#( verse three ) : school days ; school days ;; | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tojisun · 9 days ago

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the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you.

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle.

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered.

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his.

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home.

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence.

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close.

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him.

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care.

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants.

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there.

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones.

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy.

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release.

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking.

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you.

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched.

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak.

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend.

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him.

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem.

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself.

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding.

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words.

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest.

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead.

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out.

#suns #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #soap x reader #cod x reader #f!reader #read tags!!

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lewistoferrari · 3 months ago

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KYLE GARRICK’S MASTERLIST

minors do not interact, you will be blocked. requests are open.

✮ shorts

when in vegas

i’m married

competitive

in his lap

he’s a menace

broken

emotional stability

backshots

does he like dogs?

baby’s first day of school

tattoo or no tattoo

he’s not wearing that

wedding planning

big pokémon fan

what does he wear when he’s on leave?

trashy tv

bread & breakfast

when he’s sick

anger & denial

starfleet officer

skincare/haircare

headcanons - one | two | three

fashionista headcanon

favorite attributes

rambling about kyle

favorite gaz missions

brat tamer

kyle (competitive) is a sore loser - one | two

he can be scary

get with the winning team

ex boyfriend kyle - one | two

pregnant s/o

✮ fics

sleepover - in progress

cough syrup

welcome home

want

uptight (uni-verse)

quiet in the library (uni-verse)

last kiss

scuderia ferrari’s pride & joy (F1 AU) - in progress

partition

the fall

picture day

welcome to the neighborhood - will remain incomplete

take me to church

welcome home, it’s wash day

finger food

reconnaissance

meet cute with kyle

the first time kyle says i love you

it was just sex, right?

getting back together

what’s your deal?

✮ in progress

study hall (uni-verse) - in progress

it’s one in the morning (late nights series) - in progress

heated (firefighter series) - in progress

✮ 141 fics

don’t have sex with your therapist…or do

contractors!141

vampire!141

you, kyle, price, and the desk

✮ main masterlist

#kyletogaz masterlists #ktgmasterlist #kyle garrick #kyletogazwrites #cod masterlist

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saints-who-never-existed · 2 months ago

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One thing I really enjoyed actually (and always have, to be fair) is seeing folk find out the weird origins of the name Cutty Sark.

It's from a Burns' poem - Tam O'Shanter - about a town drunkard who happens upon and incurs the wrath of a party of witches, demons, and other assorted beasties cavorting in the local church on a dark and stormy night.

It's literally the phrase bold Tam uses to ill-advisedly fuckin' cat-call a particularly comely young witch:

Unable to contain himself, he shouts out "Weel done, Cutty-sark!" essentially translating to "Woo! Hey sexy lady in the short skirt!" 👀

It's the moment that shit absolutely hits the fan for Tam.

No sooner has he said those word than the whole devilish party comes out baying for his blood. He manages to escape but only just, and not before Nannie, the woman he insulted, rips his poor horse's tail clean off at the fuckin' root.

Also, I finally fulfilled my long-time wish of going aboard the Cutty Sark today!

It was everything I dreamed it would be! I dreamed it would be cool as fuck and it was!

#Forgive my digressions #We learn Burns' poetry in school back home and to this day I can still recite the first three verses of Tam O'Shanter from memory #Like the Cutty Sark herself it still holds a weird and special wee place in my heart #That and I've also had a full bottle of birthday Prosecco to myself #Sillyposting #Tiddlyposting #Cutty Sark

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harunovella · 10 months ago

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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language (verse iii); s.g.

synopsis: a first date with gojo satoru? maybe... or maybe not... content: canon divergence (still teen!gojo era!), fem!reader, hopeless romantic gojo, best bros satoru and suguru bickering as always, gojo has given you a nickname (and I will now claim reader and gojo as "gojo and his mochi"), unimpressed nanami, not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: another addition to my gojo anthology series! I'm having sm fun writing these lil things for myself and you all! also... should I start a tag list? lmk in the replies!

"Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, and," Yaga Masamichi introduced before gesturing in your direction, speaking your name. "You may know the first two already but we've got another sorcerer to the school roster." Continuing his speech towards his three students that sat before him, Suguru and Shoko listened closely, eyeing a brooding Kento and a smiley Yu... while Satoru gazed at you with the biggest heart eyes. He didn't seem to care if he was obvious, after his first interaction with you ever (possibly the best moment of his life), he made it his goal to see you at least once a day. If you were away on missions, or busy during a lecture, he'd find a way to see you... even if it was from afar. "I want you three to mentor them from now on. Each of you teaming up with one of them and spending at least an hour a day to help them boost up their technique—"

"I'll be partnered up with mochi!" Gojo exclaimed, interrupting his teacher with a hand in the air.

"What's the point of raising your hand if you're gonna interrupt anyway?" Geto teased, earning a look from his best friend as he stuck out his tongue.

"Who... is mochi?" Yaga asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, never quite getting used to his white haired student.

Pointing at you and speaking your name, you stood there with wide eyes and a blush. You weren't new to Gojo's behavior, after you first met him (helping you rescue your now kitten off a tree), you had plenty of... interesting interactions. At first, it was a lot to take in, seeing as he was very eccentric and grew really comfortable with you so easily, but after some time, you grew comfortable with it. With him. However, him calling you one of his favorite treats was a first. "She's cute like a mochi—"

"Oh, god..." Shoko shook her head as Suguru raised his eyebrows.

"That's a first," Yu spoke up, covering his mouth as he couldn't help but chuckle.

"No," the shared teacher spoke. "You will not be paired with her—"

"What! Why not?! We're best friends!" Satoru whined as you looked away with a subtle blush.

"Psht, that's harsh, am I now forgotten?" Suguru crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. "What if I want to team up with mochi?" The young man smirked, earning a scowl from his best friend.

"Never call her that again," Gojo hissed, earning a laugh from Geto.

"Enough, you two, she will be partnered up with Shoko. Knowing you two, you'd end up getting her hurt somehow," earning a gasp from the two boys, you couldn't help but smile, biting your bottom lip at the way they reacted. "I trust Nanami and Haibara will be fine in either of your care."

"Ugh," Gojo groaned.

"I suppose that's fair," Geto shrugged, earning a shove from Gojo in which he shoved back. "Who are we teamed up with, then?"

"Geto, you'll be paired up with Haibara," hearing a faint cheer come from Yu, Kento only sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Which means Gojo, you'll be paired up with Nanami."

"Well, if I can't have my mochi, I guess Nanamin is fine!" Gojo crossed his arms behind his head. "No offense, Haibara! Nanamin is just great company to tease," he grinned, earning an eye roll from the young, blond man.

"Perfect, today will be your first day. Report back here in an hour. Get to know one another's abilities better." At that, Yaga dismissed the class, Shoko rushing up to you and interlocking arms as she pulled you out with her. You couldn't help but look back at Satoru, seeing his grin towards Kento turn into a frown as he looked at you. Sending him a small smile and wave, he waved back, happy that he at least got your attention for the time being.

Weeks then passed after Yaga paired everyone off, though it didn't change how things went—specifically missions—Gojo found another reason to see you. At least, another way to see you. Shoko's RCT required her to be in specific places, so he was well aware of where to find you when he wasn't with his own classmates. Nanami, on the occasion, was dragged along. Forced to watch his senior poorly flirt with you when you (shockingly) didn't seem too bothered by it. Instead, it made you flustered. You seemed to have enjoyed Satoru's attention. Of course, it never lasted long with Ieiri kicking both boys out (or just Gojo if he was the only one there) because she was busy being a good mentor and teaching you.

"I'm bored," Satoru whined as he sat on a bench, eyeing Kento as he trained on the open field. "This pairing up thing isn't all that fun."

"That's because you're not doing your job as my senior," Nanami spoke with a lack of enthusiasm.

"What's there to teach you? You're good as it is," he waved a hand as he sipped at his milk box. "I just wanna see my mochi..."

Sighing, Nanami shook his head before lifting it from his palm as he massaged his temples. A faint smile grew on his lips at the sight of you approaching, it seemed as if Shoko had lead the way before parting to go on her own route. You waved happily as he waved back, only to look at his senior to see that he hadn't noticed you. Grinning, Nanami quietly made his way towards you, his fellow classmate. To anyones shock, the two of you actually grew close. You saw one another like siblings, getting along quite well and actually maintaining interesting conversations. No one would've figured, he was a quiet boy and only really spoke when spoken to, but you brought something out of him. You always found something to speak about. Maybe it was your shared love for baked goods, or the possibility that you weren't annoying like most of the people around him. You were timid, but you were also very kind and social with those you were comfortable with. "How'd it go today?"

"Good, Shoko is very skilled, it's a shame we don't focus much on her technique. RCT is very important, no one does it like her." Smiling up at him as the two of you bumped fists, you then peeked over to Satoru, who was now lying on the bench, completely unaware of your presence. "Is he okay?"

"Being lazy as always," Nanami shrugged, but you slightly frowned. "Don't worry about it."

"What are you two babbling about?!" Gojo called out, not realizing who he had been yelling at.

"I'll catch you later..." the blond said before patting your head, then walking away.

"Hey, I asked you a—" Sitting up and realizing who he had been yelling at, Gojo's eyes widened as he gulped. "Mochi!"

"Hi, Satoru," you greeted with a kind smile, causing him to blush. "Long day?"

Instantly standing up, nearly tripping over his own feet, he shook his head. "No! I was just... taking a break! Y'know... training others can be so tiring," he frowned while slumping forward as you let out a small laugh. "Especially someone as skilled as Nanamin!"

"Right," You nodded. "I hadn't seen you all day. I was thinking..."

Blinking a few times as he watched you approach, Gojo gulped, "yeah?"

"We should get an early dinner—"

"Now?" His eyes widen as he stood straight, earning another laugh from you.

"Mhm, or later, whatever you prefer—"

"Now! Now is good," He nodded, meeting you halfway before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "I know the perfect place! Plus, right next door, they sell some delicious mochi..." He grinned as you smiled up at him.

"Is this our first date?" Gojo teased as you sat on a bench, sharing a box of mochi. The dinner was as great as he had promised, a cute little restaurant that Gojo frequented. Satoru tried his best to impress you with his cooking skills, only to burn half of what he ordered. You couldn't help but laugh it off, deciding to cook the rest—in which he praised your skills (and promised to improve his own for the next time). For someone trying to do some impressing, he's constantly teetering between being shy and letting his confidence kick in (even if it was false, trying to win you over).

"Hmm, I was the one who asked to go to dinner," you said, biting into your mochi. "Shouldn't I decide that?"

"Wait!" Gojo lifted his hands, pulling the box of mochi away as you tilted your head. "I took us here to get our dessert," he nudged his head back, towards the stand.

"So..." you trailed.

"So... this could be our first date!" He beamed, earning a look from you as you playfully lifted an eyebrow.

"Maybe."

#harunovella writes;#gojo and his mochi series #gojo #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojo au #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you

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trulyhblue · 11 months ago

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Carded

Alessia Russo x Aussie! Arsenal! Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, fluff, coarse language, suggestive if you squint.

Masterlist

________________________

Alessia were a bit like Katie in the sense of your aggression — or, rather 'passion' as you put it gently — on the field.

Arsenal had a rocky start to the season, with a loss against Liverpool to being dubbed as 'second-halfsenal', as your fans and rivals alike found the comedy in your troubles. There was no technical malice behind the name, the girls would joke about it ever so often during training, but that didn't stop the hidden linger of doubt among the team. As the season proceeded, with the crucial derbies of both Chelsea and Tottenham, you started to notice how it was having a negative effect on your girlfriend.

You grew up in Melbourne, Australia, playing for your local club before being scouted by recruits when you were in High School. You joined Melbourne Victory at Seventeen, playing alongside your future Matildas teammates, Kyra and Courtney. The three of you went to school together, before graduating and parting ways. While they moved to the Sweden league, you chose to head to Bayern Munich, where you spent four years strengthening your skills and gaining wider international attention.

The move was incredibly difficult. You did not understand a word of German walking into your first day, and still struggle to communicate in the foreign language. It definitely helped when Lioness player, Georgia Stanway transferred from Manchester City, and you ended up spending a lot of time with the English girl.

Due to this connection, you had met the other Lionesses by association, one girl sticking out to you specifically.

You had properly met Alessia in a friendly match against your two National teams. It hadn't taken long for you to realise your feelings for each other, but the timing never seemed right. She was in Manchester, playing for United, and you were in Germany, both consistent in your hard work for your respective teams.

You both were called up for the World Cup squad, you playing as a regular starter in the Midfield. From your early career, you always had a deep-rooted chemistry with Kyra and Courtney, so the opportunities the three of you created set the scene for your forwards up front. It was heartbreaking losing to England in the Semi-finals, especially in a home World Cup. You remember how Georgia sat with you after the game, waiting until she knew you were okay before she went off to celebrate.

You reciprocated the kindness by watching the final, feeling upset for the Lionesses when the score did not turn out their way. The two of you wondered what the next step was for you.

You had trouble mulling over the end of your contract, knowing Georgia had just renewed hers. After the World Cup, the recognition of the public had a great turnout, and your agent was met with many expressions of interest.

When Arsenal's name popped up on that list, you knew it was a no-brainer.

You and Alessia had both transferred in the same week, Kyra a few weeks later. The blonde and you moved in together, having both no place to live and hit it off from there. Now, a few months in, you've never been happier.

"Alright girls, we can do this." You heard Kim shout from beside you. Alessia was holding your waist, fiddling with the hem of your shorts as the team huddled around each other.

"Go out and set the scene. First tackles, first corners, everything, alright?"

You were versing Chelsea, the London Derby, in a sold-out Emirates, and you could feel the nerves radiating off Kyra from in front of you. Kim was the Captain today, her Scottish accent shouting as both the starting eleven and subs hugged one another. The lead-up to this game was beyond stressful, the pressure of starting in such a critical game building on Alessia and you over the past few days. The whole ordeal was daunting, having not ever played in a derby of this significance before.

"London is Red, girls, let's go!" Katie shouted, earning the huddle to disperse as everyone took their starting positions.

You could feel the sweat compile over the creases in your hands, wiping them twice over before jogging to your place on the wing. You found yourself looking out to the crowd, waving at the group of fans chanting your name. Erin Cuthbert was quick to join your side, standing close by as the cheers grew louder in anticipation.

Alessia was upfront, watching you with adoring eyes. You offered her a tight-lipped smile, pursing your lips and blushing when she sent a toothy grin and thumbs up your way. However; the moment was short-lived as the referee was quick to blow her whistle, commencing the game.

It was apparent that Chelsea was not expecting the energy Arsenal brought to the game. Errors and miscalculated passes were being carried out left and right, the chemistry between both sides slipping beneath the heightening apprehension.

“I'm here!” You called, speeding along the wing as Katie hesitated on the other side of the pitch. The Chelsea girls had left your front wing open, crowding in the midfield, evidently oblivious to the mistake they’d produced. You heard Emma Hayes yelling to cover your end, but Katie had already seen you, crossing the ball to your end. Cuthbert was on your tail, trying hard to stub your sprint in an attempt to stuff you up.

Victoria was to your right, onside yet swarmed with about three defenders. Beth was not far behind; Chelsea defenders were swarming the box in a desperate endeavour to clear Arsenal’s attempt.

You had no other choice but to nimble the ball through Fleming’s legs and towards Vic, who helplessly maneuvered the ball through the maze of defenders before passing to Mead. Cuthbert had put her hands behind her back, using her body to shield Beth’s fake attempt at the goal. You watched with your breath hitched as Beth powered the ball to the goal, observing the swift motion of the back of the neck.

Alessia was the first to wrap your arms around you, holding you up, carrying you over to where Katie was gripping Beth for dear life.

The rest of your team celebrated around you, screaming among the thousands of people in the crowds, smiles etched on all your faces.

“You’re doing so well.” Less yelled, hoping you’d hear her praise over the booming echo of cheers circling the Emirates. She knew you heard her from the blush that spread your cheeks, making your already flushed face all the more flustered. Your girlfriend wrapped her hands around you, swaying you from side to side one more time before you patted her back and let go.

Her eyes watched your figure jog back to your spot near Cuthbert, who pushed her way into your shoulder before the whistle for the restart blew. You tried your best to ignore her antics, using your legs to propel you towards the ball.

Turns out, Chelsea didn't like what you just did.

Erin followed you up and down the pitch, tugging your shirt everywhere she went. Whenever you tried to run forward and make a chance for your team, the Scottish woman would yank you back, locking her arm around your body, keeping you glued to the sideline.

Chelsea evened the score only a couple of minutes later. The sweat dripping down your forehead was enough to tell anyone how hard you were trying. Erin wasn't the only one giving you grief; Fleming was always a few metres away, darting through the midfield easily without you to worry about.

You were finally given the ball from a cross from Victoria, who mustn't have realised how cornered you were. You hadn't left the sideline in twenty minutes now. Fleming was now to your left, running up against you with Erin’s arm holding your waist. You struggled to keep the ball at your feet, the crowd watching in delight as the three of you battled it out alone.

You had managed to dart the ball between Jessie’s legs, causing an audible reaction from the fans, but it seemed that your face was too preoccupied with meeting the grass to soak up any type of honour you were receiving.

You felt the ground against your cheek, your body falling from stubs to the foot. You groaned at the instant pain up your leg, causing you to hold your shoe and roll onto your back. The adrenaline from the game made the pang bearable, but you knew the tackle was far from clean way before the whistle had blown.

“Oh, get up. What a fucking baby.” You heard Erin say, her Scottish accent full of malice.

“I didn't know Chelsea hired my Nephew.” An Irish accent quipped nearby. “Cause all he does is throw a tantrum when he doesn't get what he wants.”

“It was clean.”

“Oh, fuck off, you slimy t—”

You didn't get to hear the rest of their dispute, too busy nursing your foot with your hands. Steph had broken the two up, ordering Katie to run back to the other side. Sam Kerr was also around, kneeling beside you amidst the strain.

“You ‘right, mate?” Your Aussie Teammate helped you up, holding out her hands and rubbing your back as you regained balance. The Skipper had been your mentor since you joined the Tillies. The older woman was an idol of yours, and you looked up to her despite the few years between you.

However, you couldn't respond to Sam in time, for she was pushed away harshly by a certain blonde, her blue eyes reeling with anger at the sight of the tackle you endured.

“Stay away from her, Kerr.” She snarled, using her arm to support your weight onto one foot. You put your hand on her chest, shooting a silent apology to Sam, who shrugged nonchalantly before sauntering off.

“Y/N, are you alright?” The referee asked the yellow card still in her hand. You knew you had the power to play it over the top, but this game was everything to you. You didn't want to be subbed off any time soon.

But your girlfriend wasn't having any of it.

“She,” Less pointed to Erin, who was standing by a regretful Fleming. “Needs to be sent off for that. She's been harassing Y/N all game. It was obviously on purpose. Did you see it? It was stubs to the—”

“Lessi, stop, it's alright. I'm fine.” You swapped glances from your girlfriend to the Ref, who was still looking at you for reassurance in regard to your physical wellness. “I’m fine.” You repeated, and the whistle was quickly blown for a free kick, and a yellow toward Cuthbert.

Alessia looked down at you cautiously, eyeing your leg and the slight weariness in your step. “Are you sure?” She asked.

When you nodded, she jogged over to her position once more, sighing at your stubbornness as you prepared for your kick.

Ilestedt’s goal only a few minutes later sent all of the girls into a frenzy. You sprinted over to the Swedish player, jumping onto her back and kissing her head, laughing as you felt the rest of your team surround you in hugs and celebrations. The screams and cheers in the stands were phenomenal. No one expected the Reds to be beating the Blues so early into the game.

Erin was hot on your tail when Caitlin punted the ball towards you. You made the sprint down the line, your Aussie teammates Steph and Caitlin both yelling out for a pass. You were about to boot it behind you, where Steph was waiting for the assist when you felt your legs give out for the second time that game. The grass met your face, the power of the fall leaving you in shambles, the ball long forgotten by the time your hand shot up to the blood running down your nose.

Steph was by your side, forgetting all about the game still in play. Alessia had gained possession of the ball, holding it in her hands by the time you had sat up, the whistling blowing when the Ref noticed the amount of red spilling down your shirt.

“Move your hand.” Steph uttered, holding your face and using her own shirt to hold your nose. “It’s not broken.” You did as you were told, your nose warm at the contact of the ground, only slightly sore. She looked up to Kim, who you knew was fuming underneath her worried gaze.

“I don't want to be subbed off.” You said, and you saw Kim nod, agreeing before storming up to the Referee, who was talking sternly to Erin.

Beside her was Alessia, with her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed into a furious knot, you watching in horror as a yellow card was shown her way. Katie had made it just in time to take her away, gripping the girl’s shoulders and guiding her towards you.

The medics had come on to see to your nose whilst handing you another shirt to change into. They assessed the blood, which was slowly halting, and declared that you had just knocked it. You told them you didn't want to go off, and with a nod from Katie and approval from the Referee, you stood off the field patiently before you were allowed back on.

During those painstaking moments, you pondered on what Alessia had said that made her get the yellow. You knew Erin was already on thin ice, and in yesterday’s training, Jonas had said that if given the chance, Alessia was to take the penalties. You knew the English girl. She was never much of a violent person on the field, choosing to stay calm and collected rather than angsty and irate when something didn't go her way.

But in games like this, where everything was on the line, it was hard to deny the apparent tension behind her actions. When it came to you, she’d sacrifice everything. For you, she’d take a million yellows if it meant sticking up for you.

You had sprinted up near Fleming when the girls ran towards your goal. The stadium stood in anticipation, the adrenaline of Arsenal’s streak pumping through their cheers. Alessia found the ball under her feet, her shot hitting the back of the net with a swish. You couldn't hear anyone but yourself, the pain and exhaustion from the half leaving your body the very moment you wrapped your legs around Less’s waist.

The girl held you up with her hands, holding under your thighs, squishing the skin just under your arse before putting you down. You laughed at her cheeky grin, relishing the private moment between the two of you before the rest of the girls stampede their way around you.

“LESSI RUSSO!” Beth screamed, hugging the two of you as she jumped in excitement. Arsenal were beating Chelsea — the top of the ladder — three-one going into the second half. If they scored once more, it’d be the Blue’s worst defeat in five years.

The thought was the utmost motivation.

You would be lying if you said you weren't surprised to find yourself walking back on in the second half. Your nose had stopped bleeding during half-time, but the ache was still attending when you made your way to the wing.

Just before you went out, you felt familiar hands grip your waist, pushing you against the wall of your cubby. You saw Alessia’s glare eye your kit and the way she licked her lips at the sight of your flushed countenance. Her starved eyes roamed your face. Your lips met hers in a hungry kiss, knowing the rest of the girls were in their own world as they prepared for what was to come.

“You’re playing really good.” You said, holding her biceps, your finger drawing circles against her skin.

Alessia hummed, meeting your lips again, nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. “So are you, baby. ‘Making me so proud, you are.”

The compliment went straight through you. Her eyes continued to linger on you as you walked back out onto the pitch. You swallowed any pre-existing desire you had for the girl as Jessie Fleming walked by your side, offering you a curt, determined smile, then going stone-faced.

The rivalry in the second half displayed by both sides was nothing in comparison to the anger radiating in the last forty-five minutes of the London Derby.

Katie and Caitlin both got cards in two minutes of each other. Lauren James, Chelsea forward, fifteen minutes later. Illegal tackles were thrown left and right, pushing, shoving, ploughing everywhere you looked.

Emma Hayes must've thought Erin would've been sent off if been marking you for another second. Jessie was a much cleaner opponent, but as the time ticked over, the end of the match and the taste of victory near, the Canadian found haste in her decisions, making a rather late decision in tackling you near the sideline.

“Fuck, sorry.” She spoke, and while remorseful, she seemed too engulfed in the loss to speak much truth. She took her yellow graciously but made no attempt to reconcile with you. She walked over to Sam, who gave her a scornful glare, making the younger girl cower. You took your time getting up off the grass, stretching out the tension in your hamstrings before straightening back onto your feet.

On her way over to you, Alessia shot the dirtiest glare she could muster towards Fleming, not realising that many fans would catch the interaction on their phones. She made her way over to you, kissing the top of your forehead, making no endeavour to hide her public affection towards you.

Your relationship with Alessia was extremely private. You didn't want the public to know every detail of each other, and how you lived day to day in each other’s company, but that didn't mean you didn't like to tease your relationship over social media every once and a while. The Arsenal girls were all for a photo dump on Instagram, and many of the fans had caught onto your close proximity in some of the photos.

One of them in particular caused the rumours of your relationship to form. It was in Katie’s dump, a couple of weeks after your move to Arsenal. A group of girls were all sitting together in a booth, somewhere in a random London pub, but there wasn't enough room, leaving you to sit on Alessia’s lap when the photo was taken. From there, everyone assumed the two of you were dating, and while neither of you confirmed anything, it wasn't a secret you were trying hard to keep.

The game proceeded and not long after, an easy penalty was given to your side after a Chelsea defensive miscommunication. It was Alessia who took it, and the crowd made deafening sounds of joy as the Reds crowded around each other in celebration.

You were beating Chelsea 4-1.

The feeling was euphoric. Nothing could beat the sour, everlasting annoyance planted on Cuthbert’s face. Nothing could take you away from the overwhelming happiness that overtook your body when the full-time whistle blew, leaving Arsenal in glee at the massive takedown on the reigning top-of-the-ladder.

Alessia was up against you the moment you met each other’s glance. She pulled you off the ground, spinning you around in circles, making you squirm and squeal as she tickled your sides.

“You did so well, baby.” She sounded, her breath tickling your ear. You shivered, trying hard to hold in your yearning. Alessia knew how to rile you up, hands coming up to glue to your shoulders, massaging the knots that had formed from the tiresome run you just had. You groaned at the relief. Alessia smirked at the whines coming from your mouth.

“All for me, baby?”

You hid your face in her chest at that, face red at her undistinguished connotations. She laughed, holding your chin, placing a quick peck on the side of your lips, pulling you back into her afterwards.

You waited until she was soaking up the silence, a small smile decorating your sweaty face.

“Did it all for you, Lessi.”

____________________________

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scarletwinterxx · 5 months ago

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but if it's forever, it's even better - joshua hong imagine

helloooo

i will start this off by saying i am down bad for this man right here. ISTG i see him and i'm smiling all stupid like a school girl who has her first crush. i cannot get him off of my mind so yea now we're here😅

if there's one song i would say is written about this guy, it's birds of a feather by billie eilish. i just feel like it's so easy to love him, like you'd be sitting in a diner with him then you'd take one look and think about how you love him so much🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 okay okay i'm getting carried away😅

it's my first time writing a story outside the nct-verse hahaha but i love it🥺 maybe i'll write more svt scenarios in the future but for now, i hope you enjoy this one🤍

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

for my other joshua fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Oh my god, you like him"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know we follow each other on spotify right? You've been listening to the same 6 7 songs for days now. It's a playlist isn't it?"

"Where is this conversation going exactly?"

"Who is it? Tell me"

You look at your friend confused. Soonyoung can be random at times, like right now. He just started this topic randomly.

"You like someone, you only make a new playlist when you like someone so who is it?" he asks

"No one, oh my gosh"

Just then the bell hanging by the door chimes, signaling someone just walked in. You didn't look over only to be surprised when someone sat beside Soonyoung,

"Hey guys, sorry I was late. Have you ordered?"

"Hey" you nod over at Joshua, the guy smiling back at you

Soonyoung watches the exchange, looking back and forth between you and your other friend. It's like a lightbulb just lit up in his head.

You can see his expression change, but before he could say anything you kick his leg under the table to stop him

"AH!"

You shoot him a look, meanwhile Joshua stays oblivious to the chaos. He reads the menu, looking for something to order.

"Is the coffee good?" he asks no one in particular

"Yea, she likes it" Soonyoung points at you

"Oh uh yea it's good"

"Okay, I'll go get that. Do you want anything else?"

"I'm good" your other friend answers, then the two look at you

"Me too, thanks Shua" he shoots you another smile before standing up

"Shua? SHUA? You call him Shua???"

"Yea, because that's his name" you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool

"Oh my god, it's him. You like him" he points at you

"Shut it before he comes back"

"You didn't deny it"

You shoot him another look just as Joshua takes the seat beside him again. The three of you hang out to catch up, a little tradition you do with your friends when you have free time. Sometimes, you drive around town or go on an easy hike or set up a picnic.

Sometimes your other friends join you, but today it's just the three of you.

"The sky's getting dark, it'll probably rain soon" You say while looking out the window, the two guys following your gaze

"Oh yea, we should go. Hey Joshua, can you drive her home? I have a thing I have to drive by before going home"

"Yea no problem" ever the gentleman, Joshua agrees with a smile. The three of you walk out the cafe, saying goodbye to Soonyoung as he walks over to his car. You catch him mouthing something a long the lines of "you're welcome". Probably trying to play cupid between you and Joshua.

The two of you also walk to his car, a hand behind the small of your back to guide you. Even though the ground is flat concrete, you feel like you're going to trip just thinking about how close he is.

Joshua opens the door for you, holding a hand over your head as you get in. You're not even close to hitting the roof of the car, but still, he does it because he is the epitome of 'gentleman'. He waits for you to settle in before closing the door and jogging over the driver's side.

When he gets in the car, he puts the keys in and turn the engine on. Putting one hand behind your seat as he maneuver out of the parking lot.

You can feel your cheeks get warm, it's nothing special but you had to admit he looks so good while doing such a mundane thing.

Joshua looks over at you and notices the blush on your cheeks.

"You okay, baby?"

"Shut up"

He laughs louder, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers together.

"Soonyoung thinks I have a crush on you?"

"Does he?"

"Mhm, been listening to the playlist you made me. He said I only ever make a playlist when I like someone" you tell him, you see the smile forming on his pretty lips you had to stop your self from leaning over to steal a kiss from your boyfriend.

"I mean, he's not wrong. You made me one before"

"Yea like before we dated, now you do it too"

It was how you confessed to him, too shy to say you like him to his face so you did it through songs. You thought he didn't get the message you were trying to send over because he didn't say anything to you after you sent the playlist.

You really thought he really didn't see anything other than a friend until one night while hanging out he started to play one of the songs on his guitar. It was during a party, surrounded by all your friends, with people having their own conversations all around you.

And yet your attention was on him, listening to each note he's playing.

"When will we tell him?" Joshua asks you

"Let him figure it out on his own. It's kind of fun to see him get excited over it, it's like we have a fan rooting for us"

"What if I kiss you in front if him"

"You wouldn't dare, Joshua Hong" he smirks when he heard his full name, sparing you a quick glance. He waits until the light turned red before turning over to you, a hand behind your head to pull you closer to him then he's crashing your lips against him.

His lips moving against yours in sync. Like a routine he worked hard on memorizing, he knows just how to get you chasing after his lips asking for a few more kisses. Each one taking your breath like it's the first kiss.

He's the one to break away first (even though he didn't want to, but you're in middle of the road), he kisses your nose before going back to his seat. His hand goes back to holding yours, like back to normal. Like he didn't just kiss the breath out of you.

Joshua smirks when he looks over at you, looking at him with round eyes he loves so much.

The traffic light is still red but you don't dare to tease your boyfriend again because you know he won't hesitate to do it again and then some.

"Hey, I love you" he squeezes your hand, making you look over at him

"I know" you jokingly reply, then you lean over to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Let's sit together next hang out and pretend to secretly like each other" you say, "Easy, I already look like I like you" he say

"No kisses though, have to take me out first"

"We'll call it a date then"

#fic #svt #seventeen #svt joshua #seventeen joshua #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt au #svt fluff #svt reads #joshua hong #joshua imagine #joshua fic #joshua boyfriend #joshua fluff #joshua scenario

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miiyas · 3 months ago

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GATEKEEP

summary: rintarou suna is the drummer of mini college band ‘UNDRGROUND.’ while struggling to write songs for their new album ‘GATEKEEP’ with the rest of the band, suna finds inspiration in you, a struggling college student unsure of what to do with her future.

cw: language, may be ooc, drinking, smoking, i don’t know instruments please bare with me, minor whiplash references, mitski song references, tba. tag list open

WORLD FAMOUS (undrground) || sports med + yn

TEASER VERSE ONE/PART ONE ONE: attendance streak TWO: basic high school chemistry THREE: atsumu needs a date. FOUR: brainstorm (storm.) FIVE: loser (bliss.) SIX: best friend SEVEN: growing priority (worth.) EIGHT: ghosted (storm, drum solo.) NINE: “because i’m just some girl who doesn’t know what she wants, and you’re going to be great, and i’m gonna be forgotten—” TEN: broken sticks

VERSE TWO/PART TWO ONE: silent bickering TWO: immature (make up.) THREE: always about you, FOUR: every song is always about you FIVE: rekindle SIX: concert day. SEVEN: down pour (carry me out, UNDRGROUND cover) EIGHT: mended sticks NINE: “you’re the breeze in my austin nights”

tags: @egoistars @nekozaki @fairywriter-oracle @dazqa @urslytherin @akaashislovee @akqchii @anqelkoz @asrichin

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintarō #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #rintaro suna x reader #suna x you #atlas writes !

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livwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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dedicated to my absolute storm of a day today

Today was one of those days where nothing stopped.

For the first time ever, all three of Steve and Eddie’s daughters are in different schools - Moe a freshman in high school, Robbie a sixth-grader at the middle school, and Hazel still at the elementary school in fourth grade, so their morning is non-stop from when Moe has to be up if she’s gonna get out the door in time to make the school bus (which is 5:30, meaning that Steve and Ed need to be up at 5:30 to make sure that she’s up at 5:30) all the way to when Hazel gets on her own bus at 7:45.

Most of the time, Hazel’s bus pulling away leads to a brief moment of respite for Steve and Eddie before their own days have to continue, just enough time for them to take a breather and spend a second together just the two of them and maybe make out against the kitchen counter like they’re twenty-six and had just started dating instead of nearly fifty and married for over a decade.

That day, though, Steve has a client for a therapy session at 8am (the first for a day of back-to-back-to-back sessions), so he’s out the door even before Robbie is on her bus, and then Eddie has to drive into Boston for a meeting about his book that he’s trying to get made into a movie (an animation of some kind, he’s thinking, stop-motion ideally like Coraline or Nightmare Before Christmas), and while he’s on his way back home, he gets a call from the elementary school that Hazel is sick and needs to be picked up (goddamn flu season), and by the time he picks her up and brings her home, Moe is out of school needing a ride to her club basketball practice, and Steve’s work day wraps up just in time to get Robbie to her violin lesson (he picks Moe up from basketball on their way back), and even once they’re all home again, it’s still a whirlwind of getting dinner on the table while making sure all the girls get their homework done and instruments practiced, and keeping an eye on Hazel who is either “sick” or “not sick” when it serves her to be so (she’s sick when homework time begins, not so sick anymore when the baskets of Halloween candy are brought out of their hiding spot as a treat after dinner), before they’re getting Hazel and Robbie corralled upstairs for bedtime and making sure Moe is making her own progress in that regard, and then once the girls are all tucked soundly into bed for the night, Steve and Eddie still have to clean up the kitchen and prep for the next day’s mayhem and get themselves ready for bed, and in the end, it’s not until Eddie is sliding into bed beside Steve that they’re to exchange anything more than a glance.

“Thought about you all day today, Stevie,” Eddie says with a grin as he tugs him in close.

Steve hums his agreement, shuffling until he’s sitting in the space between Eddie’s legs, his back against his husband’s chest.

“How was the meeting?” he asks him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ed shakes his head, “Ask me tomorrow. Just hold me.”

“You’re holding me.”

“Shut up.”

Ed wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, slipping a hand underneath his t-shirt to splay over his stomach.

Steve tips his head back against Eddie’s shoulder, relishing in the way Eddie is holding him – his grip just firm enough to feel secure and safe, tight in a covetous way, a way that says that Steve is his.

Steve likes being Eddie’s. Something about it has his heart swooping even all these years later.

The love between him and Eddie is the old kind of love now. Not old as in old news, but old as in worn-in and reliable and familiar and comfortable. It’s the kind of love he’d been aching for when he was younger, the kind of love that has him knowing exactly why it didn’t work out with all the other people he’d dated before.

“I love you so damn much, Stevie,” Eddie tells him, ”I’m just as obsessed with you today as I was twenty years ago.”

“I know – crazy, right?”

Eddie shakes his head again, “Inevitable. Just wanted to say it before it slipped through the cracks.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t say anything more, content to bask in a rare moment of peace and quiet with Eddie – his husband, his person, the love of his life.

Eddie presses a kiss to the side of his neck, blunt nails idling dragging back and forth over Steve’s soft stomach.

The moment is fleeting, as they tend to be these days, because Hazel calls for them from her bedroom saying that her tummy hurts.

Steve groans and moves to get up, but Eddie tightens his arms around Steve.

“She’ll be fine. Nine is definitely old enough to learn how to puke and rally.”

“Definitely,” Steve agrees as he pulls himself out of Eddie’s hold.

#steve had thought his days of holding girls’ hair back while they puked was long over #but then he had three daughters and sent them to public school and proved himself wrong #steddie #steddie dads #liv’s steddie dads verse #steve harrington #eddie munson #just to be clear i'm not anti-public school #children are just germ factories

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 years ago

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The first time Dustin tried to get Steve and Eddie to meet, Eddie refused.

“You expect me to be nice to Steve Harrington? The King of Hawkins High?”

“I told you, that’s old news,” Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Last year isn’t exactly old news, Henderson.”

So Dustin let it be.

— — — — —

The second time they didn’t have a choice.

Eddie was wanted for murders he didn’t commit, and Steve was well-versed in the ways of the Upside Down.

When Eddie almost died, it was Steve who was able to carry him through the gate.

When Eddie was in the hospital for three weeks, it was Steve who sat by his side every night so he wouldn’t be alone with his nightmares.

When Eddie got out, it was Steve who brought him to his appointments and helped him get settled in the new government-provided house for him and Wayne.

When Eddie thought about it, Steve was probably the nicest guy he’d ever met.

— — — — — — — —

But Steve ended up having to go back to work when things got fixed up.

His parents left him the house, but otherwise cut him off.

Groceries and gas don’t pay for themselves.

So he saw him for an hour here or a few minutes there, always checking in when he dropped Dustin and Mike off for D&D.

Eddie started to wonder if Steve only hung out with him because he had like, survivors guilt or something. He had been so kind and caring, but clearly the clock ran out on that.

But to Dustin, it was just a reset.

Steve hadn’t changed, just his available time.

And it was time to do something about it.

— — — — — — —

They say the third time’s the charm, but in this case, it wasn’t.

In fact, Dustin almost gave up when this result ended in Eddie telling Steve to go fuck himself.

He didn’t know what happened, and he never found out, but Steve looked hurt, and Eddie shut himself in his room for three days.

— — — — — — —

Dustin was sick.

The flu was running rampant through the streets and school halls of Hawkins, leaving no person left untouched by the worst nausea and body aches known to humankind.

Also, Eddie’s dramatics may have been rubbing off on him. Just a little.

So he couldn’t go to Hellfire, and without him, they couldn’t finish the campaign.

But in his drug-addled mind, he thought of a resolution. Potentially. But bribery would have to be involved.

So he called Steve.

“Steve.” He turned up the pitifully low rasp of his voice to make it seem like he was dying. “I need you to cover me at Hellfire.”

“Why? So Eddie can tell me to go fuck myself again? No thanks.”

“Dude. Please. I’m too sick. Everyone’s been wanting to finish this campaign for a month.”

“Can’t they reschedule when you’re better.”

Well, yeah, probably. Eddie had been way more open to rescheduling since everything happened.

That would ruin his plan, though.

“C’mon, Steve! I’ll owe you!” He coughed to add to the drama of it all.

“Fine! Fine.” Steve sighed. “I hope you know you’re gonna lose.”

“Nah, it’s a team effort. Everyone will help you.”

“Sure.” Then, because Steve was Steve: “Need anything, Henderson?”

Dustin almost felt bad about what he was making Steve do. Almost.

“No, mom’s making me a broth soup to try to sip on.”

“Okay, call tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

If Dustin wasn’t as sick as he was, he probably would have tried to stay awake to call tonight.

But he fell asleep within minutes.

— — — — — — — —

“I’m sorry, you’re what?”

Steve rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “Filling in for Dustin. He’s sick.”

“You can’t do that.”

“He said I could.”

“He doesn’t run Hellfire, does he?”

“Shouldn’t he? Since you graduated?”

Eddie glared.

“If you two are done bickering like old ladies fighting over the same man in the nursing home, we have a campaign to finish,” Erica said from her seat, looking at her nails instead of at them.

“You heard Lady Applejack,” Eddie gestures towards the table.

Steve sat in the largest chair at the end and leaned back.

Everyone was staring at him.

“You’re not that dense. You can’t be.”

Steve looked up at Eddie with a smirk.

“Is there a problem?”

“That’s the DM seat. I’m the DM. Therefore, my seat.”

“It’s big enough to share. I like the view from here.”

“You can see all my notes from here!”

“Exactly.”

Eddie’s face was so red, it was a wonder he hadn’t exploded yet.

But he didn’t continue arguing. To Steve’s delight, and Dustin’s if he were there to see it, Eddie sat down on the edge of the chair. Steve scooted over a little, but they were pushing each other and being immature and stupid.

They both fell on their asses and Lucas finally spoke up.

“Can we just reschedule? This isn’t gonna work.”

“No. We’re so close. Dustin wouldn’t have sent Steve if he wanted us to reschedule.”

Eddie looked at Steve, searching his face for something. Whatever it was, he must’ve found it.

“Alright. Steve’s in my lap. Let’s go.”

He clapped and pulled himself back into the chair, patting his thigh and smiling at Steve.

“The whole game?”

“It’s this or Dustin’s spot over there.”

Steve wasn’t having that. He deserved this spot.

He stood up and sat down in Eddie’s lap, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered at being close enough to smell the shampoo Eddie used. Eddie’s hands settled on his hips to hold him in place while he leaned around to check his notes.

“Let’s begin!”

Luckily, Steve didn’t have to do much. The rest of the group kind of played for him, knowing he was just a warm body at the table.

And he was certainly warm.

Eddie’s hands had been finding new places to touch on his sides or legs or back or stomach all night. It was distracting. It was annoying. It was intoxicating and addicting and Steve never wanted to leave.

He was completely zoned out, barely registering he was supposed to be an active participant in this fucking game when he felt a light smack on his thigh.

He let out a whine.

And then reality came crashing in.

Everyone was staring at him with raised eyebrows. Eddie was completely still under him. He was mortified.

But he still didn’t want to get up.

He kind of just wanted to turn around and bury his face in Eddie’s neck.

As soon as he has the thought, his body is making it happen. ‘Your wish is my command,’ it’s saying in excitement.

Within seconds, his body is turned facing a shell-shocked Eddie, legs using the space between Eddie’s back and the back of the chair to wrap around his waist, and his face burying itself into his neck. He let out a much quieter whine, and felt his whole body relax.

A hand was on the back of his head, keeping him in place, and he sighed.

He could feel vibrations, like Eddie was speaking, but his head was cloudy and he couldn’t quite figure out what it was he was saying.

It didn’t really matter anyways. He was cozy and safe and relaxed for maybe the first time ever. Unless Eddie physically removed him from his spot, he wasn’t moving.

Time passed, but Steve couldn’t take a guess at how much.

“Stevie? You awake?”

“Mhm.”

“You wanna get comfy?”

“Am.”

He felt Eddie laugh more than he heard it, but he just snuggled further into Eddie’s neck, bunching his shirt in his hands.

“Okay, I’m just gonna pick you up and go to the bedroom. It’ll be better to sleep.”

Sleep? Was it that late? Where was everyone else?

“Shhh. It’s okay. Just squeeze your legs around my waist and hold on.”

Steve followed his instructions to the letter and he could’ve sworn he heard Eddie whisper “good boy” into his ear, but that could’ve been wishful thinking.

The next thing he knew, Eddie was sitting on the edge of his own bed with Steve in the same position on his lap.

“Wanna get in comfy clothes?”

Steve shook his head.

He was so tired.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

“Dunno. Week?”

“A week?! Steve…”

“Shhh. Sleepy.”

“No shit. You haven’t slept in a week.” Eddie sighed and then somehow managed to get them both settled in bed, Steve’s body almost entirely on top of Eddie’s. “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

“Mkay.”

Eddie kissed the top of his head, but he was already almost completely asleep.

— — — — — — —

“So he just…cuddled him? Right there at the table?”

Dustin couldn’t believe his plan worked and he wasn’t even there.

“It was awful,” Erica spit out.

“It was weird,” Lucas added.

“It was disgusting,” Mike said, pointing a glare at Dustin. “I wish I had the flu so I could’ve missed it.”

“And has anyone checked in on them since?”

Two days had passed and Dustin was finally able to keep solid foods down and his fever broke more than 12 hours before. His mom was even going to let him call Suzy later.

“Uh. Should we?”

“Lucas! Dude! They may have turned on each other.”

“Yeah, more like turned each other on,” Erica mumbled.

They all stared at each other, disgusted at the thought of their friend and babysitter being close.

“Gross.”

But Dustin smiled anyway. His plan finally worked.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #tumblr drabbles #dustin henderson #Dustin the meddler #that should be his d&d class tbh #idk what this is? I just furiously typed this out on my phone for the last 30 minutes #it felt important at the time

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valentine-cafe · 10 days ago

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oh god the domestic 209 herrera husbands 😞 its too cute mhfhdgsg

- afab reader -

imagine them having massive baby fever after their first baby‼️ first they put the small baby into its crib (that they had to move outside the room temporarily so they and their sweet wife could have some private time 😇) and then filling her up lots to make sure shes pregnant again !!

im sure that the baby would love a little sibling or two 🤭🫣

˖⁺. ﹙ yandere naga mad doctor x gn reader x yandere hybrid mad scientist. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . just one more, please !! 🍒 : mad doctor ˖ yandere ˖ snake monster ˖ grim reaper character & spider-moth-mantis hybrid ˖ mad scientist ˖ yandere character ˖ cw: pregnancy kink, so much cum, impregnation, plugging﹙ verse 209 jingyi & rishen. ﹚

when your husbands begin thinking more about the future of your child, they grow as melancholic as they grow happy. so they decide to give you a few more

there was something about your baby getting older that made the husbands feels melancholic. as much as they were proud - as much as they were happy. the idea that the experience of a baby would be lost as your kid entered the toddler years.

and when the child started going to preschool? oh, they were in tears.

the perfect solution? get another baby.

if you thought they were eager the first time they tried for a baby. oh you were sorely not ready for what would hit you this time around.

hips cramming into yours desperately from both sides. filling up your holes as much as they possibly could. alternating. stuffing you full. all in the hours that your little one had headed off to school and would be staying by your relative for the day.

there is a sort of animalistic need in the way that they fuck you into the sheets. the way that jìngyí buries his fangs into the side of your neck. digs his claws into your hips and fucks into you rapidly. the typically composed doctor now an absolute mess as he whines into your ear about stuffing you full and giving you another bundle.

the way that rishen would take over by having you ride him. laying down as he grips at your thighs with his hands, his tentacles, his spider legs at one point - whatever he possibly could. at one point it is simply you bouncing on his lap wildly as he grew delirious with the thought of breeding you once again. the sight of your tight cunt full of their side.

“such a pretty mommy,” rishen whines into you once he has the strength to shove you down onto your tummy and fuck you from behind with all of his strength.

“going to be so beautiful. . . all swollen for us again,” jìngyí would find himself under you again so enough. a hand to your hair and pressing you into sweet, needy kisses as he gets rishen to slip into your ass instead. so that he can have his turn with your overflowing cunt.

“such a pretty mommy indeed.”

at some point all three of you would fall asleep. wake up again to jìngyí humping your thighs softly and grinding his cock up into your slick walls. it would stir rishen up soon after and the two would have a messy, sloppy few rounds with you - before falling asleep all over again.

rishen made sure to plug you up with one of his tentacles. just so that you definitely get pregnant after all.

you’d fall asleep between the two of them. all cuddled up and comfy. let’s just say that you had a surprise for your little bundle when they eventually came back from their mini visit.

oh the herrera’s are so obsessed with by the thought of having a big happy family with you.

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aza-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Morning Affirmations

Lip Gallagher x female!reader

Requested: no

Summary: Lip walks in on his girlfriend singing to the younger kids while she gets them ready for the day. Takes place in season 4 after Liam gets home from the hospital

Warnings: few curse words, mentions of drug use (Fiona in jail) but overall, it’s just tons of FLUFF

A/N: inspired by “I love my body” by @mothermoon on TikTok. Might rewrite something similar for dad!lip, lmk what you think. Got bored before lab and wrote this

The floorboards creaked under every step Lip took to get down to the kitchen. He wasn’t too concerned with anything too wrapped up in his mind until two sweet voices pull him out.

“I love my body from my…”

“Head to my toes.”

Liam’s voice was hard to hear, even in the quietness of the unusually empty Gallagher house. Everyone was already at school or wherever they ran off to today—leaving Lip home alone to take care of some things.

Liam has only been home from the hospital for two days, leaving Lip and the rest of the family still scrambling without Fiona running the show. Lip had school off today, some random college holiday that didn’t make sense for a lot of people, but they took it anyway.

Lip had been out of bed since 5 that morning, unsure if it was considered a late night or an early morning due to the fact he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours the night before. His mind was going a million miles an hour, mixed with him worrying himself sick about Liam and going to check on him every thirty minutes. Every time he would get up from his bed, y/n would sit up, too. Her concerned look was always dismissed with a quick “go back to sleep” or “I’ll be back soon” from Lip. The “soon” in question was around five to ten minutes of Lip just sitting in front of Liam’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall.

Y/n stayed up and waited for Lip the first few times, but soon enough her eyes got too heavy for her to ignore. Even with the extra sleep, caffeine would be her best friend today.

Lip’s mind was still groggy as he trudged down the stairs, stress and sleep deprivation felt like chains were strapped to the back of his ankles. He barely made out the words y/n and Liam were exchanging.

“I love my face…” She lingered for a second, allowing Liam to think about the next verse. She smiles and continued on. “My-”

“Eyes, my mouth my nose.” Lip could help but smile at the sight of Liam touching every body part mentioned. He clearly knew this song, yet Lip couldn’t think of any of the words. When ever you would sing it to one of his younger siblings, all he could do was hear your voice. The kindergarten-teacher-like tone was enough for him to abandon all of his thoughts and focus on you.

“I like the way I look when I look in the mirror.” Liam didn’t have to wait for y/n this time, he sang it with her. Their voices both were quiet, almost scared to wake anyone up, but the house stayed quiet. It was just those three in that house, the outside world didn’t matter.

“I stand a little closer just to see a little clearer.” Both of their smiles were beaming. Liam giggling at y/n’s little tickles all over his belly and neck. Lip’s grew too. Y/n was so amazing with the kids, Lip could’ve sworn it as always been this way. Y/n and Lip, Lip and y/n. They belonged together.

Everyone in his family loved her. Carl made her a gift out of melted spoons and forks, Debbie demands they have a girls day at least once a month. Shit, even Frank called her “one of the good ones.” Technically it was after she downed a shot of vodka without even wincing, but he still liked her non the less.

Y/n turns around smiling, it only growing when she finally sees Lip.

“Good morning babe.”

“Morning babe!” Liam repeats immediatly, causing Lip and y/n to giggle with him.

Lip pours two cups of coffe before heading to the kitchen table. “Good morning to you.” He sets the coffe right in front of y/n while kissing her cheek. He carefully set his down too and kissed Liams cheek. “Good morning little man.”

#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher #lip x reader #shameless us #phillip gallagher #lip gallagher x you #lip gallagher fluff #lip gallagher x y/n #lip gallagher fic #lip gallagher blurb

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profoundbondfanfic · 5 months ago

Note

Do you have any recs for Reallyyy long fics? Like 200-300k+ words? That isn't 91W... avoiding that one because I feel like it will hurt me... preferably fix-its? Oh and no a/b/o pls :) thanksss

Here are a few:

Angel's Wild by riseofthefallenone (Explicit, 389k words)

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Bitch Better Have My Money by Duckyboos (Explicit, 256k words)

How Dean Winchester - mechanic, shitty cook, single father - became the power behind the throne in one of the biggest crime syndicates in the Midwest.

Computer Safety Verse by followthattardis (Explicit, 232k words)

On the day of his 29th birthday, Dean receives an email from his old nemesis: Michael Milton, the guy who got him kicked out of college and stole his girlfriend. The email contains encoded images with top secret CIA/NSA intelligence – and now their only copy is in Dean’s brain. Both agencies send their best operatives – Castiel Novak and Victor Henriksen respectively – to handle their accidental asset and protect the invaluable data in his head. To justify their sudden appearance in Dean’s life, they adopt covers: Victor as Dean’s new co-worker and neighbor, Cas as his new boyfriend. Needless to say, Dean’s brother and his girlfriend are thrilled to see him in a relationship they believe to be real. Clearly, there’s no way this could go wrong.

Four Letter Word For Intercourse by bendingsignpost (Explicit, 228k words)

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties. What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

Light me up by tricia_16 (Explicit, 218k words)

Five years after participating in a life-changing threesome with his then-girlfriend and her friend Cas, Dean's single, comfortably bisexual, and has everything he's ever wanted except for that special someone to share his life with. When tragedy strikes, he and Cas are reunited in an unexpected way, and a split-second decision entangles their lives in ways neither of them could have predicted…

Not Part of the Plan by Annie D (scaramouche) (Explicit, 337k words)

Castiel's spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin of the King, he'd rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations. Castiel knows he has to obey, but that doesn't mean he won't rebel in what small ways he can. Unexpectedly, his actions end up having far-reaching consequences.

one million fires burning by dothraki_shieldmaiden (Explicit, 248k words)

Dean Winchester teaches three classes a day, tutors after school, and chairs the English Department for Lawrence High School. He does enough. Unfortunately, his boss doesn't feel the same and informs him that he has a new job: co-coaching the school's trivia team. His co-coach? None other than the school's golden boy, Castiel Milton. Who Dean can't stand, for various reasons, all of which are valid, thank you very much. And the fact that Dean can't stop talking about the stick up Cas's, sorry, Milton's ass? Completely irrelevant.

Redux by emmbrancsxx0 (Explicit, 386k words)

Dean Winchester is dead. For decades, he, along with Castiel and Sam, has led a peaceful afterlife in heaven. He has everything he’s ever wanted: a home, his family and friends surrounding him, and a relationship with Cas—and he’s bored as hell. Until, one day, Chuck escapes heaven’s lock up and begins capturing souls to regain power. To stop him, Jack sends Dean, Cas, and Sam back to Earth. After so long away from hunting, will they be able to once again find their place in the family business?

Talk Some Sense To Me (Kenopsia) by ImYourHoneyBee (Explicit, 244k words)

Scrambling to his knees Castiel hugs back, burying his face in Dean’s neck, breath coming in fast little pants against his skin. Dean closes his eyes and just breathes him in, barely able to believe that this is real. At any other time in his life, closing his eyes against a threat like Death would be an inexcusable lapse in his hunter’s judgement. Right now, he doesn’t give a single fuck. Death can reap him for all he cares, he’ll die knowing Cas is going to be ok. Alive. “I will see you soon, Dean,” Death tells him, that deliberate voice of his soft enough not to intrude on the intimacy of the moment, “Raincheck on that grilled cheese.” “Thank you,” Dean croaks, propping his chin up on Cas’s shoulder, unmindful of the tears trickling down his cheeks, “Thank you.”

The Closest Thing We Have To Magic by EllenOfOz, TrenchcoatBaby (Explicit, 221k words)

Dean Winchester is a graduate student at Stanford University’s School of the Occult. A naturally-talented mage but a lazy professor and student, he figures he’ll coast through his final year the way he always has: with charisma, charm, and a natural aptitude for magic. All that changes when his thesis advisor, Dr. Castiel Novak, turns out to be the strictest and most challenging educator on-campus. Unfortunately for Dean, the uptight professor is nearly his age and infuriatingly gorgeous. But Castiel is keeping a secret, a powerful talent that’s more a curse than a blessing when he’s targeted by seditious parts of magical society. Can Dean and Cas put aside their animosity—and undeniable chemistry—long enough to instill real change in the magical community? Or will sinister plots and hidden agendas keep them apart?

To Build a Home by intothesilentland (Mature, 383k words)

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection. Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone. God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different.

Under The Midnight Sun by NorthernSparrow (Explicit, 232k words)

Dean Winchester’s been camp manager of a science research station on the Alaskan tundra for thirteen years. Dean likes his job; fixing the camp trucks, troubleshooting the generators, keeping clueless undergrads and NSF bigwigs from walking into grizzly bears or getting lost in snowstorms — it’s all in a day’s work. It keeps him pretty busy, and this year his brother Sam's visiting too, so he's even busier. So it’s really not any of Dean’s business when some weirdo antisocial ornithologist sets up a tent a few miles away, a dark-haired blue-eyed guy who’s doing a “very long-term" study on birds or wings or something, and who never, ever takes off his big lumpy backpack. But then the new guy starts dropping by camp for coffee and… well, he’s not officially part of camp; he's not Dean’s responsibility; he’s really not Dean’s problem at all, but when a strange blizzard comes sweeping in, Dean gets worried and goes to check. Thing is, Dean's spent years in the sweeping vistas of the Arctic. He knows all about the midnight sun and the northern lights, the ice caves and avalanches, the rough-and-ready Haul Road truckers and the even rougher-and-readier wild animals. But even so, what he finds is much more than he bargained for.

With Interest by everandanon (Explicit, 296k words)

Eighteen, bored, and not quite able to turn down the money, Cas agrees to an ill-advised bet, and Dean's heart isn't the only one that gets broken. Eleven years later, grieving his twin brother and struggling to take care of his niece, Cas finally returns home — only to meet Dean again and discover that the boy he left behind has grown up a lot. And now, Dean seems to have every intention of getting him back — with interest.

You can also check our >100k tag for all the longer fics we rec.

#asks #group rec #>100k

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seeingivy · 1 year ago

Text

triple threat

actor!eren x f!reader

you get cast in the role of your dreams

**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here

content: hange + levi being in love, hange pronouns are written as they/she, you and eren embarassing yourself, some good old cheesy childhood dreams

an: welcome to the actor-verse :DDD

The first time you see that speech, it changes your life. You’re six and barely understand why the situation is such a big deal. That Hange Zoe is the first person, the first queer person, ever to receive the triple threat commendation from The Institute.

The Institute runs the industry. From the biggest movies to theatre plays, they hand out shiny gold awards each year to the best of the best. But the triple threat, it’s unlike any of the other awards. It’s not given out at a set time or pushed out yearly like the others.

It’s at random times - some years, there are three triple threats, and others, there are none. It’s the highest award anyone can hope and dream of winning from the industry.

A triple threat is someone recognized for their work in the big three - singing, dancing, and acting. And each of those things can be taken loosely and mean different things to different actors.

For example, Hange Zoe’s co-star and partner, Levi Ackerman, received a triple threat commendation a few years ago. Acting in a Bond movie - his most famous stunt being a skilled walk on a tightrope, which the Savants considered dancing. And with one cameo in the Phantom of the Opera on an odd night when the actor was sick, he sang for three hours and was he was sold.

He became a triple threat three hours after.

And now, Hange Zoe, one of your favorite actors, did all three in their famous film, La La Land, with the same co-star. A beautifully crafted movie - about the highs and lows of the industry, of chasing a dream, of letting go of love to pursue it.

And here they are - tears streaming down their face as they stand to take the award. When they press a kiss on Levi’s cheek and take the stage, you remember the words solidifying, forming, and taking residence in your chest.

To anyone watching at home, in their living room in their rundown pajamas, this is a sign to never ever give up on your dreams. Because that used to be me, and it can be you too. Never let anyone stop you from becoming the triple threat you are meant to be. To let that fire run wild and true and let people see the real you.

And you decide then and there - that it’s your dream to be a triple threat. To let your fire run wild and true. And most of all, to show people the real you.

July 9th is the most nerve-wracking day in the history of nerve-wracking days. What was supposed to be a regular day at the coffee shop you work at suddenly became one of the most stressful experiences of your life.

WIT Studios, one of the biggest production companies, had sent out a casting call for actors aged 15-18 for a new, multi-season show. And when you accidentally knocked the flyer off the board at your aforementioned silly cafe job, it felt like a sign.

Some part of you, years ago, knocked your dream down. And it was a culmination of things.

That you never really got called back for casting calls. You couldn’t book simple commercials, and agents said you didn’t have that spark.

And as many interviews you could watch of your favorite actors explaining how they got into the roles and connected with characters, the stupid kibble commercials you were trying to book just didn’t do that.

And you sing in the choir at your school and dance in school plays, but that’s hardly a triple threat category. You can’t even get the position to be head of the choir - to delude yourself into thinking you’re triple-threat material is insane.

So you let it go. And many people do because it’s just like every other silly childhood dream. You decided to stick with school, plan on attending college, and work a simple job. Stream the Institute Awards every year, watch your favorite people sob over winning awards, and then secretly go in the bathroom and practice a speech you won’t ever say.

Granted, that’s humiliating, but it’s better than getting kicked down each time. Because casting actors can be rude. And the entire industry is bleak - because there are only so many times that you can get shot down before throwing the towel in, which is very fast for you.

But the flyer seems right. And there’s no harm in trying after all these years. It’s for a real show, an action drama called Attack on Titan. The casting room - it’s down the street from the cafe and you can go right after work.

But now that you’re here, awkwardly fidgeting in the cream chairs, you realize you’ve made the biggest mistake. Because the actors in the room - you know them.

Some of the biggest child actors that have been acting since they were basically toddlers, flipping through the same script as you. Practicing tongue twisters, taking deep breaths.

And you’re a fraud. Because you don’t know the short of hand or how any of this works. And when the red-haired woman calls your name, a dark green clipboard in her hand, you follow her into the room with a deep lump in your throat, it being evidently obvious to you that you were about to humiliate yourself.

It’s a small holding room filled with four people. The red-haired woman and two other men sit at one long table, papers spread across the page. There’s a black camera in the center, glaring right into your line of vision from where you’re sitting.

“It’s a chemistry screening. This is Eren. He’s going to be playing the lead in the show. We’re just looking to fill the female co-star role. Just do the scene the way it feels right to you - there’s no correct way to act in this.”

You nod, switching your chair so you’re facing Eren. And then you take him in. He has short brown hair and almost bored green eyes as he takes a swig of his water bottle, his name scribbled in messy writing over the top. And you can hear the recording camera beep, trying your best to ignore the fact that you’re on camera with him right now, as you take a deep breath.

You reach forward, tapping on his shoulder with your pointer finger. And he looks up, green eyes timidly looking into yours. You give him the most sincere smile you can and introduce yourself.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Eren. Eren Jaeger.”

Eren sticks his hand out to you, his grasp firm, as you both give each other a smile. And then you remember the lines. You stick your hand out, placing it on his shoulder as you squeeze. The action seems to take him off guard, his eyes widening as you start talking.

“We should be getting back.”

You watch the realization spread across his face as he quietly nods, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck. You guess your introduction might have thrown him off, and you should have told him you would start the scene now.

Dear god, you were already messing this up.

“What are we doing here, Y/N?”

You lean back in your chair, pressing your hands to the bridge of your nose, trying to remember the rest of the line.

“You were so deep asleep that you’re only half awake now?”

You watch Eren’s face contort into confusion and feel the embarrassment coursing through your veins. Did you remember the wrong line? Did you-

“I had a really long dream. I can’t remember what it was about or-”

And when you meet his eyes, the embarrassment dies down.

Because Eren’s crying.

There’s a soft tear running down the side of his eye, his lower lip quivering as he looks at you. And you can’t help but do it - you reach forward, pressing your hand to the side of his cheek as you wipe the tear away and ask.

“Eren. Why are you crying?”

You hear a clicking noise, and Eren leans back, wiping the rest of the tear on the back of his hand. You look back at the long table, the three adults scribbling on the papers before them.

Right. You were acting. Eren wasn’t really crying. He was just pretending to cry.

And you totally understand why he was cast as the lead because that crying was so believable that it got even you to take a second.

“We’ve seen enough. Thank you, Y/N. If you are selected, you will receive an email at the address you provided earlier.”

That can't be it.

You give them all an awkward smile as you turn to your right, where Eren’s shuffling through the pages. You tap him on the shoulder again.

“See you later, Eren.”

“Yeah. I think so, Y/N.”

And when he breaks out into a smile, so warm with dimples showing, you can’t help but fully cheese back. And when you breeze out of the hallway, you pretend the entire thing never happened because there’s no way you’ll ever book that role, with an on-demand actor, like Eren in the first place.

You’re wrong. You’re so so wrong. You’re not sure how it happened, but you book the role. And the turn around is so fast that you’re packing up your things to move to Germany in less than a week.

Your parents - infinitely supportive of your dreams, who were adamant you shouldn't give up on it - were driving you to the airport. And your little brother, Falco, cries softly when you wave him goodbye.

And when you’re on the plane, it all sits in that you’re moving away from home. That you’re acting. That you could… really be a triple threat. And it’s silly to say when you’re only fifteen but it feels that way.

That this could happen and that it’s real.

You skim the email they sent you again, reviewing the details you have already committed to memory. You’ve read them over a hundred times, and they still haven’t set in.

Dear Y/N, Congratulations on being selected to play the role of Y/N L/N! We’re so excited to have you on the team. Attack on Titan shooting will occur in Nördlingen, Germany, from August to February. Please arrive on set as soon as possible - so promotional images can be taken of you and your co-star and preliminary screen tests can be filmed. You will be living on-set with other members of the cast. Townhouses and assignments will be given upon arrival. Currently, only a small percentage of the ensemble has been cast - others will arrive as they are needed. A large part of the ensemble will be around your age range. In the interests of your personal character development (and following some very legal laws), classes will be provided off days from set so that you are a functioning member of society and all that. Attached is the script for the pilot. Please review your lines in the upcoming days. Congratulations, once again! Signed, Hange Zoe

Hange. Fucking. Zoe. As if any part of this experience couldn’t get crazier, you’re literally acting on a show with your fucking idols.

Some part of you already rues the day that this is going to end. Because you already know it’s going to be everything you wanted.

When you arrive at the townhouse, no one is there. You drag your four bags up the stairs and take note of all the names on each of the doors. It seems that more people are cast in the week it took you to get here because there are some names you don’t recognize on the assignments.

Reiner and Bertholdt

Miche and Erwin

Jean and Marco

Eren and Armin

Mikasa and Y/N

Mikasa. You remember a few of her lines from the script and from your understanding - the show is centered around you, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. Armin and Eren’s rooms are directly across from yours and Mikasa’s, which you’re sure was on purpose.

After hauling your bags up, taking a shower, and digging out your beloved noise-canceling headphones, you drag yourself down to the kitchen, where you attempt to find some food.

The kitchen has very little - a few loose packets of ramen on the counter, eggs, and condiments. You settle for making ramen, one of the few meals you can successfully make (because it requires two steps), and set out.

And after successfully making your dinner, you drop it the second you turn around.

Because Eren’s staring at you, a glass of water in his hand.

And you figure that your dropping the bowl startles him because he drops his glass too, and ythen ou’re both awkwardly staring at each other, rambling explanations as you yank your headphones off and take note of the glass on the floor.

“Eren! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were here and-”

“Y/N. Are you okay? We just got back. I didn’t mean to startle you or-”

“You shouldn’t move, Eren. There’s a bunch of glass everywhere and-”

Other footsteps cut you off, and you’ve officially entered your worst nightmare. Because not only did you just humiliate yourself in front of your co-star, but now Levi and Hange are standing in front of you - laughing at you.

Well, Levi’s smoldering, but Hange’s literally cracking up so hard that they're crying tears out of their eyes. Levi walks up to Eren while Hange takes your side, dragging you both to the sides away from the glass.

Levi’s scolding Eren as he starts cleaning the glass, both of you shamefully standing against the wall.

“Good going, Eren. If she didn’t hate you before, she totally does now.” Levi states.

You look over to find Eren blushing - his cheeks beet red and the tips of his ears burning.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hange.”

“I’m Levi. We hope you got in okay. We just took Eren to the store to get more things for the house.”

“You two should go wash your hands. We’ll make more ramen and call you when we’re done, okay?”

“Okay, Hange. I’ll show you the way, Y/N.”

You follow Eren as you both awkwardly walk to the bathroom.��

“God. That was so embarrassing. I’m so sorry, Eren.”

“It’s not your fault. After you didn’t respond three times, I should have noticed they were noise canceling.”

“You were talking?”

“Ah yeah. You were singing, so I asked if you had been doing it for a while.”

When you reach the bathroom, you can’t help but put your face in your hands as if that would stop your cheeks from burning the way they were.

This is literally the worst start ever. You broke an entire bowl of food in front of Eren, and then Hange and Levi had to scold you guys like you were little kids and clean it up for you.

When you and Eren return to the table, Hange and Levi make you fresh bowls of ramen and set them out for you directly across from them. You don’t miss how their hands are locked together on the table and how… romantic it seems - even if Levi’s literally insulting Hange right now.

“I know they wrote the character to be a little dirty, but that doesn’t mean you need to start doing method acting, Hange.”

You interrupt their conversation as you and Eren slide into the chair, their faces quirking toward yours.

“Um. Do you mind me asking what method acting is, Levi? I don’t really know all of this…acting stuff.”

“That’s right. I'm sorry, Y/N.” responds Levi, pushing his bowl into the center of the table.

“Method acting is our secret. It’s how we…act so well. Not to pat ourselves on the back or anything, but we’re pretty decent.”

“Better than decent, you’re both… triple threats,” you respond, shocked at the fact that they’re downplaying something like this.

Surely they can’t be serious.

“Method acting, young Y/N, is a technique we use to connect with our characters emotionally. We already think you’re a good fit for the character you’ve been cast, but you still have to put in the work to “be” that character. Bring your own life and personality into it - even if you’re not playing you.” Hange responds.

“When Hange and I did La La Land, we played two lovers. I was a jazz artist, and she was an actress. While we were filming, Hange and I went on dates each week to get to know each other, and I wrote her songs to get into the mood of filming.”

You can hear Eren’s chopsticks clinking against his bowl as he speaks next, his voice firm.

“But you… you’re dating now. How do you know the line between fake and real?” Eren asks.

“You’ll learn quickly that trying not to love Hange is like holding your breath underwater. You just can’t.”

Hange starts pinching Levi’s cheeks and cooing over him, which Levi swats off before they respond again.

“Acting isn’t…fake, Eren. Like I said, this character - it should be all parts you, your own personality, just in this situation. And we’re not telling you to fall in love like your characters are going to but-”

“Wait. Our characters are going to fall in love?”

“Indeed they are, Y/N. The way it’s written - some part of them has always been in love. Like it’s natural that they don’t know how to do anything else, but you’re best friends for a better part of the show. The romance only really comes to fruition at the end.” Levi responds, standing up as he grabs the bowls before you.

You and Eren give each other a look as Hange peers over, smiling between the two of you.

“So if you and Levi went on dates for La La Land because you were lovers, Eren and I should… hang out to be best friends?” you ask.

Hange laughs, standing up to crush both you and Eren in a hug.

“God, you’re both so cute. I think you’ll end up being good friends anyways - you have lots of scenes together and press and all that, so-”

“No, Hange. I want us to be the best.” Eren states.

You can feel your cheeks burning - at Eren referring to the two of you as “us” - at how he wants the same thing as you, and at how Hange’s smirking at the two of you.

“God. You’re like the perfect kid for this role. Keep that energy when you film the pilot.”

You and Eren amble back up to your rooms as Hange and Levi start attending meetings, preparing for filming. They tell you that you’re filming one scene tomorrow - the one you and Eren screen tested on - and then getting fitted for costumes and harnesses for stunts.

Levi and Hange are producing the show alongside Erwin - one of the other actors on the show. They all attended SHWA together back in the day, basically the best acting academy out there, and now they’re producing and helping the writing of the show altogether.

SHWA is so elite that every single Savant acting winner has attended the academy. There has yet to be a non-SHWA-affiliated actor to win.

But even beyond acting, they’re producing and screenwriting. Just when you think they can’t get cooler, they do.

Eren knocks on your door a little past eleven, shyly peeking into your doorway.

“Hi, Eren.”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

You both plop down onto your bed, staring at the silver fan swinging around on the ceiling.

“I know that, uh. Hange said we would become best friends anyways, but we should really be best friends like you said - like hanging out, trusting each other, and all that.”

“Okay, Eren. Sure.”

“I really want us to be the best, and Levi’s been saying this show is special, and we can use it to… make our dreams come true.”

You turn to your side, resting your hands against your elbow as he mimics your motions.

“Do you have a dream, Eren?”

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“Hey. We’re best friends. There’s no one to tell but you.”

He smiles, his cheeks turning pink again as he responds, his shoulders relaxing.

“I really want to get a Savant Award for acting. Best Actor in a Lead Role. It’s been my dream since I was a kid.”

You smile, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder as you respond.

“Eren. You’re totally going to see your dream come true. You’re already so in touch with your emotions, I was floored when you started crying during the screen test.”

He’s blushing even harder at the praise, so ashamed that he’s flipped back towards the ceiling, watching the fan spin around again.

“Do you have a dream, Y/N?”

“Yeah. I, um. Want to be a triple threat.”

You whisper it into the air like a bad omen.

Because telling your parents and your little brother is one thing - some part of them has to support you regardless because you’re family.

But telling someone like Eren, someone who doesn’t know anything about you, feels like… you’re bearing your soul to him or something.

“You could totally be a triple threat. You already have experience in singing and dancing.”

“Yeah, but my school choir and plays don’t really count. Triple threats are…next level and I-”

He reaches down, locking his fingers with yours, which triggers some kind of anticipation in you because you’re holding your breath. Clenching your stomach. Drinking in the words he’s saying.

“You’re next level. When your dream comes true, I’ll be right beside you. Telling you that I told you so.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, Y/N. We’re best friends. It’s you and me till the end. We’ll be laughing about this when it happens to us."

You’re both smiling up at the ceiling, the anticipation, hopes, and dreams you’ve held onto for so long burning in your chest because they’re right on your doorstep.

“Eren.”

“Hm, Y/N?”

“How did you know that I’ve sung and danced before?”

He winces, quietly whispering into the air.

“I googled you after the screen test. I had a feeling it was going to be you.”

You both turn your heads to smile at each other, this night marking the start of your shared dream.

You agree. You and Eren. Till the end.

You film the screen test scene the next day. And when you wipe Eren’s tear off his face again, and the director cuts, Hange and Levi are smiling sunshine at you, the former shitting bricks at the sight of the two of you.

And when Hange runs around set, praising two upcoming Savants, you and Eren can’t help but fist bump behind your backs, smiling sunshine at each other like Levi and Hange were too.

You’re both going to go down in history.

next part linked here

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