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superluver · 9 months

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Happy Hands G.S.

Pairing: teen!Gojo Satoru x teenFEM!Reader

wc: 1154 | cw: CURSING, shoko smoking, Satoru being super annoying, reader beats up satoru, fem!reader, reader has the patience of a philosopher, crackfic, vomiting, NOT PROOFREAD PER USUAL 😋😋

Description: Satoru is annoying the living shit out of you, so you beat him up

(Someone submit something for me to write 😔)

“DUH DUH DUH DUHHHHH,” you make the beat of the song in front of the two.

Shoko stares at you with furrowed eyebrows, thinking hard. Chewing her cigarette, she waves her hand.

“Wait- wait, do it again.”

“Like everyone knows this song!— Or at least the person that made this song." You shout at her. Suguru snaps his fingers, your heart skips a beat, someone finally got it—

“Happy birthday.” He says with full confidence, then leans back in his seat with a smile. What he doesn’t expect is for you to punch his desk, causing it to explode. The wood scatters around the room like a mini bomb went off.

The screeches of his chair sliding on the ground fill the room as he backs from you.

“It was obviously Michael Jackson.” A voice from the door rolls his eyes. Satoru, in all his glory. He goes to sit down beside Shoko, but you kick his seat before he could take a seat.

“You weren’t playing.” You tell him dryly.

Shoko feels shivers crawl up her back. It’s not that you’re stronger than Gojo. No way, in combat he would 100% win. But, it’s just that your family is known to break infinity.

Cursed hands, family born with seals on their hands. Much like the inumaki clan, the (l/n) clan their own powerful seal.

“(N/n)?! Are you still mad at me, seriously?!” He pouts, dragging his seat back to his desk.

You clench your fists, staring down at him but not saying anything.

Shoko thinks three punches, and it’ll go down. Suguru thinks one if he can rile you up real good: One to break, another for the punch.

That’s what he was trying to do anyway. Yesterday, Satoru put cockroaches in your closet to get you angry enough to destroy his infinity because you refused to reason with him at 10:00 in the evening. But you didn’t get mad at him. No, mad wouldn’t even describe how you were feeling.

It was pure rage.

But you didn’t take it out on him. Instead, you went into Shoko’s room to sleep.

“(Y/nnnnn)!” The annoyance whines, holding his desk from the other side and batting his eyelashes at you.

“Suguru, pick a number, one, two, or three?” You ask him sweetly.

“Uh, three?”

You nod, clenching your fists before sucking in. Satoru screams, ducking as you wind up your fists, the room shaking with crazy wind. “Three punches it is—”

The seal on your hand glows as Satoru puts up infinity, covering his face. Shoko is standing beside Suguru, squinting as your fist nears the six eyes' precious face.

Yaga though, with his impeccable timing, comes in, placing one of his dolls to catch the punch. It ends up exploding into smithereens, and Yaga, though clearly distraught, sighs.

You glare at Satoru one last time before kicking his chair’s leg, hoping he would fall, then taking your seat beside him.

“Anyone want to tell me what was happening here?”

The three glare at Satoru, who smiles innocently. Raising his hand up in the air, “I was brutally assaulted by (Y/N) senseiiii!”

“I didn’t even touch you.”

“You put cockroaches in her closet.”

“I think you deserved it,” Suguru finishes off the complaints, smiling sweetly as his friend is put in hot water.

Yaga furrows his eyebrows, rubbing the corners of his eyes as he tiredly groans. “It’s too early to deal with the four of you—”

“It’s only one of us, sensei!” You chirp, trying to be polite, but Satoru can see your glare at him through your kind face.

Yaga sighs before turning to the board, with chalk in his hand, he begins the lesson of the day.

“How boooring!” You stretch, making your way to tree where the four of you— yes, including Satoru— would be eating lunch.

Shoko passes you a mason jar to open for her, and you take it.

It shatters in your hold.

You blink, feeling the liquid fall over your hands. “Oh shit, she’s still mad at youuu!” Suguru teases, causing Satoru to nudge him aggressively.

“I’m fine,” You hold your hand out to Shoko once more, “Hand me another one.”

Hesitantly, she digs in the basket, taking another mason jar and shakily giving it to you. By the time all your fingerpads got on it, it, once again, shattered in your hold.

“Okay now what the fuck.”

“You’re doing it on purpose.” Satoru tells her smugly.

He’s trying to rile you up, and it’s working. Now, he really didn’t tamper with the mason jars, that was alllll you, but now he’s taking advantage of the situation. He can tell it’s working from the vein that’d popping out from your jaw.

He noticed it happened a lot when you clenched your jaw too much.

“One more time.” You ask, and Shoko— who really doesn’t want to give it to you— glances at Suguru, who just shrugs.

“C’mon on guys, last time. Promise.”

Now that didn’t sound so good. Whatever you were planning definitely had something to do with Satoru.

Shoko, scared it would explode on her, threw it to you. And, surprisingly this time, it didn’t burst.

“Heh, would you look at—”

It exploded again, but not in your hands. On Satoru’s infinity.

You threw it straight for his head, luckily he unconsciously put up infinity after feeling your anger.

“What the- OOF!”

Not only did you break his infinity on the first punch, but it made contact with his skin. He gasped, rolling away from the impact with a still cocky laugh.

You huffed, and surprisingly he still had the energy to talk.

“That was noth— BLEGHH”

“EW SATORU!” Suguru shouts, immediately standing up and watching as his best friend hack and gag away in the grass on his hands and knees from a distance.

Shoko grimaces, watching as you stand up, stomping over in his direction, kicking the living shit out of him.

“I should kill you right now.” You say coldly, stomping on him

“Ow! Suguru, Shoko! Help me!” He says, yelping as you continue to assault him.

They glance away, whistling to themselves because, suddenly, the sky looks super interesting.

When you’re done, you plop beside him, and he’s grinning at you, somehow.

You’re huffing, exhausted.

“Don’t do that again.”

“Got it.” He murmurs, holding his stomach in agony.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, so could you—”

“Count sheep, Satoru.” You sigh, patting his head warmly, almost guiltily before standing up, walking off back towards the school. Shoko snapping numerous photos of a beaten up Satoru in the grass.

“Heh, I am so gonna print those out.” She chuckles, trailing behind your huffing figure.

They all leave him alone in the grass, and finally he can relax with a sigh.

No one can really see hearts behind his covered eyes, and thank god for that.

Thank you guys for the support on ‘What was in the bag’, I really appreciate it 🙏🙏 I feel like i should make a master list but like I don’t really say anything on here other than stories so I guess there’s no need for that now. BUT ANYWAYS, SOMEONE ANYONE SUBMIT ME SOMETHING TO WRITE I’LL DO IT I SWEAR 🙏🙏😞

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ciaonicole85 · 18 days

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Waiting on my AO3 invite. Here's a one shot Sydcarmy story. Canon compliant. Post season 2. Please excuse the grammar/spelling mistakes. I need season 3 to get here quickly!

Title: Won't You Be My Neighbor

It was her break and for the 89th time in the last three days Sydney reassessed the apartments within 15 minutes walking distance from The Bear. As CDC she no longer wanted to depend on the train should there be some kind of accident, strike, or weather event. There were three that she could afford on her own and many more options if she were willing to become a roommate. She wasn't. If inspiration for a recipe struck her at 2am she wanted to get up and cook if she wanted. She loved the freedom of walking around naked after a shower, picking out her clothes or getting a snack. Most of all she missed turning up her music and dancing like an inflatable tube man in private.

She had sent a message to each leasing office to schedule an appointment next Monday and two of the three had confirmed a 10a and 11a showing. It had been more than 48 hours since she messaged the third so she called. The leasing agent informed her that the specific unit she wanted was no longer available, but they had a gorgeous 2 bedroom for $3800 a month if she was interested. "Okay, now that's just two options" Sydney muttered after getting off the phone.

"Hey mija, what you looking at?" Tina asked sitting down to eat lunch.

"Just apartments. I finally have the funds to move" Sydney answered with a sigh.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy to be getting out on your own?"

"Oh, yeah for sure. It's just I'm really picky"

"Well, it doesn't have to be forever. Just make sure to read the reviews. You don't want roaches or bed bugs".

"Oh, I can't stand bugs! My dad still has to kill them for me, but I better get a fly swatter and spray now that I'll be on my own soon."

Break was over and Sydney stood up to resume her duties. First she needed to talk to Natalie about the upcoming private party. A celebrity had reserved the entire restaurant next Thursday evening. The names of all staff members on duty that night had to be submitted ahead of time with signed NDAs. It was all happening so fast and The Bear's debt was likely to be paid less than a year after opening. First there had been a Grio article about her being a rising black chef. That led to Keith Lee, the TikTok restaurant reviewer, raving about his to-go order that included the T-Bone and the Michael cannoli. It went viral and suddenly, they were booked for the next three months with a waiting list. She was working harder than ever, getting paid pretty well, and she deserved a place of her own.

After talking to Natalie, she found Carmy working on her prep.

"Hey, thanks! I can take over that now if you want"

"Actually….it's done. I wanted to take you somewhere for like 30 minutes" he said finishing up and cleaning the station.

Sydney folded her arms, her eyebrows raised high.

"Okay, where are we going?"

"I know you've been looking for a place and I think know the perfect apartment for you. Just a 10 minute walk from here. The landlord gave me the key so I could show you today" Carmy said trying to sound casual, but a deep pink flush rose in his cheeks.

"Why is he being weird?" Sydney thought but simply said "Okay, that's dope."

The Chicago air was soft and warm, the clean sunlight making everything look new. Summer afternoons like this made you forgive the brutal winters here. Carmy directed Sydney when to turn left and right, but refused to tell her where exactly they were going. Soon they were standing in front of his building.

The reason for his weirdness was now perfectly clear to Sydney and she felt so flattered that she had to avoid looking at Carmy when she said "So, there's an open unit in your building?"

"Uh, yeah. The people who lived just above me moved and I, uh, thought you might want to see it".

The apartment was on the fourth floor. Carmy unlocked the door and let Sydney go in first. The walls were freshly painted in "Cloud White" and the oak hardwood floors creaked comfortably under their feet. The layout was the same as Carmy's apartment with plenty of windows to let in natural light and a shockingly large kitchen for a 1 bedroom place in Chicago. As Sydney inspected the appliances and bathroom, she decided that if the rent was going to eat up even half of her check it was worth it. She had always admired Carmy's spacious apartment and with her sense of style she could make hers, a cozy bohemian oasis filled with plants, wall art, and actual furniture (eventually).

Carmy had let her roam around in silence for a few minutes, muttering and emitting tiny sounds of joy to herself. When she met him in the living room again, he said trying not to grin too widely, "If you like it, it's already yours."

"How? I know places like this are snatched up fast" Sydney said her eyes finally able to meet his again.

"The landlords, they're a couple, and their 20th wedding anniversary is coming up. They want reservations at The Bear." Carmy explained, desperately hoping to sound nonchalant about it.

"Oh, that's nice work, Carmy."

Then Sydney squealed and cried "This is just what I wanted!!" and she flung her arms around his shoulders in a wild hug. Carmy commanded his body not to shudder as he hugged her back. She was just wearing a t-shirt and without her usual layers of clothing he felt her delicate frame, her slim shoulder blades imprinting on his fingers.

In a moment Sydney pulled back shly and let her arms fall to her sides, her face burning. She made a mental note: Hugging Carmy. Not a safe activity for those who want to cook along side him using sharp objects or sleep peacefully at night dreaming innocent thoughts.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" Sydney said taking another step back and making another turn around the room.

Carmy nodded and concentrated on not melting into the floorboards.

"You're okay with this? We already spend 60+ hours together at the restaurant every week and now I'd be in your building! And literally living on top of you."

"Yeah, well, I want you to. You deserve everything you want, Syd."

"Then I'll take it! Just a warning though. If you hear someone belting out Kpop and an occasional thud, that's just my weekly one woman concert, which will be over no later than 10pm. I'm not being murdered."

Carm was no longer unable to contain the width of his smile. This girl is so cute, his body physically ached. How would he get through service tonight?

With a happy shake of his head, he replied, "Thank you, for the heads up!"

With that Sydney marched towards the door and exclaimed "Take me to your landlord!"

Carmy floated behind her.

Cue: Maxwell's "Whenever, Wherever, Whatever"

#sydcarmy #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #carmen berzatto #syd adamu #the bear #fanfic #fan fiction #one shot

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ghoastixx · 1 year

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Slashers x reader

How protective are they?

Warnings: blood, death (obviously), degradation

Slashers included: Michael Myers (not specified), JD, Nancy Downs, Beetlejuice, Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Poly Lost Boys, Carrie

Send Requests!!!!!!!!!!!!

___________________________________

•Michael Myers

I was asleep. I went to bed alone that night, Michael was off on a hunt. I shot up when I heard my bedroom door slam.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

“You gotta help me! I’m being chased by this fucking psycho in a mask!”

“Psycho in a mask- you mean the shape-? You do realize this is his house, right?”

“What?! You gotta help me! Call the cops or someth-“

Suddenly the door was forced open and there stood Michael, bloody and shaking. He spotted his victim and then spotted me. The only sound in the room was the victim pushing me towards Michael and the sound of his heavy ass breathing.

“Please! Please take them! Not me! I’ll do anything- please-!” Michael grabbed my face with his hand and pushed me aside, most likely leaving a bloody handprint on my face.

“Please-“ THUMP

Michael walked up to me, he grabbed my face, and looked over it.

“Michael-? I’m okay- please get the body out of my room.” He patted my head.

•JD

“Y/N! Your boyfriend’s here!”

“Send him up!” I put my book down and sat on my bed. He came in, closing the door behind him.

“Hey J,”

“Y/n,” he sat on the edge of the bed. “You wanted to talk about something?”

“Kurt’s giving me trouble.” His expression shifted.

“Oh, is he?”

“Yeah- he keeps shoving me in the halls and keeps getting his friends to throw food at me during lunch.”

He smiled a bit and reached out for my hand,

“Don’t worry, he won’t mess with you anymore. Come on, let’s go get something to eat, ya?”

I smiled back, “sure,”

The next day at school, JD seemed a lot happier than normal during lunch.

“What’s got you all happy?”

“You’ll see, babe.”

“Attention!” I turned around to look in the direction of the voice.

“As some of you may know, there was a suicide last night. Our beloved Kurt-“ I turned around to look at JD, who was smiling at me.

“Jason-“

“I told you he wouldn’t bother you.”

“Did you- I didn’t want you to do that,”

“I thought you’d be more excited.”

“Excited that you killed Kurt?!”

“Quiet.” I grabbed my tray and stood up, I threw my stuff away and left the cafeteria. I avoided JD for the rest of the day. I didn’t see him again til that night when he knocked on my window.

“Hey darling,”

“You’re not supposed to be here,”

“I’m just trying to make you happy. I want you to be safe.”

“I know.”

“Then let me in,”

Sigh, “fine.”

•Nancy Downs

I was being bullied by a girl in my science class. She kept laughing at me when I answered questions wrong, and she’d publicly humiliate me and ridicule me in class. Sister never did anything to correct her. Of course, I confided in Nancy as she was practicing a makeup look on me.

“She’s humiliating you?”

“Yeah. Sarah’s boyfriend has even started in on it too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. That sucks, now, hold still.” She finished doing my eyeliner.

I was upset by her not seeming to care about my problem, but passed it off. Nancy was like this.

A few days later, my opinion started to change.

“Y/N, do you want to tell us the answer?” I looked over at Tasha, the girl, and back at Sister,

“..the powerhouse?” Tasha chuckled,

“No.. how about you Tasha?”

“It’s obviously 27-“ I looked at Tasha, as did everyone else in the class.

“27?” Someone laughed,

“I didn’t mean to say that!” Tasha screamed,

“Quiet.” Sister persisted.

I sat confused for the rest of class, until later after swimming when I heard her talking to her friends in the locker room.

“It’s so embarrassing! It’s like, I know what I want to say, but then I say something completely opposite! Like that the sky is red!”

“This isn’t funny Tasha,”

“Yeah, I never knew you were so stupid.”

I sort of had to chuckle to myself, it was pretty funny.

That evening I was invited to hang out with Nancy and her friends.

“Soo, you hear what happened to Tasha?” Rochelle sneered. Bonnie laughed a bit.

“Yeah, it’s like it just magically happened or something” Nancy laughed, causing me to look at her.

“Did you guys do that?”

“You said she was bothering you. Plus, we wanted to see if it would work.”

“At this rate, she’ll be held back when we graduate!”

Nancy smiled at me, I felt a bit guilty but.. it would probably wear off.. right?

•Beetlejuice

-BJ is pretty cut and dry, he’d protect you if you needed it, but he wouldn’t let anything happen to begin with. Silly 🤷

It would probably be someone hitting on you. He’d get all jealous and shit. (If anyone wants a one shot let me know)

•Otis Driftwood

I was in the kitchen when I heard what sounded like a stampede of wild buffalo upstairs. Mama Firefly flew down the stairs, Baby followed closely and ran out the back door. Tiny was no where to be seen. Grandpa stayed upstairs. Mama turned to me,

“Cops are here!”

“Cops?!”

“Yeah cops! I’d assume they’re lookin’ for you!”

“For me?”

“Yeah! You said your family was important, what happens when their kiddo goes missin’?”

“Shit!”

Baby came back, Mama turned to her.

“Baby, take Y/N up to Otis’s room and lock the door behind ‘ya.”

Baby took your hand and bolted upstairs.

“Where’s Otis?”

“Out back, gonna take care of the cops. You stay here.”

She closed the door, I checked the handle. It was locked. I peeked from the window. There was only one cop car. There were two people walking around. I could hear one downstairs flirting with Baby and Mama.

I put my ear to the floor, trying my best to hear.

“We’re out lookin’ for a few people. ——, Britany Carshy, —— Y/N L/N, ——— Candace Dickel—-“

“Well, I’m sorry sir, I haven’t seen any of them. Have we Baby.”

“We don’t get many visitors.. officer.”

I peeked out the window again, I saw the one officer on the ground. Otis looking down at the other. I sat on his bed for a while and eventually heard the officer downstairs scream and fall to the floor. I heard footsteps and the door unlock.

“You in here darlin’?”

“Otis? Is everything okay? Are Mama and Baby okay?”

He stepped into the room.

“Everyone’s okay. Was just a couple of those nosy cops. We took care of ‘em. Are you okay? Did ya’ see anyone get away?”

“No. I’m okay Otis, I heard they were lookin’ for me.”

“Yeah, Mama said they were. We’re gonna keep ya’ close for a while. Alright?”

“Okay Otis.” I went up and hugged him,

“Thank you,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” I kissed him and squeezed passed him to go check on Mama and Baby.

•Baby Firefly

Baby had lured some new victims into the house. Mama had them stay over for dinner while Otis “fixed their car”

The group had been very judgmental towards Otis and Tiny. The one girl wouldn’t stop flirting with baby, and the one boy seemed to have the hots for Mama.

“So, what’re you kids doin’ the whole way out here?”

The one snotty girl started instantly talking.

“We’re one our way to a wedding and stopped for gas at that Captain Spuaulding guys place. He told us about some creepy ass doctor and Jerry wanted to come check it out.”

“A weddin’? Aren’t those great? We’re waiting for my Baby to marry her significant Y/N.”

“Mama!” Baby laughed playfully, I blushed in response. The snotty girl started to pout.

“Oh.. that’s, uh, unfortunate.”

“What’s unfortunate?” Baby asked,

“Show time!” Grandpa yelled in excitement.

I sat in the audience next to the snotty girl, much to my delight. I watched grandpa do his stand up comedy, greedily anticipating Baby’s performance. When she came out on stage, I was immediately entranced in her and only her. I could feel, although, the girl next to me getting excited too. When Baby started interacting with the audience, the girl got even more excited.

“Why be with a slut like that when you could have me?” Baby stopped performing.

“What?”

“Why be with a slut like that-“

“You better shut the fuck up.”

“Hey- I’m just speaking the truth.”

Baby punched the girl in the eye, she drew back right into the arms of Jerry. Mama came up, I held Baby back.

“You better get out of here.”

“Whatever let’s go.”

The group left.

“Are you okay Baby.”

“Mhm. No one calls you a slut but me!” She grinned.

“This is gonna be fun.” Mama snickered.

•poly Lost Boys

A fight broke out on the board walk and it just so happened to be my fault.

I was walking around, looking for the boys when a surfer came up to me and grabbed my waist.

“Hey baby, where do you think you’re going?”

“Don’t ducking touch me!” I spit as I ripped away from him.

“Hey bitch, no need to get violent!” He shoved me.

“Well then, maybe, don’t touch me!” I shoved back.

He was the one who threw the first punch. As soon as it had started a crowd had formed. Suddenly, I got pulled back.

“Hey- Paul?”

“Are you okay?? That looks pretty bad!” I looked back over. Marko, David, and Dwayne were “taking care” of the guy. No doubt he’d be their meal later.

“Come on, let’s get you something cold for your eye.” Paul dragged me away from the fight and to a stand. He got me a cup of ice.

“Are you okay, doll?” David asked, the boys approaching. Dwayne sat down next to me and took the ice, putting it over my eye.

“I’m fine.”

“What happened?” Marko said, sitting down as well.

“He tried to grab me, so I shoved him.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t over something stupid.”

“Don’t worry, we took care of it.”

• Carrie White

Carrie would be too shy to confront whoever was bothering you straight up, but she would definitely take the time to clean you up if it was a fight, or to make sure that you were okay if you were being bullied.

She’d try to talk with a counselor or someone who’d try and help, she really worries about you. She’d try to talk to her mama, but she probably would tell her not to get involved.

She’d make sure that you knew just how much she loves you

———————————————————————————-

-Ghoastix

My requests are open!!!!! If you want a specific character or one shot

Slasher requests are now open!!!

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seeingivy · 10 months

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the ensemble cast

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic, masterlist here

content: eren being possessive for no reason, cherry + coke slushies, reader gets criticized online, good old teasing, reader mentions feeling anxious/having anxiety

an: lalalalalallalala lights camera action babes pls enjoy :D

previous part linked here

The set that Attack on Titan is filming on was originally from a previously scrapped project. Three weeks ago, when you and Eren first moved in, the two of you had pilfered from the leftover set dressings and props to see what you could find.

That’s where you find the tandem bike. The breaks don’t work that well, and the seat in the back is really uncomfortable, but it works well for you and Eren’s purposes, which is running away from set on lunch breaks to get slushies at the convenience store two blocks down.

As Hange said, you and Eren wouldn’t really have to do any method acting to become best friends. He’s literally the only other person on set besides Levi and Hange, who are usually too busy workshopping the set and the scripts to talk to you.

You guys eat breakfast together, go to class, and spend hours talking at night when you’re both too bored to do anything else.

You’re both leaning against the bike, two straws poked into the extra large slushie that you and Eren got. The cashier, Michael, gives you guys the slushie for free, but only one since he’s “not made of money.”

Hence, sharing. You guys always split the slushie in half - the right side is Coke for you, and the left is Cherry for Eren. It always swirls together halfway through when it starts melting, which is when you and Eren start playing with the straws - smacking yours into Eren’s and vice versa.

“Do you think it’ll be weird when everyone comes tomorrow, Eren?”

“Maybe a little bit. There’s a lot of them coming. And we’re used to having the place to ourselves.”

Tomorrow is the first official day of filming.

You and Eren have been filming scenes for the past three weeks. But tomorrow, the rest of the ensemble cast arrives, and you start really filming. And you can’t even lie - some part of the entire ordeal fills you up with anxiety.

Because the rest of the cast knows know each other already. Because they’re better actors than you. Because you’re kind of a fraud.

Eren mentioned that most of the people on the ensemble cast were great people because they were part of his class when he went to the SHWA. Meaning he already knew them. Meaning they all knew each other - that they had spent two years going to boarding school together and socializing within the same cohort.

Eren has already co-starred with Mikasa, and he and Jean used to do cameos on a different show together. He used to room with Reiner when he lived at the SHWA, and they’re all still really close.

Eren said it was kind of like a cult at times, how the industry seemed to function in that way. You just think he’s trying to make you feel better for being the sore thumb of the group.

But even beyond just meeting the cast, this entire week is a big deal. The ensemble cast is supposed to attend a panel that WIT hosts every year to answer questions and play the teaser trailer. Hange and Levi are panicking because first impressions can mean everything to a start-up show like this.

Eren tells you that there’s really big advertising company called the Elms that posts reviews of shows before they come out. They have no connections in the fields since they’re advertisers, but their opinions and reviews are basically written law once posted.

They’re the industry equivalent of a Michelin Star.

That’s why the pressure is on for this week - for the cast to get along, for us to finish filming and taking pictures for the promo, and to do great at the panel at the end of the week.

There’s so much to mess up you can’t even fixate on what to worry abo-

“Y/N. Stop it.”

You look over to find Eren glaring at you, shuffling his straw through the bottom of the ice at the cup. His lips and tongue are tinted pink from the drink, his expression annoyed.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking so hard. They’ll all like you, even if you didn’t go to SHWA.”

“I don’t know. I feel like you’ll all have inside jokes without me or something and leave me out. I don’t want to feel like a loser.”

He takes the cup from your hand, now empty, and swishes it into the trash can a few feet away from you. And then his ice-cold hand is in yours, squeezing.

You learn quickly that Eren isn’t the best with his words, but he’s always touching you in some way when a situation like this arises. He squeezed your shoulder when you forgot to bring your harness to set, delaying the entire crew for twenty minutes. And when you didn’t do so well on the French test you had last week, he put his hand in your hair but didn’t really say anything.

If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t work. But it’s Eren, and for some reason, it just does. It’s almost comforting now that you can rely on his hands to be on yours whenever you feel awkward.

“You’re not a loser, Y/N. And if someone thinks you’re a loser, I’ll just tell them they’re wrong about you.”

“Okay.”

“Plus. When they see us act, they’ll change their minds. You’re electric on the screen.”

Eren yanks the tandem bike off of the stand and pulls you up by the hand, the two of you lazily biking back to set. You try to ignore Eren’s comment and how it makes your entire body buzz.

You and Eren make ramen every morning. Because Levi said that the first time he did, it was a one-time occurrence, and he can’t feed you guys daily. He leaves out all the stuff for you, even going as far as cutting up all the vegetables that you like to put in your bowl.

“Eren.”

“Hm.”

“Try to catch the extra carrots in your mouth.”

You’re both playing the game a little bit too competitively as you start racing around the kitchen, trying to throw them so far that you both have to chase after them. And when Eren throws it all the way into the foyer, you go running.

That’s when you bump into him.

There’s a guy in the walkway who you accidentally knock into the ground from running so fast. He has short brown hair, the strands closer to his hair darker. And now that you’ve fallen on top of him, his hands are secured around your waist, both of your cheeks burning red.

You quickly scramble off, awkwardly running your hands through your hair.

“S-sorry. Me and Eren were playing a game.”

“No problem. I’m Jean.”

“Y/N.”

He smiles, his eyes glinting at you.

“Jean.”

“You said that already,” Eren grumbles from the kitchen.

You can see Jean’s cheeks burning red as the rest of them pile into the room, the quiet house suddenly bustling loud. You can’t help but get overstimulated by everyone you’re meeting, trying your best to remember names - Armin, Sasha, Bertholdt, Annie, Connie, Reiner - as they all start milling around the kitchen, sitting at the table.

“So, when are we eating?”

“Sasha shut the fuck up. All you’re worried about is eating.” Connie responds, smacking her across the forehead.

You walk over to the side of the table, tapping Sasha on the shoulder.

“They’re catering since you all flew in. They should be here in twenty minutes.”

She gives you a gleaming smile, returning to arguing with Connie. You can feel a hand tugging on your wrist, the guy from earlier yanking on your arm.

“So if they’re catering, why are you making ramen?” he asks, his cheeks pressed in his palms.

“Ah. Eren and I are kind of in the habit of making it. We kind of forgot they were supposed to cater today.”

“Well, it smells really good.”

“Did you want it, Jean? I don’t mind because Eren and I kind of ate before.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t-”

You march over to the kitchen, where your steaming bowl of food is, much to Eren’s dismay, and return to place it in front of Jean. And when you return to the kitchen, you watch chaos ensue.

Connie and Sasha claim that Jean should share because they’re best friends. Jean says that Sasha’s asking for too much. Then Ymir says that Jean’s face is asking for too much, and now everyone’s arguing with each other.

You lean over, whispering in Eren’s ear as you talk.

“Are they always like this, Eren?”

“Unfortunately.”

He pushes his own bowl of ramen to your side, placing the chopsticks in your hand.

“Oh. It’s okay. I was the one who willingly gave my breakfast away and started World War Three, so.”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N. Let’s just share.”

You and Eren shuffle the chopsticks in between your hands, taking turns eating from the bowl. And you’re so distracted because Eren’s asking you about Falco and Colt that you don’t realize it when it happens.

Connie taking a picture of you two.

And suddenly, they all stopped arguing with each other and started teasing Eren.

“So this is why you didn’t tell us anything about her? Trying to keep her all for yourself, huh?” Connie says first, smirking at Eren.

You can see the tips of Eren’s ears turn red as he denies it vehemently, only goading the rest of them on more.

“Eren. Do you think Y/N is pretty? Do you love her?” Ymir asks, swinging her arm around your shoulder.

“Where do you get off, you little bitch? Why would you even ask me that? Do you think Historia is pretty?”

“Yes. I do think Historia is pretty.”

You crane your neck over to Historia, whose sitting at the table, her cheeks glowing pink in her hands. Mikasa and Armin are sitting right next to her, focused on typing away on their phones, but you can see the smile pressed on both of their faces.

“You didn’t answer, Eren. Do you think Y/N is pretty? Do you guys kiss each other goodnight? ” asks Reiner, this time leaning even more forward. They’ve backed you and Eren into a corner, the six of them smiling bloody murder at Eren.

Eren hates being put into a corner like this. But he hates it even more when you’re looking over at him, your eyes boring into his, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“Yes. I think Y/N is pretty. No, we don’t kiss each other goodnight.” he murmurs, his cheeks burning red.

You can feel your own cheeks heating up as Levi comes by, dragging the rest of the new people to set with the promise of food. Sasha’s the first one to leave.

Leaving you and Eren alone in the kitchen again, the half-finished bowl of ramen between you.

“Eren.”

“They’re always like that. It’s so embarrassing. Now I’m never going to hear the end of it. Especially from Connie and Reiner, they’re so fucking annoying sometimes it’s-”

You place your hand on Eren’s shoulder, stopping his rant in his tracks.

“I think you’re cute.”

“Huh? What?”

“You told me that you think I’m pretty. Just thought you should know I think you’re cute,” you say, shrugging your hand off and grabbing your harness from the ground as you walk off to the set.

Eren joins twenty minutes later.

He needed the extra time to get his heart to stop violently thumping in his chest.

Armin is the only one brave enough to ask. He leans over, straight into Levi’s headspace, and asks.

“Levi. What are they doing?”

The eleven of them have been watching you and Eren do this for the past few minutes. You’re both…standing there, staring at each other. You’re not exactly talking, though you do whisper something to each other a few times. You’re just kind of…standing there together.

“They do this before they shoot scenes. Y/N said it’s not really a thing for her, but Eren says he needs to feel some… tingle before he can shoot.” Levi responds, yanking his headphones partially off.

“Tingle?” Armin repeats.

“Tingle.”

“That’s not a tingle. He’s just excited to see Y/N.” Reiner responds, the rest of them chuckling.

You’ve asked Eren to explain it to you maybe a hundred times. And he always says the same thing. That he needs a second before he can shoot to stop being him, Eren, and being the character, Eren. And he knows he’s thought about it hard enough when he can feel this… writhing in his chest.

Most of the time, it’s not bad. He usually just stands there for a few seconds, looking at the ground or the set, and he’s ready. But today, the entire thing is making your cheeks burn. Because not only are the rest of them watching you, but he’s staring at you - green eyes, all soft and warm. He never really looks at you like that, straight on.

“Are you nervous, Y/N?”

“A little bit. They’re all watching, and it’s kind of a hard scene.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Why are you taking so long today? You’re literally just supposed to look all passed out in my arms.”

“For you. You’re like nervously twitching and have to stop before we can start.”

The scene isn’t too bad. You’re just supposed to get suspended in the air and then grab Eren when he comes out of his titan. Levi and Hange said it was preferable if you could try to cry, which Eren has been trying to coach you on for the past few days.

It’s supposed to be an emotional scene. You’re supposed to think Eren’s dead and that he’s returned to life. That your best friend, the only person whose been with you since you were little, will still get to be by your side.

(Hange’s really dramatic when they explain scenes).

And when you do it, you can feel your hands shaking. They’re blowing a lot of steam onto the set as you and Eren stick out of the prop titan, making your hair stick to your forehead and your skin sizzle under the lights.

You’re sure Eren feels the same way. You place your hands around Eren’s face as he starts wobbling in the air in your hold.

You’re not supposed to say anything. You’re just supposed to feel it.

That’s what Hange wrote on your script, next to the blocking for this scene. You place your hands around Eren’s face and take the sight in. The red marks streaking down the side of his face, the way his eyes are closed, and you’re not sure what makes it happen, but you really want to hug him.

Because if this were really true, if you really did think Eren was gone, you would want to hug him. You would want to hold him in your arms, press yourself into his skin to make sure that you can feel him, so that you knew he was really there.

So you do. It wasn’t in the script or what Hange and Levi wanted you to do, but it just felt right. To hold him like this. Some part of your stomach is burning because Eren isn’t really wearing a shirt and even Eren awkwardly shuffles when you do it. You whisper down into his ear.

“Sorry. Felt right.”

And when Levi yells cut and they pull you and Eren down, Annie is the first one to say something.

“I get it now.”

“Get what, Annie?” Eren asks, yanking his own harnesses off.

“You’re not a good actor, Eren. I was really confused when they picked you as the lead. But I get it now. You guys have really good chemistry.” she replies, milling off.

You apologize to Levi for not following the script. He, in turn, tells you to do it more often.

After four days of filming, Eren’s more pissed than ever. Because he figured that his jealousy or possessiveness would wear off by now, that it was just because he was used to it being just him and you for the past three weeks.

And he gets why everyone wants to talk to you because they’ve all known each other for years, and you’re the shiny new toy, but do they really have to talk to you all the time?

He can’t eat ramen with you in the mornings because Sasha always begs you to make her some too. Then she’s milling around in the kitchen, asking you mindless questions while you make some for her.

He can’t do homework with you in your room because Reiner always joins - and he gets that Reiner is really bad at French, but does he always have to ask for your help with the assignments?

And he can’t even talk to you at night when he’s bored anymore. Because Mikasa’s always there too - teaching you how to braid your hair, the two of you giggle about things he doesn’t understand.

He loathes it, which is why he has the outburst that he does.

He invited you to go for slushies with him on Friday before you fly out to Cannes for the panel. But when he yanks out the tandem bike and Jean asks to go along, he can’t help but get irritated at him. So he yells at him . Like bloody murder yells at him. Which is why you and Eren quietly bike, awkwardly sharing the slushie on the bench.

“So.”

“I wasn’t going to let him come, you know? Slushies are our thing, Eren.” you respond, swirling the brown and red ice together.

“Oh. Really?”

“Well, yeah. Some things should be just ours. And I can’t help it for other things - like when Sasha asks for food, or Annie wants help with the props - but I can for this.”

Relief floods through Eren’s chest, and he smiles for the first time in five days. Thank god.

“Okay. Good.”

“Were you feeling… bad about it or something? Like I wasn’t really talking to you?” you ask, Eren not meeting your gaze and instead focusing on the geese walking across the street.

“I know you’re not like supposed to talk to me or whatever, but like. I just kind of missed you, that’s all.”

You smile, leaning your head against Eren’s shoulder.

“I missed you too, Eren.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You and Eren bike back, matching pink lips, which is just asking to get teased at this point. Ymir asks how long you and Eren were sucking your face to get lips that pink, which just pisses Eren off to no extent. Levi makes them both sit on separate sides of the plane.

“Each person answers the panel questions in sets of two or three. There are three panels, so ensure you’re with the right person for each part.”

Your first panel is with Ymir, which you lucked out on. Because the second they start asking questions, your face is burning, your throat is itching, and you can’t answer even a single one they ask you.

You’ve never really been the anxious type. You’ve acted in school plays before and performed for big crowds. But that was always low stakes in your mind. The only people in the audience were people that you grew up with, their older sisters that always compliment you on their hair, and their parents that love to take pictures with you.

This crowd is something different altogether. They’re all wildly unfamiliar, with big cameras and notepads in their hands as they scribble down every little detail they can. Before you and Ymir could even introduce yourselves, even give them something to write down or take a picture of, they were already going hard.

That’s why you feel petrified on the stage. One of the questions is literally what your name is, but for some reason, this crowd of adults with shiny cameras and notepads makes you choke. Ymir saves the day. She’s charming enough to woo them all on her own, with a few comments from you here and there throughout the panel. Every word out of your mouth feels like balmy chalk running down your throat.

Your second panel is with Mikasa and Connie, who are surprisingly a really comedic duo. They’re both so different that they complement each other really well, providing funny anecdotes from set and talking about what it’s been like to film.

Connie, much to your dismay, tells the audience that you and Eren are inseparable - so much so that he’s caught you cuddling together on set before.

That was an accident. You were just tired from shooting on set for eleven hours. You can sneak by with another comment here and there for this panel too.

But the third panel is just you and Eren. And you know you can’t choke here because you and Eren are the leads. And granted, you haven’t really been acting like a lead this entire time by squeaking once like a mouse, but it’s infinitely worse to do it now.

“What’s wrong?”

You can feel the tears welling in your eyes as Eren looks over, concern washing over his face.

“I-I can’t do this.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know. I already messed it up. My entire panels I- I didn’t even say anything because I felt so weird and like- I don’t know, I just can’t be a lead role. I’m not cut out to-”

He shakes his head, yanking you forward to push you into his embrace, his arms warm. His mouth is hovering by your ear, his voice so soft that it sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re going to be fine. You’re literally everyone’s favorite person on set because you’re just the best to be around. And it’s the same thing out there, just with people you don’t know.”

“You guys…you guys have to like me. And it’s hard when they’re all looking at me.”

“Don’t look at them. Just look at me. Just pretend you and I are sitting there, and the person asking the question is me, not them.”

You shake your head, burying it deeper into his shoulder. You can feel your panic subsiding, but there’s still a bubble of anxiety right in your throat.

You and Eren walk out, Eren’s hand pressed in yours, as you sit at the table, your hands still locked together under the fabric.

He squeezes three times before starting, introducing the two of you. The first question is for you.

“Who is your favorite person on set?” asks the lady in the front.

“Um. Maybe Hange. I’ve always looked up to them for a really long time, and getting to work with them has been re-really cool.” you mumble straight into the microphone.

You look over at Eren, who feigns shock as he talks into his.

“I’m offended, Y/N. My favorite person on set is you but your favorite person on set isn’t me?” he says, the crowd laughing.

“What? You’re so full of it, Eren. If they asked you, you probably would have said Levi because he did your laundry once.”

The crowd laughs again, and Eren smiles, his eyes warm as he looks into yours.

“You’re annoying, Y/N. I’ve literally said you’re my favorite person on set on every panel. You think you’re special to someone and find out they don’t even like you that much.”

“Oh, be quiet Eren. You’re so irritating. You know I like you.”

“What was that? Say it louder for me, I didn’t really hear you.”

“I like you.”

“One more time, Y/N. Use your big girl voice.”

“I hate you, Eren. You’re not funny and you’re not cool.”

The entire crowd laughs, Eren squeezing your hand under the table as they ask him questions next. You’re doing it.

And for some reason, you’re really in awe of this side of Eren. You never figured that he was the type of guy to be really good at press since he seems so awkward and stumbly when he’s around you, but he’s…really charming when it comes to this. He’s cracking jokes, poking fun at you while answering all the questions.

“Last question. For Eren. What was your favorite scene to film?”

“There’s this scene that we filmed a few weeks ago. Y/N did some really good improv in it, and when Hange and Levi showed it to us for the first time, we were just so excited for the show to start airing. Basically, you think my character is dead, but-”

You feel your eyes widen as you clamp your hand over Eren’s mouth, stopping him from spoiling the show before it airs. And you forget that you’re on the microphone because you accidentally start berating him into the speakers.

“Eren. You’re so full of shit. Stop spoiling the show before it can even come out.”

For some reason, the entire cast finds the entire ordeal so funny that they’re clapping bloody murder for you and Eren as you deck out.

And when you get to the back of the stage, Hange’s applauding you both for doing so well and Levi’s threatening Eren with promises of masking tape on his mouth the next time he tries spoiling the show.

You’re just thankful Eren held your hand through the entire thing. You wouldn’t have been able to stomach it if he wasn’t.

The review comes out early the next day. The eleven of you huddle around the computer, you and Eren sharing a chair as you wait for Hange and Levi to return with Erwin from the airport. The man of the hour himself has finally arrived to set, meaning you can watch the review.

It’s two girls with short blonde hair on both of them as they dissect the teaser trailer Hange and Levi produced for the panels, and the individual speaks themselves.

They introduce each actor and their character, commenting on past roles, character dynamics, and how they feel about the character overall. Almost everyone gets a glowing commendation except for Armin, who they feel doesn’t look the part.

You can tell from the way Armin shifts uncomfortably in the seat that he’s a bit put off by the comment, but Jean and Marco are already coming to his defense, whispering reassurance in his ear.

“Now, onto the leads.”

You instinctively grab Eren’s hand under the table, the two of you leaning closer to the computer to listen.

“The male and female leads for Attack on Titan are Eren Jaeger and F/N L/N. Eren Jeager was in the fourteenth SHWA cohort and already has a nice plethora of credits behind him - even going as far as to have already co-starred with major parts of the ensemble. We’re sure he will be a great lead for the show, a career-defining role if he does it right.”

You squeeze Eren’s hand three times under the table, everyone patting him on the back and squeezing his shoulders in congratulations.

“We’re unsure if the same can be said for female lead F/N L/N. Upon closer inspection, head casters Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman have chosen something a bit untraditional by not picking an SHWA-affiliated actor. We’re unsure if she can hold her own on a show with big chops like this one since she could barely handle the panels themselves. Sure, everyone has been gushing over how cute the two leads are together, but Eren can’t really carry that part of the charm for her on screen. We’re unsure how it’ll play out, but it’s feeling pretty bleak for now.”

Eren squeezes your hand under the table, but you let go altogether. And when you look back, they’re all awkwardly staring at you, Hange and Levi pinching the bridges of their nose.

“Um. I’m not in the next few scenes, actually. So I’m just going to go eat dinner if that’s okay.”

“We’ll come with you,” Mikasa responds, yanking Sasha up from her chair.

“Oh, you guys have to stay on track with filming. You shouldn’t backlog the schedule. It’s okay.”

Eren watches you walk off set alone, Hange and Levi already doing damage control on their side. Levi’s already screaming bloody murder that they have no right to say that when they have no experience in the field, and Hange’s getting ready to run off and comfort you.

“Hange. Let me come, please.”

Eren watches Hange's features contort as they shoot him down.

“Sorry, Eren. I don’t think she really wants to talk to anyone right now. And I’m just going there to sit with her till she’s ready to talk.”

“She’ll talk to me. I can sit with her, I do it all the time. We’re best friends. And I just want to come. Please, please let me go.”

“Eren. These are all your scenes. You need to stay here. I’ll let you come check on her after, okay?”

Eren watches Hange run off and angrily acts through the next seven scenes.

When he’s done on set, he basically all but sprints to your room, snatching the video camera from Levi and Hange’s office, and knocks on the door lightly. And when he sees it, he can’t tell which emotion he feels most strongly. Never mind, he’s almost positive it’s anger.

You’re lying flat under your soft blanket, Hange’s hand in your hair. He can tell that you’ve probably been crying for a better part of the day, your eyes were all swollen and pink and your nose all runny.

Eren climbs under the blanket with you, hand locking with yours under the sheets. He squeezes your hand three times, which you return as you wipe the excess liquid from your face.

“Y/N.”

“What, Hange?”

“I’m going to call your mom and tell her that you have a boy in your bed.”

You and Eren laugh, rolling your eyes at Hange as you reach up to pull on their hair. Hange hops off the bed, retreating downstairs to get make the ramen that you asked for, as you and Eren shuffle under the blanket.

“Y/N. You okay?”

And at the sound of the question, you immediately start crying again, eyes burning as you lean your head into Eren’s shoulder.

The entire thing - it’s just so fucking embarrassing above anything else. It’s already humiliating enough to get called out as one of the only bad actors in the cast. Sure, they really dug on Armin too but it wasn’t to the extent that they did it to you. And Hange said that was because you were a girl, and they’re always going to be more critical of you than him, but it sure doesn’t feel that way.

You can’t act. You can’t do press. And for some goddamn reason, you’re the one leading the show with Eren instead of someone else. Maybe it should have been Mikasa or Historia or something, they’d surely be doing a better job at this than you.

“Nothing you say is going to make me feel better, Eren. Hange’s been trying for the past few hours, but you’re all just lying to make me come back to set.”

“What do you mean?”

“You guys just feel bad that they said that about me, even if it’s true. And now that you’re stuck with me, you have to make me do it. I’ve been telling Hange - I don’t know what they saw in me even to pick me in the first place. They clearly made a mistake.”

“Hange and Levi didn’t pick you.”

“What?”

“Well, they did. But, I picked you too.”

He reaches over, grabbing the shiny black recording camera from your nightstand. He pulls his arm around yours, holding the camera a few feet away from your face as he holds the looks for the video. And when he plays it, you recognize the same soulless room you did your chemistry screening in, Eren sitting in the chair.

“So Eren. We’re picking through the last few candidates for the lead. Is there anyone you want it to be in particular?”

You can recognize Levi’s voice over the video, and you’re sure Hange has to be the one recording from how the videos wobble around so much.

“You’re going to let me pick, Levi?” Eren from the video asks, eyes wide from shock.

“We’re in between three and we can’t pick one. And this person is your co-star, you’re probably going to spend a better part of the next five to six years with them if things go well. Should be someone you like.”

“Y/N.”

Hange comes into the frame on the video, pinching Eren’s cheeks as they ask.

“That was fast. Any particular reason?”

“I don’t even remember the names of the other ones. That’s how lame they were in comparison.”

“You sure, Eren? You really want it to be her?”

“Positive. I’d even bet on it.” Eren responds, looking over to Hange.

Hange smiles, circling a name on the clipboard, turning to the camera as they speak.

“F/N L/N it is.”

The video ends, the white screen glowing back on you and Eren’s faces.

“You… you picked me?”

“Yeah. And I’m not lying to you when I’m trying to make you feel better or tell you that you’re great. Maybe Hange and Levi are, but I’m not. I’ve always thought you were great.”

You and Eren lean back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His hand is still in yours under the blanket, warm and sweaty, but you don’t really want to let go. Eren doesn’t say much after that, but when Hange comes with dinner and he has to go back, he says one thing which such confidence that you can’t help but believe him too. That you want it to be true.

“You’re going to prove them wrong, Y/N."

next part here

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pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3

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melanodis · 4 months

Text

@springonmytraptillicomeback

on it boss jeremike headcanons weeeee

After Evan's death, Michael was more or less a complete social outcast in high school. Abandoned by those he formerly called friends, eating lunch alone. Of course, he understood that it was well deserved after ruminating on it with a fresh outlook. However, Jeremy saw an emo boy in need of fixing (/hj) and did just that.

It was Jeremy's idea to color Michael's hair red. Quite the first introduction to Mrs. Afton.

After the bite, Jeremy consequentially lost a lot of his fine motor control function, which made writing, holding things, and even eating difficult. But the human body is swag as fuck and if one part of the brain is damaged, it can literally remap those neural pathways to another part of the brain.

Of course, this takes as little as a few months to even years to fully complete.

In the meantime, Michael helped him with writing, drove him around, and whatever other difficulties he faced.

Modern day, while Jeremy will still never be back to 100%, he can manage most things without much difficulty save for things that require the utmost precision, like soldering.

While he didn't lose his right eye in the bite, it was completely useless, if not able to see just vague light and shadows, because even blind people still see something. Occasional flashes of light, nerves trying to connect. He would later get it removed and replace it with an interchangeable glass eye.

Jeremy drives a Subaru WRX. Because he's gay. (/ref) His car is kitted out with various mobility aids, like an altered shifter, steering, and hand controls for acceleration and brakes.

In the same vein, Michael still drives his deadbeat father's 1974 Challenger R/T (in Plum Crazy Purple, of course) and maintains it as well as its probably the only good thing his father ever did for him. It rides like a sled on a bed of rocks, so he much prefers to ride with Jeremy if possible.

Jeremy actually loves to cook and bake, blame it on the stoner brain, but damn if he doesn't know what's good. He actually shares these recipes between Henry and Adelaide, and they share theirs with him. Gotta make sure her boy is getting treated well.

Conversely, Michael cannot cook. At all. DO NOT LET HIM COOK. This man can only make microwave meals.

They got married in 2013, right after gay marriage was first legalized in Utah (later rescinded then re-legalized).

After getting scooped, Jeremy happily returned the favor in helping Michael with his affliction. Dressing and redoing his sutures, helping him shower.

Even as Michael felt like a detriment to Jeremy ("I don't deserve you."), Jeremy would insist that there was no other place he'd rather be than to nurse his husband back to health.

I have a comic in the works about this, but because of Jeremy's free lobotomy, he doesn't really process fear the way others do, if at all. When he saw what had become of Michael after months of silence and hiding at Henry's house, his first reaction was something along the lines of "..... siiiiick."

Post scoop, Michael struggles with chronic fatigue and pain, leading him often to be unable to do his own hair properly because of how long he has to hold his arms up. Jeremy has no qualms with this because he absolutely loves doing people's hair.

#posting this separately because i looove attention #this isnt all of them its just all i can remember auughhh #five nights at freddy's #jeremike #michael afton #jeremy fitzgerald #arc.txt #long post #i need to find my writing tag again fr

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milflewis · 6 months

Note

Gewis + ‘just trust me’

When George is seven and three quarters, he learns off all his times tables up to ten and gets his dad to quiz him at the dinner table. His mum has made them cottage pie with leftover mince from the day before. He is allowed one glass of dilute.

He gets all his sums right — his dad grinning at him as he sits up straighter, saying them faster and faster — apart from seven times seven.

(His dad still messes up his hair and tells him that he’s going to smoke that prick kid with the hair, Billy what’s his face, tomorrow and his mum rolls her eyes, peeling his sister’s potato skin off and mashing it up.)

—

When George is ten, he and his sister stay up late on Halloween and eat nearly all their sweets and watch Coraline. They swap sour worms for jammy dodgers, and suck on gobstoppers.

Their fingers smell of oranges and chocolate in the morning and George’s stomach aches for hours.

(He hates Coraline. His sister loves it, laughing at all the scenes where his heart jumps into his mouth. They watch it for five more Halloweens.)

—

When George is twelve, he has his first kiss. It’s quick and dry and kind of sore — more of a bumping of teeth together than anything else. The second time is not much nicer, if a little wetter.

He isn’t sure if kissing is for him. That’s okay, though, she doesn’t seem that into it either. The sleeve of his school jumper, where he’s always trying not to pull on the threads and failing, gets caught on her earring and it nearly comes right off.

(He is sixteen when he first kisses a boy. He’s two years older, in the class above him, and tastes of cigarettes and energy drinks and his hands are hot on George’s cheeks. He enjoys this one a lot more.)

—

When George is thirteen, the Kaiju come and flatten half of Greece.

(This is when he first hears of General Lauda and Commander Hunt and the Jaeger Program.)

—

When George is seventeen, two Kaiju break through the half built London Wall and he drags his sister all the way deep into the English countryside to stay with their aunt. He doesn’t see his mum again.

(His dad presses his face into George’s hair, voice cracking, and tells him to be good, to stay safe, that he loves him, that he is going away to make sure that the next Wall stays up. He asks him what is seven times seven and wraps his coat around George when he starts to cry.)

—

When George is twenty, he meets Alex Albon, who is tall and always smiling and knocks George flat on his back in basic training. He moves over on the bench, later on during lunch in the mess hall, jerking his chin at the empty seat beside him, spoon in his mouth. George sits down beside him.

(It’s one of the few things that George never comes to regret.)

—

When George is twenty-two, there is a four Kaiju alarm and the entirety of Western Europe duck behind their walls. Michael and Mika’s Flying Rainmaster is retired after, her pilots lost to the sea, and Webber refuses to ever get into a Jaeger again after losing Alonso.

Commander Hamilton looks tired on the tv screen, face thin, uniform buttoned up to his throat. He moves carefully now when the cameras catch him, as if he’s favouring his left side. Rosberg’s body was not recovered.

(Doctor Button punches out a reporter who tries to sneak into Hamilton’s room, Alex tells him later.)

—

When George is twenty-five, he and Alex get accepted into the Jaeger Program, and score a drift compatibility rating of eighty nine percent on their first run.

What, Alex says, trying to trip George up as they climb out of the CONNPOD, like it’s hard? George elbows him away, and Commander Vettel looks amused, jotting something down in the little notebook he always carries around.

Lewis is always trying to get me to watch that movie, Vettel says. And then continues as if that isn’t life shattering news to drop at twelve in the morning on a Tuesday in May: Get in, bitches, time to go training.

You know, Alex laughs in George’s ear, arm bony around his shoulders. I am starting to get your old man boner.

George shoves him off, cheeks hot to his frustration. It is not an ‘old man boner’. What the fuck.

Alex gives him a deeply unimpressed look. George comes very close to regretting him. George, mate, kid, you do know that your boner being just for Hamilton is, like, way more embarrassing than just having one for old guys in general.

(George steals all his fluffy socks, even the really nice expensive ones.)

—

When George is twenty-five, he watches Bottas and Hamilton spar each other with wooden sticks.

He watches them circle each other, defence flowing into offence and back out again, footwork like a dance, one step forward for every one step back. He wants like nothing before in his life.

(It sticks to the back of his throat and stays there for a very long time.)

—

Who is Charlie, George thinks, fingers feeling all tingly and weird as he remembers a man with messy hair and strange pants laughing at something he says. Something Alex says.

Charles, George remembers, seperate from Alex. He works for Bottas; one of his nurses. He reset George's right shoulder a few weeks after it had dislocated. Again.

And then, because Alex is terrible and deserves it, George asks it out loud. "Who is Charlie?"

Their comm crackles. "Can you repeat the question, Ranger? We didn't catch that." Bono sounds amused.

George laughs, the drift between them shivering with it, as Alex scrambles to answer, ears red.

—

When George is twenty-five, his sister, aged twenty two, graduates from college with an engineering degree and heads right to the French Wall to work. George isn’t able to go to the ceremony. He also isn’t able to convince her that working in the safety of a Shatterdome would be more worth her while. He calls her and they both pretend like they aren’t crying.

Hamilton finds him later that night, head slumped onto the cold metal counter of the kitchen island. His cup of camomile tea is cold in front of him. His mum used to drink it.

George watches his hands as he takes the lids off of tubes of ice cream, scooping out spoonfuls into two bowls. He wonders if his tattoos feel any different than his unmarked skin and feel silly with it.

Hamilton tells him about his brother, Nic, and learning to be a Ranger with Rosberg in the bunk below him, Bottas the one below that, and Alonso in the bunk above, Button across the room with Vettel under him.

“Probably a miracle this place is still standing,” Hamilton remarks, dry. His face is terribly soft. He looks like he’s been through the wash one too many times.

George must make a face when Hamilton finishes with the chocolate sauce and shakes out salt into his palm.

“Listen,” he starts, already grinning. It transforms him, his whole body moving with it. “Just got trust me, man. Give it a go, okay?”

“Is that an order, sir?” George asks just to be annoying. Hamilton only rolls his eyes, flicking the last bits of salt at him.

It’s delicious, even with the salt, or maybe, perhaps, because of it. George ignores the smugness radiating off of Hamilton.

He tells him instead of his dad buying books upon books of sudoku because his mum likes to do them while they watched nature documentaries. He talks about how his sister’s pockets had to be checked before she came inside every evening, for any creepy crawlies that she decided needed a warm home for the night. The story about when Alex and him got lost in Tokyo, each missing a shoe, sends the older man into giggles.

(This is the moment that Commander Hamilton becomes Lewis, ice cream in the corner of his mouth, eyes tired.)

—

Seven times seven is sixty three.

—

His and Alex's Jaeger is an old Mark Three one, still half powered by a nuclear reactor. She’s clunky and big and they fight with a massive long-staff, crackling with electricity at the end. George loves her.

Lando takes a bit of getting used to. George wishes he’d stop calling their Jaeger his.

“Veteran,” Lando says one night, feet dangling off the platform edge. George leans back on his elbows to look at him around Alex, who only hums, arms folded over the railing.

It’s late. There is only the skeleton crew working in the Shatterdome’s garage tonight. They’ve already made their way through a bottle of Yuki’s toilet paint cleaner masquerading as alcohol.

Their chief mechanic shrugs on shoulder and turns to look at them, one leg pulling up to his chest bend at the knee. His mouth does something awkward, but most of what Lando does is awkward so George doesn’t really take notice of it. He finds it rather comforting actually.

“Because they’re always going on about how young you guys are. The Rookies and whatever. And, like, fuck,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I get so much shit for my age here too. Be ironic and all that.”

“Veteran,” George says, trying it out. He likes how it fits in his mouth.

“Probably better than Geriatric Fuck,” Alex admits, and they’re all silent for a moment before cracking up.

—

Whenever they drift, Alex likes to lightly trail his fingers through George’s want for Lewis. He runs his knuckles over the backs of longing and warmth and terror and relief and lust and that sweet aching joy that sits in George’s chest when he makes Lewis laugh.

He rarely says anything. Just stands there as George clears his mind, humming softly. He told George once that it’s one of the few parts of George’s mind that is quiet.

“You think too much,” Alex likes to remind him, which George thinks is a bit unfair because Alex once woke him up at three in the morning when he nearly fell out of his bed in excitement, having finally solved Sebastian’s puzzle after hours of staring at the ceiling.

“You think too little,” George replies instead and the shape of Alex’s smile curls around him in the drift as they move as one.

—

Lewis likes to read.

Lewis specifically likes to read fiction. Romance if he can get his hands on, and he loves fantasy or anything sci-fi.

“I’m a bit weird about space,” he says, smiling sheepishly. It is only slightly less devastating than Lewis’s smiles generally are.

I’m a bit weird about you, George thinks. “Space is cool,” he says, and wants to die.

“Yeah,” Lewis says, slow and amused. “So cool.”

They’re sitting down at one of the corner table in the mess hall. George looks at the stupid spoon they gave out with his potato and leak soup in despair.

“I have a book I think you’ll like,” he tries.

Lewis, because he is made to make George feel insane with everything he does, honest to god, perks up. “Yeah?”

George nods, blowing at his soup like a twat. Somewhere Alex is laughing and doesn’t know why. It’s so hot though. He hates when he burns his mouth.

“About bounty hunters in space. There’s pirates too. I’ve written in the margins though, just rubbish really, but you’re welcome to borrow it, if you want?”

Lewis grins at him. “I want.”

Holy cow.

“Can I write my own thoughts in it too? I can use a pencil if you want.”

George thinks he might give Lewis his firstborn if he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he says casually.

—

George finds himself scribbling arguments to counter Lewis’s comments across dozens of books. Some of them are his. Some of them are Lewis’s.

Lewis is sharp and funny and George disagrees with half the things he says but the other half come a such a wildly different angle to how he took the material that he has to sit there and piece through it.

He gets ink on his fingertips as he traces some of Lewis’s words, laughing quietly to himself.

“Normal people send nudes,” Alex murmurs sleepily on the bed across the room from him. George lifts his head, pulling a pillow from behind him to chuck it over at him.

—

When George is twenty seven, he starts to think that maybe Lewis might —

That he might look at George too and —

That Lewis might maybe too.

(When Alex catches this in the drift, he laughs so hard he ends up disconnecting completely. General Susie Wolff is not that impressed.)

Valtteri Bottas is in Italy when the Kaiju attacks. Lewis Hamilton is not. He stayed behind in the Tokyo Shatterdome to welcome in the new cadets.

George has never seen Lewis scared before. He decides he doesn't like it.

"We'll get him," he tells Lewis, wasting precious seconds to stand there in front of him, in his piloting suit, because he couldn't just walk past a Lewis who looks as lost as he does. "We'll get him," George says again, even though the very first thing they tell you is to never ever make promises.

I'll get you your Alex, George thinks, and they have never drifted together before, and never will, but he thinks Lewis understands him anyway. He nods at him and sets his shoulders, broad and unfaltering. George sees, not for the first time, how he is the only person to ever successfully pilot a Jaeger on their own.

"See that you do, Ranger Georgie."

George groans, walking away backward. He's going to kill Lando one of these days. Lewis smiles, eyes still tight at the corners, and George can't help but say, "Just trust me."

When George is strapping in minutes later, Alex a comforting noise beside him, he thinks of how Lewis's face went all slack and blank for a moment before he looked away, jaw tight. I do, Lewis had said then, quiet, and it had sounded like something else.

Seven times seven is sixty three, George reminds himself like he always does before drifting, clearing his head until there's nothing but quiet.

#i hope u got some sleep a promise is a promise this is how much i love u. all of it and all of it and all of it #gewis #little fics #mark tag #niamh.asks

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jshookthighs · 1 year

Text

Dating Corey Cunningham HC's

Pre Michael:

Calls you by your name for the first couple of months because he’s too shy to call you a pet name - he doesn’t wanna be disrespectful. Like boy bffr, you can call me whatever you want

Likes to link pinkies when walking - literally touch starved so please hold this boy (But not too fast cause he may have a heart attack)

God forbid you get hurt, man will burst into tears for you but after that, he’s your personal nurse bandaging you up and giving your injury a kiss to make it feel better

Loves loves LOVES forehead and cheek kisses, total sucker for sweet gentle affection

Can and will cook you breakfast and make your lunches. Complete male wife - fusses so much over whether or not you ate that he forgets to take care of himself. “Y/N did you eat today?” “Did you?” “....We’re talking about you right now.”

After a bad day, he comes in and just face-plants into your chest - baby just needs some TLC

Follows you like a puppy dog everywhere, just completely enamored with every little thing you do

CAN NOT hold his alcohol, he is so cute drunk - if you thought he was clingy before, it’s 100x worse better once there’s some drink in him

Speaking of alcohol, it really is liquid courage cause mans starts getting bold - from wallflower to grinding up behind you grabbin up on your hips, but in the morning he’s on the brink of tears apologizing if he made you uncomfortable

Secretly jealous of anyone, but way too shy to say anything, hands clenched so tight his knuckles turn white - What if you were gonna leave him? He’s about to have a panic attack for real

Thrives off domesticity - just doing chores together makes him pop a chub - really wants to marry tf out of you

Post Michael:

Not only is this man now brave enough to hold your hand in public, but he’s also wrapping an arm around your shoulder, around your waist, and if sitting, that hand is clasped tight around your thigh - you are his and everyone in that godforsaken town was gonna know it

PDA PDA PD- ok yeah he’s kissing you in public - now you’re the one who’s shy when he’s grabbin you by the back of the head to pull you into a smooch in the grocery store (and all because some worker in the bakery section looked at you)

Did someone say new nicknames? Cause new nicknames. “Hello, love.” “Baby, can you come here for a sec?” “They bothering you, sweetheart? Want me to take care of them?” “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll keep you safe.” “Mine.” Lord help me

Ever since he met Michael in the sewers, Corey’s ready at any moment to take out any inconvenience from your life *cough* *cough* especially people - he will kill anyone for you, just say the word, please say the word

He may be different but he’s still that sweet boy underneath the murderous rage. Constantly asks if you still like him and if you’ll stay with him no matter what

Clingy? Nah he’s glued to your hip now, there is no such thing as personal space - set boundaries or this man or he will try to follow you to the bathroom (That’s an exaggeration - he’d just stand outside the door lol)

Takes you on joy rides on his motorcycle and will go faster just so you will hold onto him tighter

Still crys if you’re hurt but immediately wants to kill the thing that caused your injury - and if it was a person that hurt you, he will find them and it will be a very dragged-out torture. NO ONE hurts his baby

Jealous? Jealous. Shoots daggers at anyone who takes more than 5 minutes of your time, but the second you turn back to him, he softens right back up to your puppy dog - but will now actually complain. “I didn’t like how he was looking at you.” “Corey, he was literally just asking me if I wanted cash or credit.” “So?”

Dishes out sass now “Corey, honey, I don’t want blood in my sheets, go wash up.” “Why don’t you make me?”

*Maniacal laughter* I'm gonna make a NSFW HC and none of you can stop me!!!

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #halloween movie #corey cunningham headcanons #slasher headcanons #slahser x reader

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rowyn-writes · 7 months

Text

Cinnamon and Sugar

Chapter Five

Warnings: Self hate, mentions of abusive ex, mentions of a minor character death, fluff

Characters: Reader, Dean, Michael, Jo

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

You had been living with Dean for five weeks now, and everything felt surprisingly normal. You both woke up early in the morning for work, so you got to have breakfast together. You liked having someone to talk to before going to work.

It was five in the morning as you and Dean shuffled around the kitchen in a comfortable silence. You had made some eggs and bacon for the both of you while Dean got ready for work. Since Dean passed the coffee shop to get to work, he would drop you off, and in return, you made him coffee to get him ready for the day.

"Mornin' sweetheart." Dean grumbles as he comes out of his room, yawning. His hair was still tousled from sleep. You chuckle softly at the sight.

"Morning, Dean. Forget to brush your hair?" You snorted. Dean laughs as he smooths down his hair.

"Maybe I was trying out a new style, Y/n, ever think of that?" He sniffed, pretending to be mad.

"Aw, c'mon now, you never change up your routine, so I find that highly unlikely. And besides, you can't be mad at me forever, I made you breakfast." You set his plate down on the table, pouring a glass of orange juice for him.

"I got damn lucky to have you as a roommate." He sighed happily as he ruffles your hair before sitting down at the table, tucking into his breakfast.

"I could say the same." You smile as you eat with him. Storm was still asleep on the window seal. Despite Dean buying a cat bed for him to get into his good graces, the cat refused to actually sleep in the bed. He just sniffed at it before going back to what he was doing.

Once you and Dean were finished with breakfast, he took the plates and put them in the dishwasher, starting a load. You went and grabbed your apron for work before heading out the door with Dean, sliding into his beautiful Impala. "I hope you know that if I actually still drove, I'd totally wanna take Baby for a joyride." You joked.

Dean laughs softly, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. "You're more than welcome to drive her anytime you need, sweetheart. I won't stop you."

"Oh, um, nah." You shook your head gently. "I don't really drive anymore. I um, I got into a really bad car crash about a year ago and I don't really drive anymore because of it." It was the first time you had really talked about the car crash with anyone other than Jo or Jack.

"I'm sorry to hear about that sweetheart. Was everyone alright?" He frowns, looking over at you.

"Oh, um, yeah, I just had a broken arm. . . The other driver was okay too."

Dean could tell that you wanted to drop the subject. "So, I was thinking, you don't work tomorrow, right? And you're done with exams?"

"Yeah, why?" You tilt your head curiously.

"Well," Dean said as he pulled into the parking lot of Chuck's. "I was thinking that tonight we go to my favorite bar and have some drinks, my treat. They're having karaoke tonight too, and I think it would be a lot of fun."

You mulled it over for a moment. You didn't drink much, but you thought this would be a good chance to get to know Dean a little better and let loose some. "I think that'd be a lot of fun, actually." You give him a gentle smile.

"Perfect, I get off work tonight at 5. I'll pick you up and take you home on my lunch break, I don't want you walking home alone or anything." Dean gives you a boyish grin, the one that you had come to adore.

"Thanks, Dean, you have no idea how much I appreciate your kindness." And it was true. Dean was kind to you when it felt like you hit rock bottom. Being evicted from you apartment was rough, and you never expected him to offer his home up to you. Even though you hadn't known Dean long, you trusted him, and it seems that he trusted you. You hated to think about where you'd be without him right now.

"Don't mention it, sweetheart. I'm just glad I could help you out. I've been where you've been before. My life has never been put together in the slightest, and there was a time when I had no place to go. I really could have used some help, and I want to be that person for you." He said softly, looking over at you.

"Well, I know I'm not much, but I'm here, and I can be the support you need. We can help each other." You offer him a gentle smile.

"I like the sound of that, Y/n, thank you." You lean over and give him a quick hug.

"I'll see you on your lunch break, then. Let me go make your coffee really quick." You went in and unlocked the doors, making Dean a brown sugar latte and grabbed him a scone before bringing it out to him. "Have a good day at work." I reach through the window and ruffle his hair before heading back inside to tackle the day.

Jo was the next person scheduled to come in, and you hoped it was one of those rare days that she was actually on time. You had talked to her many times before about her punctuality, but it never seemed to stick with her. She was your best friend, and you didn't want to have to reprimand her, but it seemed that it was going to have to come to that. Thankfully, she was on time today, and you didn't have to say anything to her.

"Thank god my car started." She said as she walked in, clocking in on the computer. "I was scared she wasn't gonna crank. I really need a new car."

"Well, you're here, that's all that matters. Today's a Wednesday, so I'm expecting it to be a good day for us. This is usually our dead day, so I think it should be okay with just the two of us until eleven when Maddison comes in."

The day went off without a hitch, the customers were nice, it was a slow day, and everything seemed peaceful. That is, until the end of your shift. Dean was on his lunch break and he was waiting for you to clock out so he could take you home. He didn't mind hanging out in the coffee shop, as he found it rather peaceful. The front door dinged, signaling that there was a customer inside. "Hey, welcome to Chuck's! We'll be right w-" You broke off as you stared up at the man in front of you. Michael. You could feel your heart pounding out your chest as he glared down at you. You hadn't seen him in nearly two months, what made him want to come confront you now?

"We need to talk." He said gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. He was 6'3 and he towered over you. It was something that had always intimidated you, especially when you were together.

"We have nothing to talk about. You need to leave." You tried to make your voice sound strong and determined, but it came out as just a small squeak. You hated the affect he had on you. For years he made you feel small, and even after the break up, he could still make you feel that way.

"Oh we have plenty to talk about, Y/n. Like how one day you just changed the locks to the apartment and had all of my stuff sitting out in the hall?"

"And you're just now wanting to talk about this, huh? You had nearly two months to reach out to me and to talk about this, but you picked now as the prime opportunity? When I'm at work?"

"Oh please," He scoffed. "You can hardly call this a job. Besides, I've been busy with other things." Dean's head perked up at the sound of arguing. He looked over at you and Michael. He could clearly tell you were in distress.

"Michael, just fucking leave. You're not welcomed here. Our relationship is over and there's absolutely nothing for us to talk about. You cheated, you were abusive, you were a shitty ass boyfriend. What else do you want me to say? I've listed a billion reasons as to why we broke up and you still can't accept that."

"Don't speak to me like that." He grabbed your wrist. "I guess I better teach you some manners." You try to pull away from his grasp. Before you could even shout for help, a fist connected with Michael's jaw.

Dean looked pissed as he grabbed Michael by the shirt, slamming him against the wall. "What kind of pathetic coward lays hands on a woman?" He growled as he punched him again. "Come near Y/n ever again, and I swear to God himself, there will not be anything stopping me from beating you within an inch of your sad life. Got it?!"

You had never seen Dean so angry before, let alone get physical with someone. "And what's it to you, huh?! Why the hell do you care for some whore so much? Oh, I get it, you're fucking her, huh?" Michael laughed, throwing his head back.

Dean said nothing in return as he punched him once more before throwing him out to door. "Don't ever come near her again." Dean snarled before going to check on you. "Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he? I swear to God-"

"Dean. . ." You hugged him tightly. "I'm okay, he didn't hurt me. . . Thank you for sticking up for me." You whisper, tears in your eyes. Maddison and Jo watched as Dean wrapped his arms around you protectively.

"No one's going to hurt my best girl on my watch, I promise you that." He said lowly, gently rubbing your back. "I'm guessing he's your ex boyfriend?"

"Yeah, he is. . . I thought I was finally free of him, but he keeps popping back up like an infectious disease." You were holding back tears, not wanting to cry in front of Dean.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's get out of here." He wrapped his arm around you and led you out to his car. "Do you need me to stay with you? I can tell Bobby something came up."

You shook your head gently. "No, that's okay. . . I don't want to impose. I'll be okay until you get off work tonight. . . Honestly, I don't even what to think about what just happened. And it doesn't even surprise me that he came here. I guess I was just hoping he'd forget about me." You ramble on, looking at your hands.

"You wouldn't be imposing, sugar." He said, his voice soft and gentle. "If you need me, I'm here, okay? There's not much goin' on at the shop today, so Bobby can afford to be on his own for the rest of the day."

You felt tears brim your eyes as you kept looking at your hands, refusing to look Dean in the eye. "I-I could use some company. . . If t-that's okay." You whispered quietly. Dean tilts your head up gently with his finger so you would look at him.

"I'll stay with you as long as you need, darlin'." He then surprised you by kissing your head. He was so caring and gentle with you, which was something you weren't used to. He drove back to the house, letting you pick the music for the drive. Once you got back, he called Bobby and explained the situation before following you inside. He grabbed some blankets and popped some popcorn. "So, what movie should we watch? Comedy, rom-com, action?"

"You really don't have to do this for me, Dean. . ." You felt like a burden. You made Dean call out of work just so he could sit here and watch a movie with you. You were an awful friend and roommate.

"You're right, I don't have to, but I want to. . . You're my best friend, Y/n, I want to make sure that you're okay. You've had a stressful day, and you need to unwind a bit. Plus, work was slow, wasn't much for me to do. I'd much rather sit here with my favorite girl and cheer her up." He sits down beside you, draping his arm on the back of the couch.

You leaned into his side, resting your head on his shoulder as you let the tears flow. "I-I just want to be rid of him. He never let's me have any peace."

"Shh," Dean whispered softly, running his fingers through your hair. "I'm here sweetheart. . . He won't hurt you as long as I'm around, okay?" He kissed your head again, making you feel comfort. Storm jumped up on the couch, settling himself in your lap, purring softly. "See, darlin'? Even Storm's here to help you." That made the tears stream down your face harder. It felt like you couldn't breathe. Everything that you had held in from the break up came bursting out all at once, despite your attempts at pushing it down. Dean held you in his arms as you cried. "Breathe, Y/n, I need you to breathe for me, okay?" He murmured gently. You tried to breathe, but it just came out as choked sobs. Your body was shaking as you cried. Dean let you know that he was here, and that you were safe. You knew he was right. Being in his arms was the safest place for you. You knew that Dean would never hurt you, and that he would do everything in his power to protect you.

Once you had calmed down, you found your voice. "Thank you for being here." Your voice was raw and hoarse from crying. Dean didn't mention it, he just smiled softly, kissing your temple.

"Of course, sweetheart. What are friends for?" He continued to run his fingers through your hair, as he could tell that's what was keeping you grounded. "We don't have to go out tonight, we can go some other time, I'm sure that you're tired after the day you've had."

You thought it over for a moment. "Actually, I think I still want to go out tonight. . . I just need to feel normal, and show that what he did doesn't get to me." You state confidently.

Dean grins at your confidence. "That's my girl." He let you get ready for your night out with him. You picked a pair faded ripped jeans from your draw, a black blouse, and a black leather jacket. You combed through your hair, trying to find a style you liked, eventually settling on having it braided. You came out of your room with a smile. Dean let out a low whistle as he saw you.

"You clean up nicely, darlin'." He grins. He was wearing a green flannel over a black shirt that fit him nicely and a pair of faded blue jeans. You couldn't help but smile at the compliment.

"Thanks, De. Shall we get going?" You grab you wallet as Dean grabs his keys.

"Let's go." He smiles, resting a hand on the small of your back as he leads you out the door. You were very aware of his hand against your back. But you shouldn't be thinking about that. Dean was your friend and roommate. You couldn't risk anything. You slid into the Impala as Dean going into the drivers seat. You grinned as the car roared to life. The car was absolutely gorgeous, and you'd love to have an old car like this. That is, if you still drove. Past pains rear its ugly head into your thoughts, making you think of things you wish you could forget. You push it aside. Tonight was about having fun with your best friend.

You showed the bouncer your ID and you were let into the bar with Dean. It was packed since it was karaoke night. You and Dean slid up to the bar, you ordered your favorite drink and Dean got a whiskey and coke. "So, ya thinking about gettin' up there and singing?" Dean smirked as he looked to you.

"Me? Nah, I can't really sing." You shrugged.

"One, that's bullshit. I hear you singing in the shower all the time and you sound amazing. And two, no one who sings karaoke can sing. I'll do it with you if you sing." He offered you up a smile. You could never resist that boyish smile he had.

"I hate you, I hope you know that." Despite your words, you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face.

"Say what you want sweetheart. But hey, you get to pick the song and I can't complain."

"Oh really?" You smirked. "So if I picked a Taylor Swift song, you wouldn't say anything?"

"Hey, I can get down with TSwizzle, okay?" Dean held up his hands in defense. You couldn't help the laughter that racked through your body.

"You did not just say TSwizzle-" You continued to laugh, Dean joining in.

"All I'm sayin' is that you can pick whatever song you like."

You went up to the karaoke machine, scrolling through until you found the perfect duet for you two. I Remember Everything by Zach Bryan and Kacey Musgraves. "We're up next." You grin as you pull Dean towards the stage. Dean followed you up on stage, grabbing the mic. "Ready?" Dean nods as the song starts. Despite having never heard the song, he did it justice. You never knew Dean could sing. When you sang your parts together, Dean smiled over at you, his eyes gleaming. Once the song was over, he helped you down from the stage.

"Y/n, you were amazing! I knew you had a good voice, but damn, that was beautiful." He praised you, gently patting your shoulder.

"Me? Dean, I had no idea you could sing like that. You were fantastic!" You gently punch his shoulder.

Dean chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck as the tip of his ears turn pink. "Thank you, sweetheart, I appreciate it." He grinned.

"Aaand I think that some of the girls over there found your singing attractive." You chuckled as you looked over to a group of girls that were eyeballing Dean. "You should go talk to them!" You encouraged.

"Nah," He shook his head. "This night is about you and me, and celebrating our friendship." He gave you a smile. You couldn't help the small butterflies you felt in your stomach. Instead of going off with a girl, he wanted to spend time with you. But at the same time, you felt bad, because you felt like you were keeping him from having a fun time.

You felt like screaming at yourself, because you always did this. Every time there was something good going in your life, you found a way to get in your head and overthink things. You wished you could turn those voices in your head off. Sometimes those voices got particularly loud, especially in times like these. You tried to push them away and have a good time with Dean, but you couldn't help it.

"You okay, Y/n? You got really quiet all of a sudden." Dean said softly. Damnit, he knew you too well.

"Oh, yeah, it's um, it's just been a long day, y'know?" You cleared your throat, looking up at him.

"We can head home if you'd like?" He suggested, tilting his head to the side.

"No no, I'd hate to be a bother. You look like you're having so much fun, and I don't want to ruin that." You spoke softly.

"Sweetheart, if you're tired or you just don't feel up to being here anymore, you can tell me. I won't be upset. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or feel like you have to stay for my sake. Besides, I don't care where we are, as long as we're together, I'm happy to spend time with you."

You gave him a soft smile. "I just don't think I'm in the right headspace right now." You sighed. "It's just been a long day with a lot going on. . . I promise to make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it, Y/n, we can just spend some time together and watch a movie if you'd like?"

"I'd really like that, De. . . Thank you." You whispered gently. Dean ruffled your hair and went to pay for the tab. You rode home in a comfortable silence as Dean hummed along to the radio. You were stuck in your own head again, per usual. You were leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass on your cheek.

"Are you sure everything's alright, sweetheart?" He asked, looking over to you. "You've been awfully quiet."

"I dunno, I'm just really struggling mentally today. After everything that happened this afternoon, I just feel so. . . empty?"

"I get it darlin'. What do you need? Do you need some time by yourself, or do you wanna curl up on the couch with me and watch some Dr. Sexy MD?" He questioned, his voice gentle.

"I think that spending some time with you could help. . ." You couldn't help but smile. You felt safe with Dean, and even though you were having a tough time, you knew that everything was going to be okay as long as you were with him.

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writingbyshiloh · 2 years

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Dating Jim Halpert would include...

Word Count: 718

Warnings: none

I’m not sure if this is friend to dating headcanons or dating headcanons – so I did both! Secondly, I love Pam so this is an AU where she found someone amazing for her who treats her right.

The Dunder Mifflin office is always hectic so it was no surprise your first day there was chaotic

From your first day, Jim was always there to help you navigate through it, how to avoid pranks from Dwight, and how to deal with Micheal.

Jim thinks you're attractive from your first day but I feel like he won’t act on his feelings – Jim likes a slow burn. He is also polite and you never want to make anyone uncomfortable.

No matter what part of Dunder Mifflin you work in Jim will always find a reason to be there.

If you're a salesperson he would always be at your desk to help you with sales of course. If you're in accounting he would always be at your desk because he says he wants to learn more about accounting (this causes nothing but glares from Angela to the two of you). If in the back office, he would pass through the kitchen and bring you coffee/tea/juice

He would memorize how you like said drink too

He enlists Pam (his best friend) help to ask you out. He figures that she would be the most casual when finding out what movies and restaurants you like to eat at.

You kinda thought that he had a crush on you because of all the flirting and inside jokes. He would include you in prank planning and help you with pranks of your own. In staff meetings he would sit next to you and joke, causing you to stifle your laughter.

I like the idea of Dwight noticing your crush on Jim or Jim’s crush on you

You rolled your eyes and tried to muffle your laugh at the email Jim sent you. It was about an inside joke from the last useless staff meeting.

“What are you laughing about?” Dwight asked, not taking his eyes off of his work.

“Nothing just an email,” you replied, trying to keep your laughter under control as you felt heat rise in your face. You took off your cardigan to cool down.

“You just took off your sweater, indicating your blushing and you keep looking at Jim” he retorted.

“Dwight, that doesn’t mean anything. It's just sent a funny email” Jim said trying to defend you against Dwight.

“Yeah, just like Jim said” you tried in hopes that Dwight would drop the matter.

“Wrong. (Y/N)’s pupils dilate when talking to Jim, but contract when looking at others. It is a basic sign in humans of attraction”

You caught Jim's eye and felt your face get warmer.

“Flirt elsewhere. I’m trying to work here” Dwight grumbled before returning to his work.

After the conversation with Dwight and a private conversation, you and Jim go on a date! Something casual and not too fancy. Probably getting coffee or lunch on the weekend.

Also something fun! Like bowling, roller rink you name it!

To avoid drama in the office you two agree not to tell anyone

Pam notices a change in the dynamic between the two of you and immediately asks you for details. The rest of the office doesn't notice due to the mass amounts of drama that happen at work

If you wanted to tell everyone, Jim would agree as he would support whatever you wanted

Moving into a relationship did not change much from being friends with Jim, he is still always trying to make you laugh, supporting you no matter what

Once Michael finds out, all bets are off. He’ll want to go on double dates all the time and feel included. You two are getting invited over for dinner… many times

It is great if you like sports, but if you don't Jim would tell you all about them, trying to point out the key players and moves

If you have a bad day, he is ready. He has your favourite food/drinks at the ready, armed with jokes and any funny shows/movies you like.

Your face often hurts from laughing and smiling for hours

Overall a super caring, sweet, and funny boyfriend!

#Yes the format is not perfect but I also hate formatting #Thank you for the request!!!!!#I hope you like it! Even though it is months later lol #jim halpert x reader #the office x reader #the office fanfiction #jim halpert x you #jim halpert fanfiction #shiloh writing

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bigball-thefrog · 2 months

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Hunter's Prey Pt1: Slasher! Rob Lucci X Reader

______________________________

Sorry for only posting on Friday, i have been very tired this week but I've only got one exam left so I'll try not to post so late.

Warnings/Tags:

Modern AU

Mentions of killing people

Slight mention of violence

Stalking

Kidnapping

______________________________

Water Seven, a popular beach town known for its ship building it was a bustling town with many busy people living their daily lives, yet there was a dark shadow that loomed over that town...

The leopard. A feared killer on the loose known for hunting and killing his prey just like a leopard. He stalked his victims during the night when no one could see him and was gone in the morning the only thing left behind was the dead corpse, covered in claw marks and bruises around the throat...

Reader POV

I placed the cup of coffee down next to Paulie as he read the latest newspaper. I handed out the coffee's to the rest of the Galley La crew and handed the last one to Rob Lucci. I had been working at Galley La for over two years now and had gotten very close with everyone except for Lucci. He was always quiet and only spoke through his pet pigeon Hattori. Lucci was quite anti-social and only ever really talked to Paulie and from what I heard, even the he doesn't talk much and only let's the pigeon talk. He's so mysterious and kinda hot, I just wish I could get to know him more. After giving everyone their coffee I sat down next to Paulie as he sighed and closed the newspaper, "Another person found dead in their home..." He sighed as he read the article about the Leopard's latest kill. "And the police are doing nothing about it!" he said growled as he took a sip of his coffee. "Isn't Iceberg supposed to do something about it? He is the mayor after all." I asked, "Iceberg is trying to keep the town calm during the situation. But he's been hiring the best detectives in he country and still can't find anyone.." Paulie grumbled as he opened back up the newspaper and continued reading.

"And we don't know who this person even is?" I asked, "Nope, no sign of any DNA at any crime scene at all.." Paulie grumbled as he went through the paper. I just looked down and drank my coffee, who could this be? Why would you even want to do something like that? From what I know, the victims have nothing in common: different ages, different genders, different occupations.. It just doesn't make sense! I tried to stop thinking about it and just tried to enjoy my lunch, until I felt a pair of eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I looked up to see Lucci staring at me, Hattori wasn't talking so I didn't understand why he was glaring at me, usually if someone was staring at me for no reason I would stare back until they were uncomfortable but, the way Lucci stared at me just made me feel... Scared...

He had his usual blank expression on his face but his eyes, they were intense. They were staring at me like I was a gazelle and he was a... Leopard.... No it can't be, Lucci can't be the killer going around town! Sure he's always quiet and no one really knows much about him but he's always just so, chill. He's never shown anger towards anyone, he's never gone quiet or said anything suspicious when we talk about the killer, it just couldn't be him! But why was he staring at me like this? Like he was going to eat me...

______________________________________

After a long day of work I made my way home without getting drinks with anyone this time and collapsed at home exhausted. I put in a pre-made dinner in the microwave and just flopped in front of the couch as I ate. What to watch, what to watch.... News? No that's just depressing. Nature documentary? That's even more depressing.. Oh wait, a horror movie is playing! There's something more interesting. Ah the original Halloween, a classic, I decided to watch Halloween and eat my dinner in the dark. Around the part where Michael starts trying to get into Laurie's house I heard a crash, grabbing a baseball bat I got up and went to investigate. Thankfully it was just my neighbor, he's an old man with arthritis so he drops things a lot. Relaxing again I went back to the living room and put the bat down. I sat back down and continued to watch, or noticing the figure sitting next to me. Before I could react a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and pinned me to the couch. I just managed to grab my bat and swang, I managed to his the person in the face and they let me go. Still holding the bat, I grabbed my keys and ran to the front door. Swiftly unlocking it I opened the front door and was about to bolt, but the person grabbed me again, pulled me inside and shut the door and pinned me to it by my wrists. Now with some light I looked up at the figure.... Oh no....

"LUCCI!?" My mouth was quickly covered by Lucci's hand so he was now holding both of my hands above my head with only one hand, I wanted an explanation but instead of Hattori talking Lucci's mouth opened and he spoke himself, "Your fear is adorable~" Was all he said as he took his hand off my and around my throat, "Now don't scream or I'll rip your throat out..." He said quietly. Lucci, the man that never speaks and let's his pet pigeon speak for him can speak? Not only that but he broke into my house and is threatening me!? What's going on...? I simply nodded to his request and his grip on my throat relaxed but didn't move. "Lucci, what are you doing in my house? How did you even get in?" "I have my ways darling~" he said as he moved his index finger to caress my cheek, a sinister smile growing on his face. "Now, how shall I deal with you darling?~" He said as he squeezed my neck a little tighter, "Lucci please... We're.. We're friends right!? I always buy you your coffee, I always try to include you in after work stuff?" I pleaded but he didn't seem to waver. "Lucci, people are already suspecting you a lot... If you kill me then you'll just give people more reason to believe it's you. And you don't want to get caught right?" This made Lucci stop.

He kept gently squeezing my throat while he thought, then his sinister smile grew again, "You're right, I wouldn't anyone suspecting me now would we? But how do I make sure that you don't go talking about our little encounter now?" he said as he brought his face closer to mine. "Maybe I should just keep you until I know you won't speak~" "But if you kidnap me then they'll still be suspicious!" "I know, that's why you're not getting kidnapped but taking a vacation." Lucci said as he grabbed my phone from my pocket, he texted Iceberg that I would be taking some time off for personal reasons. He put my phone in his pocket then looked back at me, "Now let's get you back to my place where I can keep an eye on you." Before I could try and say anything else he held a rag against my nose and mouth and I almost instantly blacked out, the last thing I saw was Lucci's sinister grin as he still held me by the neck.

#one piece #one piece anime #oneshot #rob lucci #rob lucci x reader #one piece rob lucci #op rob lucci

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artzzyb00-27 · 2 months

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Car Safety; Worried Parents

You already know, let's just hop in.

Harry getting his license was nerve-wracking. Not for him, for Athena. She'd seen many reckless teenagers lose control while driving. So when Harry got his permit, she had the excuse of still being the one driving, or at least being able to make sure he was safe. With the license, he would be alone.

Bobby was nervous too. Mainly because he didn't want to go on a call and see his kid(yes he saw Harry as his own) in the wrecked car. He and Michael were both trying to look for a car that wasn't over the top for Harry's first. May wasn't worried, she trusted Harry. She just made him promise she wouldn't receive a call while she was working about him.

"I know that will be me when Chris gets his license," Eddie said in the loft of the firehouse. Bobby had shared the news that Harry had gotten his license and decided to wait to get a car. Smart choice with how the market was right now.

"I'm worried that Denny will use it as an excuse to leave whenever we're in arguments. Driving while you are angry is the most dangerous." Hen said. Chimney was contemplating how old he would even let Jee-Yun get close to the driver's seat.

"Harry's a smart kid. He's Athena's. He'll be fine on the road when he gets his car."

"You better not give him your Jeep Buck," Bobby warned his surrogate son.

"Don't worry, saving that for Jee-Yun."

"Don't you dare Buckley. Besides why not give it to Chris?" Eddie raised an eyebrow and gave Buck an, 'Oh yeah?', look despite the comment being Chimney's.

"Cause then I'd end up sleeping in the car. Besides Chris already called dibs on the truck."

"Which he'll get when we get another one. So don't even think about it." Raising his hands in defense, he walked behind the counter to help Bobby with lunch. After eating peacefully, the alarm went off and they ran to the truck.

"Alright, we gotta car crash. A Jeep Wrangler and a Lambo." Ravi winced at imaging the ways it could've happened. No matter what, both people in the cars were probably okay. It was a rainy day so either of the cars could have lost control from the wet cement.

When they arrived at the scene, they saw Athena who looked scared. She walked up to the team and debriefed them.

"Teenager in the jeep. Seventeen, turning eighteen tomorrow. The father was in the copilot seat. Lambo was an older man. Had to handcuff him." She explained pointing at the 40-year-old-looking man. Who was cursing the kid across from him. The poor kid looked terrified.

"Already questioned him, I need you guys to get the parent out, he's knocked unconscious." Looking behind her, they were able to see the jeep tipped on its right side. Through the windshield, they could see the father's face. With blood dripping down slightly. Rushing into action they were able to pull him out and make sure he was alive.

When he felt that someone was holding him, he stirred a bit.

"Sir, we're gonna help you out. Can you tell me your name?"

"Mm, Patrick Mendieta. My son, where is he?" He slurred out trying to break free weakly while looking for his kid.

"He's safe sir don't worry."

"You don't understand, he had top surgery a few months ago. Stitches are closed completely but-,"

"In that case, we'll double-check. Right now we need to get you to the hospital to fix up that head of yours." Hen told him while Buck went to go check on the kid.

"Hey there, what's your name?"

"Oliver. I swear it wasn't my fault. We were just driving like normal and he came out of nowhere."

"Yeah right! You were going too fucking slow! Idiot children, don't have no respect-"

"Sir, calm down before I make you," Buck said, effectively making him shut up. Looking back at the kid, he saw the tears streaming down his face. Anger in his eyes.

"He wasn't watching the speed limit. And somehow it's my fault to be careful in the rain."

"I know kid, trust me he'll get reprimanded. Right now I need to make sure you're okay. Your door took the hit it seems." Oliver looked back to his car to realize that Buck was right.

The driver's side was dented, which made the fault immediately go to the other driver. With that he let Buck examine him. Few bruised ribs and a sprained wrist. Nothing serious but would have to go to the doctor to check his back.

After sending the kid away, they dealt with any more issues the rain had caused before heading back to the firehouse. Athena had gotten there early and was sitting at the dinner table eating the food she made for dinner.

"Athena?"

"Couldn't go back immediately. Not after that. Can't stop thinking about Harry." Massaging her shoulders, Bobby made sure she was relaxed before driving back out on patrol.

When the shift ended Eddie and Buck gave Chris an extra long hug. Hen gave Denny another pop quiz on how to handle driving in the rain, and Athena did not let Harry drive any car for a month after that. Not without initial protest. However, it turned to guilt after hearing about the accident from his classmate Oliver.

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sleeepy-sim · 1 year

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Michael’s Childhood Friend

This sucks ass but I don’t feel like rewriting it. I can't find myself to finish shit anymore, sorry. I'm trying, picture

Growing up with Michael was strange, but he was addicting. The way he would observe you, always watching. Family and friends had thought it was creepy, but to you, he was showing he cared. He would always want to be touching, whether it was his hand or just arms brushing in class. As long as he had you by his side, he was happy.

When had been taken away you felt horrible, not because your best-friend had commit first degree murder, but because he was no longer with you. There was no Michael to tell you that you were beautiful in every way, there was no Michael to eat lunch with, no Michael to walk and talk to. You had begged you your parents to take you to see him, begged and begged for weeks on end. Until they finally said yes. You were so excited to see him again, practically jumping in your seat. You hadn't seen him in what felt like a year, you hoped he still loved you.

After your parents had talked to Dr. Loomis he had convinced them that this could be good for Michael, as he had been asking no stop about you. Your parents didn’t give a shit about some murder, but you had begged and begged.

That day was something you could never forget, mostly because that was the last time but also because he had attacked one of your parents. Your memory is kind of blury from that day but all you need and do remember is how much fun you had. The two of you mostly just talked and drew; you drew him a drawling of you and him, he had drawn you.

To Michael you were perfected in every way, and you understood him. That’s what had Michael drawn in, you were confusing, but he loved you no matter what you did. Michael had dreamed of him getting out of this hell hole and finding you and loving you unconditionally forever, until he’s heart simply could not give anymore.

#micheal myers x reader #micheal romance #micheal my beloved #micheal myers #rob zombie michael myers #rz michael myers

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sunsafewriting · 1 year

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Keep Your Arms In - 1 Do A Flip extended cinematic universe

basically just extra one-shots sets in and after do a flip.

excerpt:

Diego forgets about the lie almost as soon as they leave the grocery store. He’s got other, more important things to think about, like how late he can convince Ava to let him stay up, and whether he’ll be able to get a tattoo like Shannon’s one day.

Ava’s answers to his questions are, in this order: nine-thirty, and yes, one day, but for now, they can hit the mall kiosk that sells temporary tattoos.

It’s not until they’re back at Ava’s place, unloading their bags, that he remembers their capsicum.

“I don’t want to eat that,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Nor do you have to,” Ava promises. “I’m going to try it, though. And you’d better start brainstorming vegetables you will eat, because otherwise you’ll get leprosy. Wait, that’s the wrong one. It’s the sailor one, isn’t it? Scurvy.” She taps her temple. “And Sister Frances thought Pirateology wasn’t an educational text.”

He watches her wash the capsicum, chop a chunk off, and pop it into her mouth.

“Hmm, okay, that’s not winning any awards from me,” she declares, wrinkling her nose. “Nevermind, you were right. Capsicums suck.”

“See?”

“It’s no broccoli, that’s for fucking sure.” She pauses. “Should I swear in front of you less? Now that I’m a responsible adult, and everything.”

Diego shrugs. “I don’t know.”

That ship has probably well and truly sailed, but they Google it anyway, just to be safe.

For the next several months, Diego lives a blissfully capsicum-free life. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner at St Michael’s are mostly the same, day in and day out, even if the options have become slightly more nutritional since Mother Superion arrived and overhauled everything.

When he’s with Ava, they experiment with all sorts of different foods — some he finds he likes and some he finds he doesn’t. It becomes a tradition of theirs. Ava doesn’t have enough money for them to do anything really crazy, but picking out something from the grocery store that neither of them has ever had before is always affordable and always fun.

It’s still just their thing, even once Beatrice is there, because Ava has never wavered in her promise to keep the things he wants to be just Ava and Diego as just Ava and Diego. But at a certain point, it feels stupid to keep doing it without Beatrice, when like everything else, it would probably be even more fun with her.

Also, he’s kind of excited to show her their notebook, which is the closest thing he and Ava have ever managed to meticulous record-keeping.

He presents their ledger while they’re having lunch at Ava’s apartment on a Saturday — the three of them sitting cross-legged on the floor in the living room, because Ava maintains that sandwiches shouldn’t be eaten at a table, that such formality is an affront to the spirit of the sandwich.

“What’s this?” Beatrice asks, when he hands her the notebook.

“It’s all the different foods Ava and I have tried this year. And whether we think they’re yuck or not.”

“Writing it down makes it science,” Ava says wisely. “Learned that from MythBusters. ”

Diego’s dogeared the page of their most recent entry, and Beatrice opens the book there, reads their review of pineapple upside down cake.

“Is it perhaps slightly unfair to penalise the cake for tasting burned when that’s not an inherent quality of pineapple upside down cake?” she asks, dragging her finger across the line where Ava’s written their criticism.

“It’s like the Olympics,” Ava replies. “Doesn’t matter how good you are, it’s all about what you bring to the arena on the day. We can only judge based on what’s in front of us.”

“Also, we got distracted making giant soap bubbles,” Diego explains. “And we had the oven on too high.”

Once they’ve tried something and it’s gone into the book, Diego doesn’t usually think about it too much anymore. There seem to be repeats of things he really loves and not of things he hates, but he doesn’t really, properly think about the fact that this means that Ava and Beatrice remember .

Or, at least, he doesn’t think about it until the day that they’re cooking together.

Ava’s ducked next door to help Camila with her fire alarm, which won’t stop going off, so it’s just Diego and Beatrice in the kitchen.

He watches, with moderate to extreme dismay, as she pulls a capsicum out of the grocery bag she’s brought with her. She washes it thoroughly in the sink, just like the zucchini before it, and then slices it up. This time, though, rather than dumping all the slices into the bowl, she offers him one.

“They’re your favourite, yes?” she says.

Diego’s chest tightens suddenly, unexpectedly. He can count the number of people who’ve ever bothered to learn his favourite anything on one hand without even needing to use all his fingers.

But Beatrice only thinks capsicums are his favourite because he and Ava are liars and he doesn’t even understand why they lied, but they did, and now Beatrice is being so kind to him, and her kindness is in capsicum form and it’s like God is punishing him for being deceitful.

The piece of capsicum looks red and evil — but Beatrice is smiling at him, and he can’t let her down, so he accepts it, thanks her, and shoves it into his mouth.

It’s wretched, spicy and cold. Still, he swallows.

“Let me know if you want more, okay? Once it’s in this, you won’t really be able to taste it.”

Diego tries not to let the relief show on his face.

#yes i started another thing but in my defence i wanted to write diego #new chapter of actual do a flip will be up soon! ish hopefully #avatrice #ava x beatrice #sunsafewriting #avatrice fic #avatrice fanfic

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disturbedbydesign · 2 years

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Special Girl - Part 1

Summary: You arrived at Harvard as a shy, nerdy girl. You never thought a guy like Lloyd Hansen would notice you. But Lloyd saw you—really saw you—and for a time you became his special girl. Now, years later, you're stuck in a sexless marriage. Unloved and unfucked for months, you've decided enough is enough. The fact that Lloyd has been keeping tabs on you for years has nothing to do with it... or does it?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Chapter WC: 5.6K

Warnings: DUBCON (alcohol use/manipulation); INCREDIBLY unsafe/unhealthy/deadass wrong BDSM practices (Lloyd doesn't do safewords or aftercare); plus-sized reader/fatphobia; cheating; degradation; bondage, spanking/whipping, gagging; knife kink; blood kink; CNC roleplay; gunplay; rough oral (m receiving); explicit sex (O,V,A); unprotected sex (Lloyd doesn't wear condoms, ok?); unwanted pregnancies/abortion; physical intimidation/abuse; general toxicity; Lloyd is a psycho and he's fucking mean—Dead Dove Do Not Eat! 18+ only, no minors.

Series Masterlist

Part One

Every day feels the same, and that sameness is going to kill you soon. It’s been killing you slowly for years, but today it ends—one way or another. Six months, you’d told yourself. Six more months and you’re done.

You wake up next to the man you call your husband but he feels like a stranger to you. He grumbles as he throws the covers off and rips open the curtains, shoving his boxers down and kicking them into the corner instead of placing them in the hamper like you’d asked him more times than you can count. He showers with the door open, and the sight of his naked body makes you angry. He hasn’t fucked you in 5 months and 29 days, and you almost tell him, “Today’s your last chance, Michael,” but you don’t. You won’t beg for it. Not anymore. He has to want you.

Your 6-year-old son whines and struggles as you try to get him ready for school. Harrison hates school and he hates you for making him go there. You cook their breakfast and pack their lunches while they eat. When they’re done, you pour Dunkin breakfast blend into a crimson travel mug with the Harvard seal emblazoned on it, add just the right amount of 2% milk to turn it from black to caramel, and hand it to your husband. He thanks you with a kiss on the forehead—never the lips—and then leaves for his bright shiny law office in McLean.

You were going to be a lawyer once. You and Michael met at Harvard Law, and you both had the same idealistic dreams back then—you wanted to do immigration law, he wanted to work for the Innocence Project—but then you got pregnant and the smell of money wafting off the white-shoe firms was too tempting for Michael to pass up. You told yourself you’d go back to work once Harrison was older, that you wanted to be a hands-on mom for the first few years of his life, but you knew even then it was a lie you told yourself and everyone else. Seven years at Harvard, all that money and time and hard work, and for what? Washing skidmarked underwear and making PB&J with the crusts cut off.

What a fucking waste. You can hear it in his voice—that gleeful sneering tone that makes your blood run hot. So disappointing, Porkchop. So ordinary. So boring. I thought you wanted more than this. I thought you were special.

But Michael likes you at home. He likes a clean house and a hot meal and a child raised by its mother. He likes that your brain has atrophied in this endless cycle of cook-clean-chauffeur-shop, that you’re no longer smarter than him, that you rely on him for money even though you should be making six figures right now, too. He likes the big, beautiful house in the D.C. suburbs, the senators and lobbyist neighbors, the private schools and the fancy cars. He likes to answer for you when people at dinner parties and cocktail hours ask you what you do for a living: “Oh, she doesn’t work.”

You still don’t know what you did to make him hate you so much. (Actually, you do know, but Michael doesn’t.) It’s not even hate, though—it’s worse, it’s indifference. In some ways it’s so much crueler. At least with hatred, there’s some passion behind it. If you hate someone, it means a part of you still cares, still wants to love them—that maybe a part of you still does. You of all people would know.

You don’t hate Michael; you hate yourself for choosing this life with him—this boring, ordinary life—when you could have had something more. Maybe not what you wanted, who you wanted, but being hurt by him would have felt better than the endless parade of nothing you feel now. Did you ever love Michael? You think you must have at some point but you can’t remember why. Was it because he showed you that love didn’t have to hurt, that you could be more than someone’s dirty little secret? It’s been so long since you felt that way, though. Maybe it’s just another lie you tell yourself.

You drive your son to school and he makes a scene at drop-off, begging you to take him back home. When Harrison is angry, which he is more and more lately, his ocean blue eyes turn stormy. That’s when you see it most clearly—when you see him—and you know the answer to the question you’ve refused to entertain for the last seven years. It wouldn’t matter anyway; he’d made that very clear the first time. You were only ever meant to be a secret indulgence, a toy he could take out of its hiding place and play with and throw away when it bored him. Besides, you know who he is now—what he does. There’s no room for you in his life, and certainly no room for Harrison.

And you’d be fine with that. You would, but he just won’t leave you alone.

You return home and you clean clean clean until everything sparkles and shines. You turn over endless piles of laundry. You pick up dry cleaning and drop off more. You eat a salad. You go to the gym and work it off. As your muscles burn and the sweat drips down your back, you force yourself to remember what it felt like to carry all that weight. Your body is screaming at you to stop but you keep going. Another pound or two, you think, and maybe my husband will touch me.

But that’s not why you work out—not really. You do it because you like the pain. You miss it. You haven’t felt that good pain in years but your body remembers it, remembers him.

Even when Michael was interested in fucking you, it was never what you wanted. There was no passion to it, nothing primal and animal that told you that he absolutely had to have you. Michael’s go-to move was poking you in the leg and saying, “Wanna do it?” and then engaging in bare-minimum foreplay before 15 minutes of missionary with the lights off. You could set a clock by it, but you told yourself it was ok because it was what you deserved. It was the punishment for your crimes, and living with it was your form of atonement. At least he made you cum sometimes.

But not like he did. Never like he did.

You shower at the gym and leave to pick up Harrison. It’s a Wednesday and he has Pee Wee football practice after school so you’re greeted with a smile instead of a scowl. Besides for pizza and superheroes, football is the only thing that makes your son truly happy, but for you it’s just hours and hours of practices and games and more laundry to do and the disapproving stares of the other mothers when Harrison breaks the no tackling rule. He’s big for his age already—tall and broad, built tough—and the rules of flag football mean nothing to him. One more hit, the coach had told you last week, and he’s out.

You sit at the far end of the bleachers, away from the other mothers and their death stares. They’ve all complained to the coach and you don’t blame them—if it was your son getting hurt instead of doing the hurting, you would feel the same way. You say a quick prayer to whatever god is listening that Harrison plays by the rules today and then you check your email on your phone. You’ve got a few Amazon shipping updates, a check-up reminder from Harrison’s dentist, and a message from the alumni association reminding you that the Harvard-Yale game is next weekend. You delete that one as aggressively as possible, and when you return to your inbox, there’s a new message.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the sender was spam—just a nonsensical jumble of letters and numbers—but you’ve seen ones just like it many times before. The subject line is blank, and when you open it, there’s just two words: “Hey, Porkchop.” You look up and across the field and you see him standing in the parking lot, leaning against your car with his arms crossed. Your heart starts pounding when you make eye contact and it jumps into your throat when he gives you a cheeky little wave.

You know he’s been watching you. His emails and texts over the years always made it clear that he’s keeping tabs. You never respond but they’ve been more frequent lately. Then six months ago he sent you a picture—-taken through the blinds in your bedroom—-of you and Michael having sex with a one-word message: “Boring.” Ever since you’ve felt his presence. Everywhere you go, you feel his eyes on you. He’s been telling you things he couldn’t possibly know if he wasn’t watching. He’s even started talking about Harrison—”Good looking kid,” he’d said in an email with a picture of Harrison at his first football practice attached. “Looking strong out there.”

You never thought he’d actually show up. You just assumed he’d been taunting you and teasing you and leading you on like he always did. But here he is in the flesh, wearing a black turtleneck and tight white pants and sporting a Tom Selleck mustache that should not be attractive but very much is. You grab your purse and hurry around the field to the lot, and as you approach him, he’s focused on the field, on Harrison.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Lloyd?” you whisper-shout at him when you’re close enough.

“Aww, come on, Porkchop.” He looks you up and down and flashes you that smug smile that haunts your dreams. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. “I mean it.”

Lloyd takes you by the elbow and grips your arm hard, dragging you around to the back of your car with a few long strides. No one on the field can see you now, which should frighten you knowing what you know about the man in front of you. But you’re not afraid of him—-at least not like that. Lloyd likes to hurt you in other ways.

“I can be wherever the fuck I want to be,” he snaps. “Besides, I thought you’d be happier to see me. You seem like you could use a little attention.” Lloyd removes his hand from your arm and runs it down your flank, grabbing at your hip and giving it a squeeze. “I gotta say, Porkchop, I liked you better with a little meat on your bones.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” You move to swat his hand away but he catches your wrist and you can’t help but look up into his piercing blue eyes—your son’s eyes. “Let go of me,” you whisper, but you don’t mean it.

He chuckles and drops your wrist, running his hand across his chin. “Alright,” he says, “I’ll play nice.” He leans down close enough that you can feel the icy mint of his breath against your lips. “For now.”

“What do you want, Lloyd?”

“Today’s the day, right? D-Day? Last chance for ol’ Mikey to lay some pipe or you’re through?”

Your mouth drops open but only a tiny squeak comes out. How the fuck does he know that? The only person you told was your therapist.

“Oh, Porkchop. I know you’ve gone stupid on me since you had the kid, but when are you going to get it through your pretty little head that I know everything. I see everything. There isn’t a thing you can do or say or even think that I can’t find out about if I want to.”

“And why do you want to?” The words fly out before you can stop them. “Why the fuck do you even care, Lloyd? Why are you doing this to me?”

He cocks his head to the side and gives you a half smile that makes his dimple pop, and you see that little twinkle in his eyes that comes out to play when he’s feeling especially cruel.

“You know why.”

Lloyd grabs you by the throat and shoves you against the back of your SUV, kissing you so hard and deep that your legs threaten to give out. His thick mustache tickles your nostrils and it’s a new sensation. He was clean-shaven back at Harvard: one of the football team’s rules (and pretty much the only one Lloyd didn’t break). You moan into his mouth—-you can’t help it—-and the only thing holding you up is the hand around your neck and the weight of his broad, heavy body pressed against yours. You can feel him smirking against your lips after your moan slips out, and by the time he pulls away, you’ve soaked through your panties. You haven’t been kissed like that since your wedding day—the last time you saw him, when you did the thing you try so hard not to think about but always come back to when you’re alone in the tub with just enough time to rub one out in between supper and bathtime. The thing that changed everything and nothing at all.

“Here,” he says. “Take this.” He hands you a slip of paper with an address on it—some bougie D.C. neighborhood near Embassy Row. “I’ll be there Friday night and Saturday but Sunday morning I’m gone. No telling when I’ll be back. Do me a favor and make the right choice for once.” He grabs your face in his large hands and leans down to whisper, low and gravely, against your forehead. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

Before you have a chance to answer, a huge black Suburban with tinted windows pulls up and Lloyd hops in the passenger seat.

“See you soon, Porkchop,” he says, half hanging out the open window. “Tell the kid Daddy says hi.”

***

“Oh come on,” your roommate Shay begged. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

You had zero desire to go to the Phoenix club party but it was Harvard-Yale weekend and the Crimson had absolutely slaughtered the Bulldogs that afternoon. Shay was dying to go and she’d been trying to drag you out for weeks.

“I won’t even get in,” you told her. “I’m just a freshman and I… I just won’t. It’ll be embarrassing.”

You didn’t tell her the real reason you didn’t want to go, which was that you packed on the freshman 15 and then some and you didn’t want to be the fat girl left out in the cold while your much thinner, much hotter roommate got into the party.

“Babe, they let all the girls in, and that goes double for freshmen.”

“And that’s supposed to make me want to go?” you replied. You knew the reputation that the finals club parties had on campus, and you knew it wasn’t the safest place for a drunk 18-year-old girl to be, especially on the night of The Game. “Those guys are so sketchy.”

“Yeah, but they have the best booze,” she said. “And we’ll watch out for each other. Come on, please?”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, but part of you couldn’t help but be curious about the legendary party scene at the clubs. And on Game Day? After a win? It was bound to be wild.

“Alright,” you agreed. “Just this once. But I’m not getting wasted. I’m considering this more of a sociological experiment.”

“Whatever gets you out the door, nerd,” she replied. “Now let’s find you something to wear that isn’t that ratty old hoodie and jeans.”

You were freezing cold and terribly uncomfortable in the dress and heels your roommate chose for you. The dress was stretchy enough to fit you but you didn’t consider it flattering. You told her as much but she assured you you looked great.

“Your tits look incredible in that dress,” she insisted. “Seriously, I can’t look away.”

You took the compliment but you still felt exposed. You never wore tight clothes, preferring to hide your chub under layers of fabric or loose-fitting dresses. You’d always been a bigger girl but your first few months of college, even without being a heavy drinker, saw you tipping the scale much higher than ever before. The skin-tight green dress you were wearing was making you feel vulnerable and you could tell the discomfort was written all over your face.

“It’ll be fine,” Shay promised you as you walked to the Phoenix.

You could hear the crowd two blocks away, so loud that the whooping and cheering and chanting of “Fuck Yale” could probably be heard all the way in New Haven, and when you rounded the corner onto Mt. Auburn, you saw the epic line.

“Holy shit,” you muttered, though the sound of the crowd drowned it out.

The line to get in was around the block and then some, and it was almost all scantily clad girls, many of them freshmen you vaguely recognized. You saw the hot blonde from your psych class with a group of her equally hot friends at the front of the line being waved in by a guy at the door, and you saw him laugh in the faces of the two guys after them and send them on their way.

“There’s no way we’re getting in. Let’s just go somewhere else,” you told Shay, but you were really more concerned that she would get in and you wouldn’t.

“We’re getting in,” she said, “and we’re not waiting on this fucking line either.”

Before you could argue, Shay was dragging you toward a girl about 10 people back in line.

“Hey, cousin!” Shay yelled, and she shoved her way into the line next to her cousin Maddie.

Maddie was a sophomore and had been hooking up with one of the Phoenix guys. You felt awful cutting the line, and the girls behind you were quite vocal about how pissed they were about it, but Maddie silenced them with a simple, “Hush, freshmen,” and before you knew it, you were standing at the door in front of the guy who held all the power.

“Hey Mads,” he said. “See you brought some fresh meat.”

“This is my cousin and her roommate,” Maddie said. “Be nice”

The guy looked Shay up and down, clearly approving of her, but when he took a look at you, he started laughing. You almost ran away crying right then but you forced yourself to make eye contact and smile.

“Oh, Lloyd’s gonna love this one,” he said. “Entrez, mademoiselles. Down the rabbit hole you go.”

On your way down the stairs, you asked Maddie, “What was that supposed to mean? Who’s Lloyd?”

She just laughed. “Lloyd Hansen? The football player?”

“I’m not much of a sports fan,” you replied.

“Well he’s basically a god on the team, and he’s only a junior. But I’d stay away from him if I were you. He’s… well, I’ve heard some stories and none of them are good.”

You really did mean to heed her advice, you did, but two hours and several vodka cranberries later and you were drunker than you’d ever been in your life. You didn’t feel sick, just completely out of control, but you liked the feeling. You were always so buttoned up and guarded and it felt so fucking good to just let go for once. Shay stuck by your side as promised and the two of you danced and drank and danced and drank more.

You don’t know exactly when it happened—-you were out of it then and time has only muddled the memory further—-but at some point, you found yourself alone in the courtyard out back. You looked around for Shay but she was nowhere to be found. There was a group of guys nearby, and through the din and the ringing in your ears you could hear them laughing while one of them made oinking and squealing noises. You knew without knowing that they were laughing at you, and as you shoved your way through the crowd and back inside you heard one of them shout “Get ‘er done!”

It came on you suddenly—-that feeling that your bladder might burst. You needed to find a bathroom and quickly. You asked the person closest to you and she pointed in the direction of a huge line of girls.

“Fuck,” you shouted to no one, and then you felt a tap on your shoulder.

When you turned around, you were eye-level with the incredibly broad chest of one of the guys you’d seen outside.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said, and you looked up into the prettiest blue eyes you’d ever seen, framed by long lashes that most women would kill for. “You lost?”

“I… uh… my friend is…” you stammered, having trouble finding words with this beautiful guy towering over you. “I… is there another bathroom here?”

“Upstairs,” he said. “Members only, but I’ll make an exception for you.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the stairs. “Come with me.”

The ground floor of the Phoenix looked like some sort of Gilded Age mansion, probably because that’s exactly what it was. Every inch of the place reeked of old money. You followed the handsome, brown-haired stranger up to the second-floor hallway and he opened a door into a large, well-appointed bedroom.

“Master bathroom’s right through there,” he said. “It’s the nicest one in the house.” He cocked his head to look at you. “You’re not gonna puke, are you?”

“No,” you said. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good girl.”

It felt like ages before your bladder was finally empty. You used some expensive French lavender soap to wash your hands and dried them on a plush hand towel with the Phoenix insignia embroidered on it. When you exited the bathroom, the brunette was sitting on the four-poster bed sipping a honey-brown liquid from a crystal tumbler. His dress shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, his crimson tie hanging loose, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow revealing thick, veiny forearms dusted with hair. You found yourself speechless and staring; he was gorgeous, tall and broad with a chiseled face and an athlete’s build. You had no idea what he was doing with you.

“You want a drink, sweetheart?”

“I, uh, I shouldn’t,” you said. “I need to go find my friend.”

“Just one drink,” he said. “Come on. This whiskey is older than my dad. I promise you’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“I don’t really drink whiskey,” you replied, but he was already up, taking three long strides toward the bar cart in the corner.

The glass clinked three times as he dropped in ice cubes from a silver bucket, and you watched as he poured you three fingers of the liquid gold. You didn’t want it but you took it anyway. You didn’t even know him but some part of you—something deep-down and driven by primal instinct—didn’t want to disappoint him. The first sip burned like hell and you coughed after you swallowed.

“Easy, easy,” he said, rubbing your back with one of his large hands. He sat on the bed and patted the spot next to him. “Come sit for a minute. Talk to me. I’m so fucking bored.”

You sat down next to him—close but not close enough to touch—and he watched as you pulled your skirt down where it was riding up.

“So, uh, what’s your name?” you asked, braving another sip of the whiskey, which you had to admit was growing on you just as the heat in your belly was growing as you drank it.

“Uh, Lloyd Hansen?” he replied, sounding a bit miffed at the question. “You may have heard of me? I was the guy on the field today who knocked the Yale QB on his ass about a dozen times?”

You vaguely remembered hearing the name Lloyd Hansen but you didn’t remember where you’d heard it. You thought to yourself that it must have been someone talking about the game.

“Congratulations on the win,” you said. “I don’t really follow football but, you know, fuck Yale.”

That was the first time you heard Lloyd laugh, and he did it with his whole chest.

“Fuck Yale indeed,” he said. “And now that you know who I am, I want to know who you are and how you ended up at my party. I’ve never seen you around before. I would remember you.”

You told him your name, that you were a freshman and that you didn’t really go out much. You knew you sounded like a complete loser, but the alcohol was like a truth serum and you ended up telling him that you were more into studying than partying.

“So you really are a good girl, then?” he said, his hand inching closer to your thigh. The deep pitch of his voice was almost as intoxicating as the drink in your hand. “How refreshing.”

He placed his drink on the nightstand and moved closer to you.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, and you nodded. “All the girls that come around here, they’re so fucking boring. So ordinary. Just a bunch of dumb bitches with rich and powerful parents who are only at Harvard to fuck around for four years and find a husband.” He ran his pointer finger down your thigh and toyed with the hem of your dress and you shivered as he leaned in close and spoke low in your ear. “But not you. You’re something special. I knew it the second I saw you.”

“I… I’m nobody,” you said. “I’m not special.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck and your eyes fluttered closed. “Yes,” he purred. “You are.”

Your memory gets hazy then. You remember Lloyd on top of you, kissing you and groping your tits through your dress. You don’t remember him taking it off you, or his clothes coming off, but you remember the feeling of your knees hitting the plush Persian rug as he pushed you down on the floor in front of him. He sat on the edge of the bed, long legs spread wide on either side of you as his fisted his cock in one hand and grabbed the back of your head with the other.

“You know how to suck a dick?” he asked, and you shook your head no.

You’d only ever given handjobs before and you’d never seen a dick as big or as thick as Lloyd’s. You were terrified. You didn’t know what you were doing and you didn’t really want to do it but, again, you couldn’t shake the feeling of not wanting to disappoint him. You didn’t want to be boring or ordinary. You wanted to be the girl he thought you were. You wanted to be special.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded. “Stick your tongue all the way out.”

You did as he asked and he slapped your tongue with the head of his cock a few times before he told you to lick it. When you did, you tasted something salty—not exactly a bad taste, but strange.

“That’s it. That’s a good girl,” he said, gripping your head tighter. “Now wrap your lips around it. Yeah. Just like that. Fuck, I knew those dick-sucking lips of yours would feel good. Now open up your throat and breathe through your nose. I’m gonna fuck that pretty face of yours.”

He put his other hand on the back of your head and started to move you deeper onto his cock, and when he hit the back of your throat, you gagged and tried to pull away.

“Ah ah ah,” he said, “you can take it. Come on. Just relax.”

To this day, you don’t know how you didn’t throw up on him. He stood up and held your head in place as he fucked his way past your gag reflex and down into your throat over and over again, with fast harsh thrusts that had your mascara running rivers down your face and your own spit dripping down your chin onto your bare chest.

“That’s my good little cocksucker,” he said. “So fucking good for me. Look so pretty when you cry.”

Your nails dug into the hard muscle of his thighs as you let him use you, not knowing how long it was going to take or what exactly was supposed to happen. All you knew, looking up at him as he fucked your windpipe raw, was that he was the hottest guy you’d ever seen. The way his jaw clenched as he grunted, the deep V-cut that framed your face as he pushed and pulled you, the veins popping in his neck and his arms—-it was all too much. He was too much. The ache between your legs was getting unbearable and you took one of your hands off his leg and started to rub your clit.

“Oh, you love choking on my dick, huh? My pretty little slut’s gonna make herself cum with my fat cock down her throat, isn’t she?”

You moaned onto his flesh—his filthy, cruel words only making you want to please him more. You wanted to cum so badly but your own fingers just couldn’t get you there. You didn’t have enough time anyway, though, because Lloyd’s grip on your head tightened to the point of pain.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he said, pulling out of your burning throat and leaving you coughing and gasping for air. “Look up at me. I’m gonna paint that pretty face white. Open your fuckin mouth.”

You tried to keep eye contact with him but it was hard while you were still trying to catch your breath and keep from coughing.

“Look. At. Me,” he barked.

You stared into his lust-blown blue eyes as his mouth dropped open, his lips forming a perfect pink O as he huffed out air. Then you heard him grunt and you felt the first spurt hot against your cheek. The second one barely missed your eye but you kept them open, and he smirked down at you as he pressed the tip of his cock to your tongue and shot straight into the back of your throat. You gagged on it and swallowed and he laughed at you before gathering the cum off your face with his fingers and shoving them in your mouth.

“Clean your plate like a good little girl,” he said. “Come on. Suck.”

And you did, because the way he looked at you when you started to lick the cum off his fingers—there was something reverent about it, with more than a hint of amusement.

“I knew you’d be good,” he said when you’d licked him clean. “Fat chicks really do give the best head.”

You felt your cheeks blaze with embarrassment and shame and you would have started to cry if he hadn’t already fucked all the tears out of your face. You started to gather your clothes but he grabbed you by the arm and yanked you up off the floor.

“Aww, don’t worry, Porkchop,” he said, pulling you against his bare chest. You looked up at him, horrified, but he wore a smug, satisfied smile as he ran his hands down your body, grabbing handfuls of flesh at your sides and your hips and finally taking two handfuls of ass. “Just means there’s more of you to love.”

“Get off me,” you cried, and you tried to push him back but he held you tight.

“Quit fucking struggling,” he snapped, his grip on you tightening to a bruising pressure. “You think I’m being mean? If you want mean, little girl, I can show you mean. But I’m dead serious. The guys make fun of me for it but I fucking love me a fat girl. Of course, I can’t actually be seen with one. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I fucking hate you, you asshole,” you screamed. “Let me go.”

“No,” he said, his mouth a hard line. “I’m not done with you, and you’re not done with me, but there are rules to this.”

“Fuck you and your rules. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He grabbed your neck and pressed lightly on the sides, bringing his face down to yours—so close his lips grazed yours when he said, “You don’t really mean that, do you, Porkchop? It would be such a disappointment if you did.”

You opened your mouth to speak—-to scream or to cry you don’t know—-but he silenced you with a deep kiss. You hated yourself for returning it, for opening up for him and letting his cruel tongue inside. But fuck he felt good—-his lips and his hands and his rock-hard body. You never dreamed a guy like Lloyd would ever look twice at you. Even through your drunken haze, you knew you were being used—-that you were easy pickings for him that night and he took advantage of you—-but you didn’t care. He felt too fucking good for you to care.

He made you cum on his fingers and his tongue three times that night before he kicked you out.

“Sorry, Porkchop. No girls in the house past sunrise. I’ll be seeing you real soon, though.”

You wanted to tell him he wouldn’t, that you’d just used him the way he used you. but you knew even then it was a lie. Any self-respect you had went out the window the moment you met Lloyd Hansen.

PART TWO >>>

#lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen #chris evans #chris evans characters #the gray man #special girl

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