#beloved requests

 ⁺◟ keeps your elastics ties on him, especially for when you’re overwhelmed and need to just get it out of your face

⁺◟ always trying to make you, specifically, laugh

⁺◟ doesn’t matter what the situation, he’s not stopping till you crack a smile, especially when you’re mad at him

⁺◟“really gonna give me tha’ silence?” “it’s a dumb joke! ya know i don’t give out pity laughs g.”

⁺◟ will interlock pinkies when the noise gets to be too much, when youre stressed at school, when you need to slow down

⁺◟ will attempt to braid your hair and be pretty good at it (he watched plenty of videos and practiced on johnny)

⁺◟ just needing physical contact mostly everywhere

⁺◟ stuffs his face into your neck, or chest whenever y’all are in private (would do it in public but you’re less keen on that)

⁺◟ rubbing his face in your neck, arm around the waist at tommen, hands in back pocket at a friend hangout, interlocking ankles in bed

⁺◟ wants to quite literally live inside your skin. cannot not be touching you for the life of him 

⁺◟ on the topic of touches, he loves to cradle your face and stare into your eyes, calms down his mind so much. that coupled with some forehead kisses for the both of you

⁺◟ so theatrical and in tune with your emotions

⁺◟ “I just don’t like the way she speaks to others… very mean girl vibes.” you sigh. “is that judgy and wrong of me?” “no way, baby. was thinking the exact same thing, if anything I knew it from the first time she said you were lucky to be dating me!” 

⁺◟ will consider your outfits like he’s on the devil wears prada 

⁺◟ “the black skirt does wonders for your ass, id prefer it off entirely but that beauties only for my eyes, so the skirt it is!”

⁺◟ matches your freak like it has never been matched before, can never be matched like this by any other, understands your desires and personality 100 fold

⁺◟ will dance with you in public, will sing off key at biddies, will wear your heels and tight top when you get overstimulated, in addition to carrying you piggy-back style back to his car anytime you want

⁺◟ would adore your younger siblings if you have them, especially a younger sister

⁺◟ would take her out for ice cream with y’all, go shopping for her, gets her a plethora of gifts for her birthday - it makes him feel more apart of the family, and his loss of his young sister 

⁺◟ gerard who will leave any social event if you’re tired or just not feeling it. it’s not worth seeing you uncomfortable, when y’all be cozy at home anyway

⁺◟ you literally cannot sleep in the same bed during school nights, you get distracted!

⁺◟ talking for hours on end, staring into each others eyes with the light from the crack in the blinds, kissing here and there - so soft you never regret being exhausted in the morning 

a tad off track so 18+ from here on out!!!

⁺◟ whenever you lean down, even a little bit, gerard humps you from the back

⁺◟ “seriously? can’t even pick up my scrunchie?” he grins and cooley says “what? I’m practicing.” “practicing for what exactly? should be your funeral when i get you!” and queue him sprinting away from you with the dirtiest smirk 

⁺◟ will just sit on the floor of the bathroom while you piss? 

⁺◟ “can a girl not take a wee in peace? you’ve got serious separation anxiety, g.” said as seriously as you can while you’re actively pissing. “i just love being close to you, is tha’ a crime, love?” stares lovingly like there’s nothing wrong

⁺◟ and finally!! just loves kissing you, his absolute favorite pastime (besides his head in your legs) is locking lips for unprecedented amounts of time 

shirtless and seated on your room floor, you two have been comparing boobs for the last 15 minutes.  

the silence lasts all about a few moments. “i was lying, your boobies are the best i’ve ever seen, baby!” he emphasizes his point by trying to grab said appendages. 

“oh, i’m flattered!” you tease. with him it’s so easy to fall into this rhythm of lighthearted banter. 

keeping his hands above his head, wrestling into your carpeted floor. you two break into a fit of giggles at the sheer silliness. 

—

after calming down from the very serious boob competition, you’ve settled onto your bed. 

now laid on top of you and contently sighing like his damn cat, gerard is the picture of contentment. 

he insisted he forgot clothes for staying over. plead innocent and looked at you for all the answers regarding this crisis. only two options arise: he’s naked because you don’t allow ‘outside clothes’ in bed, or he borrows your clothes. 

the decision was made via a democracy (solely you), and gerard got to choose his favorite oversized top and cotton shorts from your closet. he was a little too excited, but you’ll give it to him, he looks great. 

“no offense, you know i adore your muscles baby, but I think you’re stretching out my shorts.” you pat his backside in emphasis. your shorts stretched tight and a bit thin — adapting to the roundness. 

“you’re just mad i have a killer butt, kitten.” rubbing his face into your chest like he’s the cat. 

“we are not doing this again! enough comparing assets, we both have our strong suits now go to sleep.” begrudgingly settling the both of you under the covers. 

there was a much needed silence for a bit, but he whispered something you didn’t quite catch. 

“what was that?” tilting your head down to see him properly. 

“i just… ya know i love you more than just your body right?” playing with your shirt’s hem with practiced fingers. 

a bit startled, but even more scared to chase this vulnerability away. “what inspired this baby?”

“i want you to understand that i’d rather elope in the desert with a cactus than use you!” weird analogy.. but he drove the point home. 

“you’re it for me and i know i come off as… very physical, but i love you for you. not your boobs or butt or whatever.” looking up at you for a bit, he looks surprisingly serious. 

a beat of silence passes. eyes trained on each other. existing in this middle ground in your room, wearing your clothes, confessing how your relationship transcends physicality. 

“gerard, you are the sweetest boy i’ve ever had the pleasure to know. we show our love in a peculiar way that others don’t understand, but it’s not theres to understand.” 

grabbing his hand and placing it onto your heart. 

“in here, it’s just us two. i feel light like i’m floating, you have that effect on me. i haven’t a doubt that you love me in your own special, blonde-baby-way.” kissing his hair, holding him with a foreign gentleness that he only gets graced with. 

another silence ensues. one of trust and honesty. a comfortable lack of sound where the air is cleared and gerard’s perpetually overworked brain can take a rest. 

“do you think i can trademark tha’? blonde-baby-way?” his head finds its rightful place on your chest and everything feels right. 

“for the love of fluffy kittens, go to sleep!”

you didn’t mean to walk in on the fight, you never do it intentionally anyway. they’ve gotten worse recently and there is nothing you can do to help. 

“i don’t care anymore! i didn’t ask for this life, this responsibility…” she sounds defeated, tired of it all. 

hidden behind a wall near the stairs, you peer into the dining room. 

your mam’s sat at the dining room table, wine making her lips loose and words sharp. her head hangs low but there’s a fiery hatred beneath her eyes once she raises her it once more. 

“i never wanted a girl, but you just couldn’t help yourself could you? she turned our just like you, are ya happy? just as opinionated and unmanageable!” she spits, body swaying even while sat. 

“don’t speak of her in that way! you love her, she is your child!” your da’s face badly conceals his abhorrence. 

attempting to shove the words into her. attempting to get through to her. attempting to meld the words into her marrow so she starts to believe it too. 

“no amount of convincing will change my mind. when i look at her all i see is what i didn’t want...” she slurs then slumps down onto the table, lights out. 

leaving up to your room before he sees you, it’s easier to go unseen and unheard. 

your inherited features and life blood from such dysfunctional individuals. you didn’t ask for this life either. had she never thought of that? two sides of the same coin; victimized by the narrative and themselves. 

your mam may not physically put her hands on you, but the words cut deeper. wedge in between your veins and inner themselves into your very cells, the very makeup of your being. 

you’ve always been closer to your da, assuming you just had more compatible personality types and similar wants. your mam never outwardly expressed such distaste for you before. 

her emotions twisting and turning with labyrinthine complexity. alcohol usually got her speaking her mind on all types of nonsense, but essentially anything can set her off or make her non-verbal. 

— 

since youth, unnoticed is synonymous to undisturbed in your world. the less eyes and ears in your direction, the better. 

however, at home it’s a different story. you put yourself out there. to be seen, judged, considered yet are met with cold silence. you yearn to be seen. 

you find her in the kitchen tidying up. walking up with an uncomfortable sense, desire to feel seen. 

“please talk to me, mam. i know i’m so bad, just please talk to me. say anything at all.” your pleads are met with cold silence. 

she washed dishes unperturbed by your noise, probably getting some sick satisfaction that you’re being ignored. 

“look at me!” holding onto her shirt, she doesn’t give you the time of day. rinsing her hands, forcing her garment out of your hands, and leaving the room. 

—

it’s been pressing him for a bit now. seeing you float through life with no regards. akin to a ghost. 

he knew you liked your space and figuring things out alone, but it was time to step in, possibly sway your negative thoughts. 

“baby?” johnny calls out, drawing you from the book you haven’t been reading. 

“yeah?” setting it down. 

“what’s been up with you these days?” he tries to start slowly but the question unloads into the air like a ton of bricks. 

“hm?” a bad deflection on your part but very necessary in preserving the peace between you two. 

“you’ve been distant and colder. not callin’ you out or anythin’, just wanna know what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours.” he gives a slow smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

tired. he’s grown tired of you. tired of your nuanced emotions and hefty walls. 

lying on his bed, you’re stuck between the fear of losing him and the betrayal of stringing him along.

“would ya look at the time? my da needs help at home, i better catch the bus.” an excuse. you know it. you know he knows it too. you’re too scared to stay though. 

“are ya sure? i can give you a ride,” his stupidly kind face conveys confusion, maybe a bit of hurt, but no matter. it’s not the time. 

“no thanks, bye johnny!” suddenly out of breath from the anxiety. 

getting up, grabbing your bag, and booking it out of his room while he stares on. why do you constantly self-sabotage?

you didn’t need to help your da, if anything he wanted you spending time with johnny, anything to take your mind off the tension at home. 

you just couldn’t face any consequences of your words so you choose to run. 

—

your days string along, yesterday similar to today which will be comparable to tomorrow. 

johnny has been giving you space but you can tell he wants to bulldoze and fix whatever this has become. 

you don’t acknowledge him in the halls. take your lunches in the library because the librarian favors you. you don’t even reply to his texts. 

—

with your earbuds in and ipod held like some kind of war weapon, you make your way out of tommen. the pitch would be a great shortcut, considering your homework situation and overall need to leave this stifling place. 

the rugby team doesn’t have practice on fridays and johnny should be at the academy anyway. 

you just hope none of those male maniacs catch you on their grass, there would be hell to pay with those douchebags. 

not hearing your surroundings may not be the best course of action, but you can’t see anyone else on the pitch, so you just have to book it. 

whilst said booking it, you hear faint calls of someone talking. just ignore and leave the rest of the way unnoticed. simple. 

until someone taps your shoulder and you take out your wired headphones. 

johnny. johnny kavanagh in all his glory. 

“you’ve gotta be shitting me,” turning around and trying to escape, he grabs your arm. 

“we need to talk.” stony-eyed and lips set. 

he all but drags you across the pitch and to his car. 

— 

ending up in his room once again, safe to say you’re not happy. 

“johnny, there’s nothin’ to talk about. can you just leave it?” attempting to convince you both with such a loose statement. 

“i know somethin’s wrong. for feck’s sake, stop pushing me away. i’m right here, just talk to me!” running his hands through his hair. 

“ok! you wanna talk? let’s talk! my mam never wanted me, she admitted it days ago and all i can think about is how many others in my life feel the same way,” heaving from adrenaline — a weight lifted off your shoulders, but a more pressing one replaces it. what will he think? 

he’s frozen, staring with those impossible blue eyes that hold seemingly unparalleled amounts of compassion and care. waiting for you to speak… uninterrupted and fully focused on. 

pacing the room, you think to all the friendships you’ve flayed and thinned due to insecurity. forcing yourself into loneliness under the guise of practicality. 

your face crinkles up, lips pursed and eyes slightly squinted — attempting to stop the incoming tears. 

“i’m…unwell, johnny. i don’t wanna end up like them, my parents. i don’t wanna end up resenting you because i can’t communicate or speak my mind.” the words come and come and there’s no end in sight. 

falling to the floor, his soft carpet and even softer arms are there to catch you. 

“i’m just, i’m too much ok? too opinionated and reckless tone with someone as level-headed and, and…” you croak. words become indistinguishable rambles as the tears come full force. 

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t attempt to fix you or the situation. he simply sits with you. rubbing your back up and down until your sobs and tremors become small hiccups and quivers. 

he all but carries you to his bed, setting you down on his pillows. 

“drink some water, baby.” tipping his water bottle to your lips, encouraging you with some unreadable look in his eyes. 

he then joins you in bed. quiet until he believes you’ve fallen asleep. 

“you’re not too much. never too much. especially not for me. i just wanna to see you happy and feel accepted. i love ya so much, even if you can’t see it. especially if you can’t, i’ll make it my job to make you feel secure right here, with me.” his words are punctuated with kisses to your hairline and small, sharp intakes of air. 

you might’ve felt some droplets of water, tears, on your forehead as well. maybe it was your mind in the lining of lucid and dreaming. what you know for sure is how johnny held you tighter that night. 

sitting in the stands of the pitch, the tommen classes are no better than packs of banshees. seemingly everyone screaming and yelling and hooting for their golden boy johnny. 

encouraging him like they go over to his house every saturday night to feel something, anything. like they feel seen through his eyes. like they’ve melded into his life and cannot seem to unstick all of the sensitivity and connection because that’s what makes you his and him yours. like these strangers are you. like they wanna take your place in the one thing you can safely claim as yours. 

to add fuel to the rising fire within you, some so called ‘groupies’ took it upon themselves to wear his number, smeared on their flushed cheeks. hair wispy around their unique features but eyes always the same; full of a mixture of adoration, lust, and limerence. but smeared face paint was certainly not enough, oh no. they even wore his number on their shirts, his jersey. his jersey. with tape, paint, some diy amalgamation.  

yes, you had few things that were near and dear. maybe that’s what made you so possessive. the things that were close stayed close. 

technically johnny isn’t something to have, per say, but he is taken! what is up with these fans and their incessant desire to hold his attention?

you knew realistically that he only had you in his heart. your brain knew that, but the simmering green monster near your heart had no idea. said monster was preening to be seen and held, validated and touched like no one has done before, no one before johnny opened you up to the possibilities of living and not simply existing through your days.  

—

the crowds alight with energy, even with the light drizzle of rain and threat of thunder, the rugby players on the grass seemed more like the threats of nature. sitting next to shannon gave some comfort in the cold and feelings of unworthiness, after all, a lass can only take so much. 

what really made shit hit the fan was the heckling, from tommen’s own student section. 

an obscene combination of: ‘marry me johnny!’, ‘you’re so hot!’, and ‘i love you johnny kavanagh!’

what a joke. 

they knew the lad not. what’s with the desire of such one-sided affection?

—

the game was amazing and energetic, you just didn’t feel the full extent because of your simmering emotions. 

to add fuel to your internal fire, johnny makes the winning point of the game. 

the roaring crowds increase ten-fold and you have to admit the beauty of him in his element. 

what wasn’t expected was his looking up and locking eyes onto someone…trying to find you. 

the man moves with purpose up the crowds, ignoring all attempts at poking, prodding, or blow-kisses. 

you’re frozen still when he ends up right in front of you. 

“do you mind taking a few photos with me? just for the press ‘nd all.” this man had a notion of nervousness. 

never in your years would you think johnny and nervous would be synonymous. but here you are using such a descriptor for you both. 

“i don’t mind at all,” giving him a wide smile and taking his hand in yours, he leads you down to the photographers. 

this was the perfect ‘fuck you’ to those fans. oh how you’d pay to see their faces. 

if jealousy was a disease then you may be hospitalized, but you’re still well and standing with johnny kavanagh around your arm, so who’s actually winning?

taking time through each pose, you couldn’t get any closer. his arm around your waist, shoulder, even at one point sliding down to your jean pocket. what a tease. 

“careful now,” whispering through your smile.

two could play at that game. you lean into his solid and sweaty body, giving his arse cheek a subtle yet powerful slap. even turning to the groupies and winking. they don’t seem too happy with the set up, but that’s why they’re on the stands and you’re with him. 

“oh you’re one to talk,” he turns to you and you’re finally able to see the hunger, the unfiltered need there. 

“johnny…”

thank jesus, mary, and joseph those photographers took a hint and left without trouble, because you’re not in the mood of being broadcasted for jumping johnnys bones in public. 

“wanna get outta here?” his grin is infectious and oh so sexy. 

“what kind of question is that? of course i wanna leave this godforsaken fan club meeting for johnny kavanagh!”

“haha, you’re just so clever. you look like you’ve got it in ya to run for president of the club.” he couldn’t stay mad - he wasn’t even mad - the deep cheek dimples emerging from lack of discipline, perhaps a comfortability. 

“ya wish, so i could buy knock off ‘13’ jerseys and scream ‘you’re so sexy’ each time you play?” your smirk gave you away, but that idea was definitely no joke. 

you shudder just thinking about it. 

“my best cheerleader,” his gal is unbelievable and knows no bounds!

“your only cheerleader, johnathan.” raising a single brow. “now let’s shift ourselves. i can feel the needy eyes of your heathen fans and am getting hangry.” grabbing his hand to head to the locker room. 

“the queen has spoken!” voice full of mirth. 

“cheerleader or queen? you expect too much of me, make up your mind!” jokingly pouting in distain.

— 

johnny may have obnoxious and sometimes obsessive fans, but the one continuity of said group was that they were just that, fans. it wasn’t a competition for your spot as no one can compare to. 

he had his lynchy with an attitude problem and affinity for his ass and you and his full devotion.