the sheer ecstasy of the moment. As the aftershocks subside, Johnny collapses against you, his weight pinning you against the wall.

Breathless and sated, you cradle Johnny's face in your hands, gazing up at him with adoring eyes.

“That was... incredible,” you whisper, your voice trembling with residual pleasure. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at the way his heated skin seems to glow in the moonlight. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the lingering effects of their passion, leaves you feeling vulnerable yet deeply connected to Johnny. “I've never felt anything like that before,” you confess, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and wonder.

Johnny's chest rises and falls heavily as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. He's still buried inside you, their bodies intimately entwined. The sensation of your warmth wrapped around him is almost too much to bear.

“You're something else,” Johnny murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were trouble, but fuck, I wouldn't trade this for anything.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, and sees the same awe and vulnerability reflected back at him. It's a moment of raw honesty, stripped of pretenses and societal expectations. Johnny brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle compared to the fierce passion they just shared.

Your heart swells at Johnny's words, your soul feeling as if it's been set ablaze by the intensity of their connection. You reach up to frame his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you search his gaze.

“It was a good reprieve from all the formalities,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers trace the contours of his jawline, marveling at both the strength and unexplored tenderness etched into his features.

Johnny nods, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, definitely a nice distraction from all the pomp and circumstance,” he leans in, capturing your mouth in a tender, exploratory kiss. It's a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy that preceded it, but no less potent in its own way. When Johnny finally breaks apart, he rests his forehead against yours once more, his breath mingling with yours. “I should probably get you back downstairs before anyone misses you.”

Despite the practicality of the situation, neither you nor Johnny make a move to disengage. The moment stretches on, heavy with unspoken promises and the knowledge that their lives will soon return to their usual trajectories.

You sigh softly, the sound caught between your lips as you reluctantly pull away from Johnny's embrace. The sudden chill of the night air against your overheated skin is a jarring reminder of the world beyond this hidden alcove.

“Yes, we should…” Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow across his face. There's a bittersweet quality to the moment, a sense of longing for something that may never come to be. “But what if I don’t want to?”

Johnny's eyes flash with a hint of mischief at your words, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Then we stay up here all night and let the world keep spinning without us.”

#fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #Johnny storm #Johnny storm x reader #human torch #human torch x reader #fantastic 4 #fantastic 4 fan fiction #Joseph quinn #the human torch #x reader #reader insert #fantastic four

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lilmisshellfireswritingblog · 7 months ago

Text

Last Christmas

A/N: This was inspired by a video my husband sent to me where this kid just starts screaming while performing a hymn or something and I just had to write it. Also, I wanted to try my hand at a Christmas fic because I was feeling dad!Eddie and mom!reader. This takes place in the Lavender Haze universe, many years after the events in London but honestly, it could be a stand alone too. This is purely self indulgent, a procrastination tool, and fluff around the fireplace sort of thing so, this isn’t necessarily edited or beta read. This is just for fun and to scratch an itch I had in my brain. Warnings: dad!eddie, mom!reader, four year old child, happy christmas, fluff, christmas songs, Last Christmas, school concert, established marriage (spoilers for The Lavender Haze universe but come on, you knew it was bound to happen; I like happy endings). Word Count: 5K Summary: Eddie and reader attend their son’s Christmas school concert only to find out that he is 100% Eddie’s child. Eddie also asks the reader an important question.

December 2001

The house was alive with the hum of holiday cheer, the soft glow of Christmas lights twinkling in the living room, and the smell of cinnamon and pine from the tree. Eddie was crouched down, trying to wrestle Halen into his tiny red sweater vest, the one with little reindeer on it that he loved (and, of course, insisted on wearing for every “special occasion” now).

“Buddy, please,” Eddie said, tugging gently at the sleeve of the vest on his son. “I swear, this thing was way bigger last year.”

Halen, who was currently wiggling on the floor with the speed of a tornado, let out a loud, indignant noise. “It’s itchy!”

“It’s a Christmas sweater, Halen,” Eddie said, ruffling his hair. “They’re supposed to be itchy. It’s part of the magic.”

You were standing by the front door, checking the time on your watch as you grabbed your jacket. “Eddie, please don’t make it worse,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “We’ll be late for the concert if you don’t get him dressed—”

“I’m trying!” Eddie interjected with mock indignation. “But this tiny human is currently the most squirmy person I know.”

“Daddy, I want to wear my truck shirt,” Halen said, now lying flat on the floor, kicking his legs in protest.

Eddie sighed dramatically. “You’ve worn the truck shirt for three days straight, kid. People are going to think you’ve got a thing for construction vehicles and that we don’t do the laundry.”

“I do!” Halen shot back, his little face scrunched up. “Trucks are my favorite!”

You chuckled, walking over and crouching down to his level. “Alright, buddy,” you said gently. “How about this? You wear the reindeer sweater just for the concert, and then when we get home, we’ll let you change into your truck shirt for the rest of the evening. Deal?”

Halen looked at you for a long moment, considering the offer. “Promise?” he asked, his voice serious.

“I promise,” you replied with a smile. “But only if you let Daddy finish getting you dressed.”

Halen gave a dramatic sigh but relented, finally allowing Eddie to finish pulling the sweater vest down over his head. The second it was on, he stood up, brushing himself off like he had just completed a mission. “I’m ready!”

Eddie grinned, pushing himself to his feet. “Look at that. All that for nothing. You’re a handsome little man, Halen.”

Halen puffed out his chest proudly, clearly pleased with the compliment. “I look like a reindeer!” he declared, staring down at his vest.

You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look perfect,” you said, walking over to the coat rack to grab your son’s jacket. Eddie had already slid into his favorite leather coat—something he always wore, even in the hot LA summers. It was a little worn now, but it still fit him like a glove.

“You ready to go, love?” Eddie asked, moving toward the front door. You could see the excitement on his face. He might act like he was always cool and collected, but you knew the truth—he was as excited about this concert as you were. He never got tired of seeing Halen’s face light up when he performed or when he was a part of something that made him feel like a star.

“Yep,” you said, grabbing Halen’s little coat and helping him slip it on. “Let’s make sure we’re on time for our star’s big debut.”

“I’m not a star,” Halen said, shaking his head seriously. “I’m just a reindeer!”

You laughed, giving him a hug before standing up and adjusting your own coat. “A very special reindeer, then.”

Eddie grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter, his eyes flicking to the living room where the Christmas tree stood, the soft golden glow of the lights flickering as a faint song played in the background. You both had spent the last few days decorating the tree together as a family—Halen had insisted on hanging a disproportionate amount of ornaments on the lower branches, making the tree look like it was about to tip over, but you didn’t mind. It was perfect.

With the keys in hand, Eddie took a step toward the door, holding it open for you. “After the concert, we should grab some hot cocoa and drive around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights. What do you think, kiddo?”

Halen nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! And we can listen to jingle bells in the car! Really loud!”

“Of course,” you said with a smile, glancing at Eddie. “We’ll make it a full holiday evening. We can stop by the bakery after and get those gingerbread cookies you love, too.”

Halen bounced on the spot, his little legs practically vibrating with excitement. “Yay!” he cheered. “I’m gonna eat all the cookies!”

“I bet you will,” Eddie said with a wink, looking over at you as you grabbed your purse. “And I’ll probably eat my weight in gingerbread too.”

“You’re a big kid at heart, Munson,” you teased, slipping on your boots as you turned toward the door.

“Hey, I’m proud of my gingerbread-eating abilities.” He shot you a playful grin. “Someone’s gotta set the example for Halen here.”

As you all walked out of the house the excitement in the air was palpable. Halen was bouncing ahead of you, practically skipping down the front steps with the energy of a Christmas elf. Eddie had his arm around your shoulders, and you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his presence.

The neighborhood was already alive with holiday lights making everything feel like a scene from a holiday movie as Eddie drove down the road to head to Halen’s pre-school. The Christmas concert at Halen’s school was a small thing, just a few kids singing and playing instruments, but to you and Eddie, it was everything. Every moment spent together—every small tradition you were building as a family—was something to cherish.

Both you and Eddie were determined to give Halen a good family.

“I can’t believe our little guy is old enough to be in this,” you said softly, your eyes drifting over to Eddie.

Eddie’s smile was soft, and there was a hint of pride in his eyes. “I know. Feels like just yesterday we were teaching him how to walk.”

You both laughed as you followed Halen down the sidewalk, his voice calling out to you from the doors of his school. He was jumping up and down, holding onto the handle of the door as he tried to get both you and Eddie to hurry up.

“I’m ready, Daddy! I’m ready to sing!”

“We’re coming, buddy!” Eddie shouted, his grin spreading. “Don’t steal the spotlight just yet!”

The school gymnasium was buzzing with the kind of excited energy you could only find at a Christmas concert. The walls were decked out in glittering tinsel and paper snowflakes, the floor crowded with families from the preschool, all eagerly awaiting the performance. There was a soft murmur of chatter as parents shifted in their seats, some holding up cameras, some glancing at the clock.

You and Eddie were front and center, perched on the edge of your seats, trying not to show how ridiculously excited you were. The stage was small but brightly lit, with a dozen little kids lined up, their tiny faces barely visible over the top of the risers.

Right in the middle of the group, was Halen. His little red sweater with the reindeer on it was pulled tight, his brown curly hair sticking up a little from the excitement. His tiny hands were clasped in front of him like he was ready to take on the world. He kept bouncing on his toes, practically vibrating with energy, his bright eyes scanning the crowd—he was ready. You could tell.

Eddie leaned over to you, grinning. “This is it. Our little rockstar is about to make his debut. I swear, this kid’s got more stage presence than I ever did.”

You laughed, reaching out and giving his hand a quick squeeze. “I can already tell. He’s been practicing that loud voice of his for weeks.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “I can already feel my eardrums vibrating.”

The teacher at the front, her smile sweet but a little frazzled from the chaos of wrangling small children, raised her hands and signaled the start of the song. The band of elementary school musicians behind the kids started playing softly—Jingle Bells, classic, cheerful. The kids opened their mouths to sing, their voices soft and sweet as they harmonized. It was adorable, pure holiday magic, every parent in the room smiling fondly at their little performers.

And then… there was Halen.

As the music swelled, his eyes suddenly went wide. His little hands, which had been clasped so carefully in front of him, shot out to the sides like he was preparing to dive into a guitar solo. His body swayed, his chest puffed out, and then—

“YEEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!” Halen screamed, the shrill, guttural scream of a metal vocalist who’d just discovered his inner power chord.

The other kids, still trying their best to sing the simple, happy words of Jingle Bells, froze for a moment, their eyes darting to Halen. His voice pierced through the crowd like a sonic boom, all gravelly and full of unrestrained excitement. His little face was scrunched up in what could only be described as a metalhead’s version of pure ecstasy.

You and Eddie froze, eyes wide in disbelief, but then—then you both burst out laughing. It was like someone had hit play on a live concert video of a tiny rockstar performing at a packed stadium.

“JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE ALL THE WAAAYYYY!!!!” Halen screamed, his arms wide and his voice growing louder, as though he was singing in front of thousands of fans at a Metallica concert. His tiny body was practically vibrating with excitement, his face red from the effort of belting out his “solo.” The rest of the class tried to keep going, but at this point, Halen was clearly the star of the show.

Eddie was shaking his head, biting his lip to keep from laughing too loudly, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. “Well, you can say he’s a Munson.”

You covered your mouth to stifle your laughter, glancing at the parents around you, most of whom were staring in stunned silence. A few parents behind you whispered, “Did… did he just scream like that?”

Some of the other kids were looking at Halen like he’d just summoned a demon, but the teacher, still smiling awkwardly, tried to keep the song going, raising her hands as though she were conducting a frantic orchestra. Halen didn’t seem to notice—he was too busy throwing his head back, his little legs bouncing in rhythm with his screeching.

“OH, WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIIIIDE IN A ONE-HORSE OPEN SLEEEEIGHHHH!!!” Halen screamed again, his voice somehow even louder, more intense than before. It was full-on death metal now, and you were absolutely dying with laughter, trying to keep it together.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eddie whispered, wiping a tear from his eye. “Our kid just turned Jingle Bells into a metal anthem.”

You looked at him, shaking your head. “I can’t even. But he’s so into it.”

“I love this kid,” Eddie said, grinning from ear to ear. “He’s a natural. Maybe I should ask him to join Corroded Coffin.”

Just as the song reached its “Jingle Bells” chorus, Halen screamed again, this time with what could only be described as a powerful thrash metal growl: “JIIIIINGLE BEEEELLS, JIIIIINGLE BEEEELLS, JIIIIINGLE ALL THE WAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!”

The other kids finally gave up trying to continue the song. A couple of them giggled nervously, one of them still trying to hold up their sheet music, but Halen was in his element now, fully headbanging to an imaginary guitar riff, his hair flying everywhere. It was pure chaos. It was glorious.

It was metal. And he looked just like his father. That alone made your heart swell.

When the song finally ended, there was a brief moment of stunned silence from the audience. The teacher tried to maintain some composure, raising her hands and giving an awkward clap as she led the kids offstage.

And then—after a long beat—the entire gymnasium burst into applause. It wasn’t just the usual polite clapping. No, this was full-blown, uncontrollable laughter mixed with sincere applause for Halen’s wild rendition of a Christmas classic.

As the kids filed offstage, Halen came running down to you and Eddie, his little face glowing, still riding high from his impromptu metal concert. His eyes locked onto yours, his excitement palpable.

“Did you hear me, Mom? Dad? Did you hear how loud I was?! I’m like a rockstar!”

Eddie couldn’t contain his grin, reaching down to scoop Halen up into a big hug. “Buddy, you were amazing,” he said, laughing. “You absolutely shredded that performance.”

“I told you I could scream like you!” Halen said, beaming. “I was like you at a concert, Dad! I even did the growl!”

You wrapped your arms around them both, laughing. “Halen, you were incredible. Maybe you’ll start your own band or join your Daddy’s. Metal Christmas music could be the next big thing.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie said, looking at Halen like he had just witnessed the birth of a legend. “Who knew Jingle Bells could sound so intense?”

“Right?” You said, smiling at your tiny rockstar. “Our little metalhead. The concert was supposed to be cute, but you turned it into something else.”

Halen grinned and looked up at his dad. “Maybe next time, we can do Rudolph in a growl. And you can play your guitar, Daddy!”

Eddie’s grin widened, and he threw an arm around you and Halen. “Next Christmas, kid. Next Christmas. We’ll make it metal.”

----

Returning home, the house was warm and cozy - the kind of warmth that wrapped around you like a favorite blanket, and the scent of gingerbread cookies filled the air. Christmas lights twinkled on the tree in the corner of the living room, and soft holiday music played in the background, adding to the cozy atmosphere.

You were sitting on the couch with a plate of gingerbread cookies, still smiling at the chaos that had been Halen’s Christmas concert. A couple of bites in and you were already feeling like you had no regrets about the sugar high you’d promised yourself you'd indulge in tonight. The house was quiet for a brief moment—until you heard it.

From the kitchen, Eddie’s voice, low and warm, carried through the air: “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…” His guitar strummed the first few chords of the song, each note crisp and clear.

You looked up just in time to see Eddie sitting on the kitchen counter, his guitar in hand, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Halen was sitting on the floor in front of him, his little face bright with excitement. He had one hand holding his toy guitar—an electric one just like his dad’s of course—and he was strumming along as best as his tiny hands could manage.

“But the very next day, you gave it awayyyy...” Eddie continued to sing, his voice a little huskier than usual, but full of affection for the tiny audience in front of him. Halen, his eyes wide and totally caught up in the magic of the moment, attempted to mimic the words, his voice high-pitched and off-key in the most adorable way possible.

“This year, to save me from tears...” Eddie sang, his hand on Halen’s back, gently guiding him to follow along. “I’ll give it to someone special.”

“SOMEEEEONE SPECIAL!” Halen yelled, suddenly abandoning any attempt at the melody in favor of his own dramatic rendition, flailing his arms as if he were about to stage-dive into an invisible crowd.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The scene was like something out of a holiday movie, but real and chaotic and perfect.

“Alright, alright,” Eddie said, laughing and shaking his head. “Let’s try it again. Nice and easy, kiddo. Sometimes songs aren’t so loud and we have to save our growls for special effects.”

Halen nodded enthusiastically, then whispered to himself as if giving himself a pep talk: “Nice and easy. Got it.”

Eddie gently picked up his guitar, playing a soft riff to ease into the next verse. “Okay, little rockstar, we got this. Last Christmas...”

Halen, taking it a little more seriously this time, squinted at his father’s fingers as he strummed, and then joined in, matching Eddie’s effort to follow the lyrics—at least the first part. But it was still full of his usual Halen flair.

“I gave you my heart...” Halen sang, a bit out of tune but with such earnestness it made your heart swell.

“But the very next day...” Eddie sang along, smiling at his son, his voice blending with Halen’s as they laughed their way through the chorus.

You, still sitting on the couch with your plate of cookies, leaned back and closed your eyes for a moment, just letting the sound of your two favorite people fill the room. Eddie’s deep voice, Halen’s bright, enthusiastic one, and the soft strum of his guitar—it felt like the perfect version of Christmas, the one you’d always dreamed of, full of laughter, love, and the occasional chaotic moment that made it even more special.

Halen, a little distracted now by his own excitement, stood up and started dancing around in circles. “And I’ll give it to someone special...” he belted, twirling in place as if he were on a stage of his own. His toy guitar banged against his knee with every spin but he didn’t seem to care. He was on top of the world, and he was going to sing—loudly—while he was at it.

Eddie gave him an affectionate look and strummed a little louder, picking up the tempo. “There we go! You’re a rockstar, buddy!”

Halen gave a little triumphant shout. “I’m a rockstar!!”

“And what do rockstars do?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow, giving Halen the chance to answer.

“SING, DAD!” Halen shouted back, grinning from ear to ear.

You set your gingerbread cookies down on the coffee table, leaning back against the cushions and watching the scene unfold in front of you, utterly content. “You two are unbelievable,” you said, smiling. “I don’t know whether I should be clapping or covering my ears.”

Halen stopped dancing for a moment, looking at you seriously. “You can clap, Mom. I’m a rockstar. It’s what you do for rockstars.”

Eddie looked at you with an exaggerated nod. “You heard him, babe. We’ve got a rockstar in the house.”

You chuckled, reaching for a cookie. “Oh, I know. It’s hard to miss both of my rockstars.”

You watched as Halen took his little toy guitar and pretended to tune it like Eddie did with his own. He looked so serious doing it, poking at the knobs with intense concentration.

“So, uh, what’s next in your set, Halen?” you asked, biting into a gingerbread cookie.

Halen gave you a confident thumbs-up. “I got this,” he said seriously. “Now it’s time for Jingle Bells!” He launched back into the chorus of the classic song, adding his own “WOOO!!” at the end as he spun around the living room like a maniac.

Eddie chuckled and strummed along, singing with his son. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way...” he sang, his voice smooth and warm, totally in sync with Halen’s chaotic energy.

The two of them were in their own little world now, the rest of the house melting away. You leaned back against the couch, watching them, savoring your gingerbread cookies, feeling the warmth of the holiday around you. The laughter, the music, and the overwhelming joy of having your family together—it was everything.

A few moments later, Eddie paused, his hand resting gently on Halen’s shoulder. “Alright, kiddo, last verse. You ready?” he asked, his voice playful.

Halen nodded fiercely, his eyes wide. “Ready! Let’s do this, Dad!”

You let them finish the song, their voices filling the room as they belted out the last few lines. When the song ended, Halen, breathless from all the dancing and singing, ran to you with a giant grin.

“I’m the best rockstar, right, Mom?” he asked, his face flushed with excitement. “But not better than daddy.”

“You sure are, kiddo,” you said, pulling him into a big hug. “You were amazing. Maybe even better than daddy.”

Eddie grinned from behind his guitar. “Next year, we’ll have a full concert, with actual backup dancers. We can invite Uncle Gareth over too. What do you think, Halen?”

“I’m in!” Halen shouted, throwing his little arms up in the air. “I’m ready to rock!”

“Okay but little rockstars have a bedtime and that’s now.” You say, giving your son a small kiss on the forehead. “We’re leaving to visit Grandpa Wayne tomorrow for Christmas Eve dinner so you should save your voice for him!”

“You’re right! I think he’ll want to hear Silent Night.” Halen contemplates but then pouts as Eddie scoops him off the ground to carry him to his room. “Hey! I was still trying to decide on a setlist for tomorrow.”

“Real rock stars sleep on a good set list, buddy. Let’s get you ready for bed.” Eddie rustles his son’s hair, soon disappearing into his bedroom. “And while I get our future star ready, maybe mommy can write down some options for some songs.”

“Yeah, okay sure.” You sigh, shaking your head before biting into another cookie.

------

The house was wrapped in the quiet stillness that only came after a long, fun-filled day. Halen had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the excitement of the Christmas concert and the festive chaos that had followed. You could still hear the soft hum of holiday music in the background, and the Christmas lights twinkled softly across the room, casting a warm, gentle glow.

You were curled up on the couch, a plate of half-eaten gingerbread cookies beside you, savoring the peace of the moment. Eddie had just finished playing his guitar in the living room, humming sweet little melodies. Now, he sat across from you, kicking back with his feet up on the coffee table, his eyes following the flicker of the fire in the fireplace.

It was one of those rare moments when the world felt like it was slowing down—a precious space between the chaos of life and the peace that only came with being fully present. You smiled contentedly, leaning back against the couch, when Eddie’s voice cut through the silence.

“You ever think about having another kid?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with something deeper. “I do. A lot, really.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the question. You set your gingerbread cookie down on the plate, the sudden shift in conversation pulling you from your cozy reverie.

“Wait, what?” you said, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Are you serious? Halen is already such a handful. I don’t know if having another Munson minion running around here would be the wisest idea, Eds.”

Eddie chuckled, shifting in his seat to face you more directly. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. You know, Halen’s four and I’m starting to wonder what it’d be like having another little one around.”

You leaned forward, your heart skipping a beat. The idea had crossed your mind before, but you hadn’t really brought it up, unsure of where Eddie stood. Hearing him speak so casually about it stirred something inside you. You glanced at him, trying to process what he was saying.

“You’re starting to sound like Harrington. Should I be concerned that you deep down want an entire brood of Munsons?” You joke, smiling at the ground. “I’m not having six kids.”

“I mean,” Eddie continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ve got Halen, our amazing little guy, right? And don’t get me wrong, I love the rhythm we’ve got with Halen. We've done good with him. But I don’t know… I guess I’ve been feeling like it’s not done yet. Like we’ve got room and more love for more. More chaos, more mess, more love. I just… I love being a dad and I never thought I’d even be a dad, nonetheless a good dad.”

You smiled, that familiar warmth in your chest expanding. Eddie’s words, though simple, resonated with you. You could see it in his eyes—this quiet, earnest desire for more. Maybe it wasn’t just about having another baby. It was about expanding their world, growing their family, and embracing the next chapter together.

“You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?” you asked, your voice soft as you leaned back again, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and affection.

“Yeah,” Eddie said with a slow nod, his gaze steady but gentle. “I mean, Halen’s getting older, right? He’s independent now, and it’s amazing, but… I don’t know. I just can’t shake the feeling that I want to go through that baby stage again. The late-night feedings, the little giggles, the first steps…The newborn scrunch… The way you looked pregnant. I kind of miss all that.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re crazy. You’re talking about dirty diapers and sleepless nights again, you know? I know it's been four years but, I remember how grumpy you were at three AM when Halen woke up every single night.”

Eddie smiled, a little sheepishly. “I know. I know it’s gonna be a lot but I think I’m ready for it. Ready for us to be ready for it. We’ve got a good thing going, you and me. Halen’s gonna be the best big brother. I think we could handle it.”

You sat there in the quiet for a few seconds, the weight of his words settling in your mind. Eddie had always been the kind of person who dived headfirst into things, whether it was a new band or a new idea. But this? This felt different. This felt like a deep, heartfelt desire to grow the family, to build more memories with the people he loved most.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth bubble up inside you. “I guess you’re right,” you said, your voice soft and thoughtful. “I think Halen would love being a big brother. He’s already so good with little kids. Thanksgiving at the Harrington’s proved that.”

Eddie’s face lit up at that, and he leaned forward, his excitement palpable. “Exactly! He’d be the best big brother. Can you imagine him showing a little sibling how to play ‘air guitar’ when they’re old enough? Or even them performing metal versions of the cheesiest Christmas songs for us?"

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can already see it. The next Munson family band. Halen’s gonna be the frontman and the baby can be the drummer.”

Eddie grinned, the idea clearly sparking something playful in him. “Hell yeah. We can start ‘em young. Who knows, maybe they’ll be the next Metallica if we play our cards right.”

His grin softened, his voice took on a more sincere tone. “But really, though, I just want to have more of these moments. You, me, Halen—our little family. I think we could make room for another. We can convert the office into the baby’s room and we can store all the office shit at the shop…”

You couldn’t help but feel a little teary-eyed at the thought. It wasn’t just about the baby—it was about the life you and Eddie had built together. The house, the music, the laughter, the tiny moments that made up your days. You didn’t know what the future held but you did know that with Eddie by your side, anything was possible.

“You're awfully persuasive, Eds,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I’m a little nervous, but I think… I want more of this—more of us. Halen being the big brother…more of you being the best father to your kids….”

Eddie’s eyes softened, his smile genuine and full of affection. He reached over, taking your hand in his. “We’ll figure it out, babe. We always do. One day at a time. But… if we do have another baby, it’ll just mean we get to experience all the best parts of this crazy life again.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “I think we’d be amazing at it. All of it. Just like we are with Halen.”

Eddie’s grin widened, and he leaned in, kissing you softly on the forehead. “I’m glad you’re with me on this.”

You leaned back into the couch, the weight of the decision settling in but feeling lighter than you expected. You and Eddie had already built so much together, and the thought of building a little more—a little bigger—with him, filled you with a sense of excitement.

After all, if anyone could handle the chaos, the noise, the mess of another kid, fake dating, it was you and Eddie. Together, you were unstoppable.

“Okay, okay,” you said, your voice full of love. “Let’s do it.”

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