Car Trunk vs Car Boot: A clear win for US English, trunk was already a thing in which you stored items, frequently for transport.
Crisps vs Chips: I gotta admit, the Brits have this one. They're thin slices of potato that have been made crispy. No chipping of any materials involved.
Car Park vs Parking Lot: Equally matched. What's a car park? A place to park cars. What's a parking lot? An otherwise empty lot where you can park.
Elevator vs Lift: Both equally fail to address that the damn thing also goes down.
saw someone say grace had dogs on his cardigan bc of laika the space dog, patron saint of one way trips, because he was never supposed to make it back to earth, oh I'm sick
Description: You read in a magazine the trend of asking your boyfriend “Am I allowed to get fries?” in front of the waitress to see his reaction, and you decide to put your very devoted, very dramatic boyfriend–who literally gives you anything you want–to the test.
Warnings/tags: humor, fluff (?), being his diabolical gf, johnny needs compensation for the severe emotional distress you caused, allusions to smut.
Note: Inspired on the tiktok trend, but make it 60’s! I just had to put johnny in this scenario lmao. Enjoy 🫶🏼
masterlist | archive
Lunch dates with you were Johnny’s absolute favorite. No matter what kind of restaurant you chose, he always insisted on sitting on the same side of the booth as you. Because why on earth would he sit across from his girl when he can sit next to her?
So that’s where you found yourselves that sunny Sunday afternoon. Squeezed into red cushioned seats at a new diner Johnny’s been meaning to bring you. He orders first, as usual, making sure to give you as much time as he can for you to decide what you want. You pretend to go over the menu options as he talks to the sweet waitress, a woman in her late forties with big blonde hair and lipstick that matches the seat’s leather.
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger, with fries on the side and a coke, please,” he says, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the table.
“Sure thing, hun. Want cheese on those fries? Chili?”
“Surprise me,” he replies with a wink, making the lady chuckle as she scribbles down her notepad.
“Alright, torch. And for your girl?”
He turns his whole body to you, setting his elbow on the table. “What do you want, princess?” The question is followed by a soft smile that almost makes you backtrack from your devious plan. Focus.
“Mmm, not sure,” you frown, doing your best to sound innocent as you set down the menu. “Am I allowed to get my own fries?” Your voice comes out soft, borderline hesitant.
Johnny’s face goes through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds, as he processes the words you just threw at his face. You can see him searching back through the archives of your relationship for the moment when he became a controlling boyfriend and somehow missed it.
A strangled “What?” Is all that comes out his mouth. He doesn’t even turn to the waitress, whose eyebrow has almost reached the roof, keeping his eyes on you.
“I mean…if that’s okay,” you add, and Johnny feels like he’s having a stroke.
“Oh, so that’s how it is,” the waitress hisses, nothing like the sweet voice she’d used on him minutes prior, placing a hand on her hip as she keeps glaring at Johnny for answers. “Well?”
Johnny panics even more, his eyes darting nervously from you to the waitress as he tries to remember what language he speaks.
“No! No, no, no. That is not how it is,” he stammers, looking at you with desperate ocean eyes. “Allowed? What do you mean allowed, baby? When have I–I’ve never–“
You only give him a tiny shrug. For a moment he thinks it’d be better to set the whole restaurant on fire than continue existing in this plane of earth.
“Of course you can have your own fries, princess. You can have all the fries, I’ll even give you mine!” He says quickly. “A-and anything else you want.”
The waitress, who doesn’t believe a word he says anymore, huffs and turns to you.
“You want your fries, sugar? I’ll get you fries–a mountain of them,” she says sweetly. “Don’t you worry, I’ll make them extra special.”
“Oh–thank you, you’re too sweet,” you say shyly, smiling softly at her.
“My dear it’s no problem, coming right up!” She chirps, then she turns to Johnny, looking at him up and down with a slight scrunch of her nose. “Don’t worry, fruitcake, I’ll get yours as well. Extra extra special too.”
You see him literally sink into his seat before she finally turns around and leaves toward the kitchen, muttering something under her breath. Johnny just stares at you with a look of utmost heartbreak and betrayal.
“Baby, why would you phrase it like that? Allowed? Your own?? Since when do you need permission?” He runs a hand through his hair, completely spiraling. “Have I ever, in the history of knowing you, denied you anything? I’ve gotten you every single thing you’ve ever wanted–even the things you haven’t even asked for!”
The devil on your shoulder tells you to see how far you can go with your diabolical plan.
“Are you sure about that?” You ask, halo of innocence placed perfectly in place.
“I HAVE!” he protests, so loud that the waitress glances over from her spot. And if looks could kill, the Fantastic Four would be opening auditions for someone who can set themselves on fire and not die. “Baby, don’t do this to me–“
The waitress finally returns, and slams down the biggest plate of fries known to mankind on the table. They look golden and crispy, shining in all of their glory. She pushes them toward you, looking at Johnny dead in the eye. Next to it, she places a smaller plate with a few scattered fries you can count with your fingers, and what looks like a teaspoon of chili on top of them, pushing it towards Johnny.
Well, he was surprised after all.
“Don’t worry, fire boy. This one’s on the house,” she say, deceptively sweet.
“Wait, no, I’ll pay for them–“
“I’ll get your burger,” she says flatly and walks away.
“So what, I’m chopped liver now?” Johnny exclaims to his miserable ‘side of fries’, turning to you exasperatedly. “Sweetheart, what have you done? How do I know she didn’t spit on mine? She said extra twice!”
You chuckle, but his tragic ocean eyes finally manage to crack your resolve. Ugh. Fine.
“Remember the cover you did last month? For that teen magazine?” You start. He nods slowly, remembering the ridiculous charming pose he’d done. “I was reading it the other day, and I saw something about this trend where girls ask their boyfriends if they’re ‘allowed’ to order something and it makes them panic.”
You bite back another chuckle, while Johnny just looks flabbergasted, to say the least.
“You…you pranked me with a magazine that has my own face on it??”
You nod proudly, reaching for a fry without a single care in the world. He exhales, rubbing his face like a weight just got lifted off his shoulders.
“You’re so lucky I worship the ground you walk on,” he shakes his head, voice muffled by his hands. “But you’re evil. My fragile heart can’t take this.”
“Oh come on, fire boy. It’s not that bad! I got us free fries,” you sing-song.
“That’s not–sweetheart, you know I’d buy you the whole restaurant if you want fries,” he says, still distressed, in a way you’re not used to coming from him.
“Hey,” you soften, reaching for his hand. “I know, Johnny.”
“Do you?” He insists, feeling bad for something he has never even done.
“Baby, I know,” you give him a little squeeze, guilt taking over your features. “You’re literally the least controlling person on the planet. I just wanted to see your reaction.”
He nods, bringing his free hand to clutch the pearls he doesn’t have in theatrical devastation. “You gave me a heart attack there, princess,” he exhales dramatically. “Am I allowed to cry?”
You snort, slapping his arm weakly. “When have I ever denied you anything?”
“Right now. You’ve denied me the will to live.”
“Oh my god, Johnny!” You laugh louder this time. You finally see the corner of his lips curl at that. “Okay, for the record, I’m sorry.”
“We’re talking about severe emotional damage here, sweetheart, and ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it.”
A yelp escapes your lips when his warm hands close around your waist, hauling you straight into his lap in a matter of seconds. You instinctively grab onto him as the table gets bumped, the glorious mountain of fries loses a few casualties that slide dramatically onto the table.
“Johnny!”
“What?” He says innocently, tightening his grip on your waist. “Am I not allowed to hold my girl?” He tilts his head, mirroring your earlier tone perfectly.
“You’re never letting that go, are you?” You groan, even as you can’t fight the smile growing on your face.
“Nope,” he shakes his head. “I need to process my trauma somehow.”
“Uh-huh. Got any better ideas?” You tease, brushing a few strands of blonde hair out of his forehead. He closes his eyes briefly, in his head your soft touch is enough to forgive you for every crime you’ve ever committed, but he has to keep it together.
You want ‘controlling’? Oh he’ll give you controlling.
“I have many ideas, love,” he says smugly, then leans closer to you, warm breath ghosting over your ear. “If you’re gonna ruin my reputation in public, maybe I get to ruin you in private as compensation.”
Your breath hitches, making him chuckle this time.
“And for the record? You’re allowed anything you want,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss on your jaw. “Especially me.”
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 feedback is always appreciated <3 beautiful divider by @uzmacchiato
Taglist: @callmefatherr
I have taglists for my separate fics/series but if you want to be added to the general one just let me know.
Summary: Sam has noticed how much you look at Eric, and encourages you to go for what you want because no one knows how much time there is left.
Note: I hope you enjoy this story about my dear sweet wet boy 🥰
Warnings: movie canon violence
Words: 3.6k
What meds do you need?
With a shaky hand, Sam reaches out and takes her notebook and marker from Eric. She hastily scribbles down a few words, her eyes blinking every few seconds as if she’s fighting off sleep.
Her thin arm drops off the side of the bench, weakly offering the notebook back to Eric. You watch his doe eyes scan over the words before he tears the paper out of the book.
Eric nods as he folds up the sheet and slips it into his pocket. He gives you a terse smile that you don’t have the energy to return. Your eyes follow him as he steps through the rubble and debris towards the front door of the church.
The moment he’s out of sight, you push yourself off the dirty floor, grab Sam’s Bai, and take a seat next to her head on the bench. The struggle to lift her head is apparent so you quickly slide closer so her head can rest on your lap. She gives you a look of thanks before she sips from the bottle.
Once she finishes, Sam gestures to the notebook on the top of her “I heart NY” tote. Luckily, you can reach it without jostling her head too much.
The marker scratches against the paper as she writes. It takes her a minute longer than it did for her to write out the medication she needs, so you’re curious about what it says as she hands it to you over her head.
I see how you keep looking at him. You going to say anything or what?
Heat floods your face, and you swear everyone else in the church is able to read the note over your shoulder. Doing your best to shake it off, you write back a quick message before handing the notebook back to Sam.
Not allowed to speak at all.
She reads what you wrote and drops the notebook onto her chest, letting her eyes roll up so she can give you the most unamused glare you’ve ever seen.
As if Frodo is also unimpressed with your answer, he crawls out from beneath the bench, stretches his front legs out with his tail in the air, then heads towards the door.
Funny. Pretty sure your eyes have left him all of twice since we left the apartment.
It had been pure luck seeing Sam and Eric come into the apartment building last night. The distinctly human footsteps walked past the door of your apartment on the fourth floor and your curiosity got the better of you. You’d been held up in your home since the start of whatever kind of invasion this is and the need to see another live human being was too strong to deny. Though this was just last night it feels like another lifetime ago.
This is possibly the end of the world, and you want me to what? Tell Eric I think he’s cute?
You can’t help but see the twisted humor in the fact that you and Sam are sitting in a dilapidated old church, in the middle of what seems to be an alien invasion, and the two of you are writing notes back and forth to one another like high school girls gossiping.
I’m saying to go for what you want. We could be dead in a minute for all we know. Don’t waste your time.
It’s hard to argue that point with someone you know has limited time left. It’s even harder to argue because you know she’s right. But even though you’re in survival mode now, you’re still you and don’t find things like this easy. Call it insecurity or trauma from high school when the guy you had a massive crush on found out about it and laughed in your face. Things like that don’t just go away—even in the apocalypse.
We’re focusing on staying alive right now, Sam.
You’re deflecting.
It’s just the truth.
It’s still deflecting.
What do you want me to say, huh? I’m already scared for my life, I don’t need heartache on top of everything else right now.
Why do you think it would be heartache?
Because guys like him aren’t interested in girls like me.
Guys like him? Girls like you?
Yeah. Handsome, smart, kind. And me, not those things. I don’t need to feel like the rejected high school girl again right now.
Are you shitting me? This isn’t high school. Either tell Eric how you feel or agonize over what could have been.
Again, trying to survive right now.
So afterwards. On the boat out of here.
Maybe.
If I had the strength to wring your neck, I would. Cancer has fucked up my life but one thing it did do is show me how useless shame is. There’s no time for being embarrassed, it’s just a waste.
Why do you care so much?
What? You’re not getting my loving and nurturing vibe?
Ha. But really.
You’re both good people who deserve to be happy. If you can find that in each other then I think you should at least try.
Fine. On the boat. I’ll say something to him there.
Swear on Frodo.
That’s not fair.
Do it.
Fine, I swear on Frodo.
Sam seems content after that and closes her notebook and rests it on her abdomen.
It seems somewhat like emotional blackmail when the woman dying of cancer makes you swear on her sweet, adorable service cat.
The arguing (if you could call it that) has drained some of Sam’s energy and you see her eyes start to flutter closed. But a spark lights in her eyes, and she opens the notebook once more. At first you think she has something else to say to you about the whole crushing on Eric thing, but this sentence is for her.
My dad played beautiful piano.
A bittersweet smile rests on your lips.
Sam tries to put the notebook back down on her bag, but a wince tells you that the effort is hurting her. Gently, you take the notebook from her and set it down. She nods her head in thanks.
For the better part of an hour, Sam dozes on and off. It doesn’t seem like a particularly restful sleep she’s getting, but you hope it’s doing something to help her.
When Eric comes back, Frodo leading him in, he looks exhausted. Not that any of you were in top form these days, but Eric looks even more haggard than when he left. Still cute, though. Unfairly cute.
As he walks towards you and Sam on the bench, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box no bigger than a Polaroid picture. With a slight wince, Eric kneels next to Sam and begins getting the patch out and free from its adhesive.
Sam tilts herself to the side and you help her turn enough that she can show Eric where to place it.
Once it’s firmly on her skin and Sam is comfortably on her back again, it only takes a few minutes before the relief is visible. Her body has relaxed, her breathing down to a steady pace, and she looks the most at peace you've ever seen her. It feels like your heart has been run through with a sword when you think about all this poor woman must have gone through.
“My dad played beautiful piano.”
Eric held Sam’s notebook in his hand, smiling at the few words. You just hope that’s the only page he stays on. He turns his head and meets Sam’s eyes.
“I loved it when he would bring me to watch him play,” Sam says, voice ragged and weak. “Then we’d get pizza at Patsy’s.”
That explains the odd insistence for pizza when the world is ending.
“What happened to him?” you ask softly.
There are a few moments where Sam doesn’t speak, and you begin to think she’s not going to answer you.
“He died,” she says. The pain in her watery eyes is palpable. You would want to wrap her up in a hug if she weren’t in so much pain. “Like I am now.”
The sad truth said out loud at last. You haven’t heard either of them say it up to this point.
“Not before we get pizza,” Eric tells her.
A small smile ticks up the corners of Sam’s mouth.
“Not before we get pizza,” she agrees.
The ship is leaving the port. It’s not too far out so it would be possible for you all to still secure passage on it. But then the dread in your stomach grows as you watch creature after creature step onto the sandy shore. They take great care to stay far enough away from the water, though.
You, Sam, Eric, and Frodo trudge through the wreckage of cars and building debris scattered along the road.
The four of you drop behind the carcass of an old van, all of you pressing your backs up against the tarnished metal.
A shuddering breath comes from next to you and your head whips towards Eric, who is between you and Sam. His eyes tear up and he grits his teeth, trying to ward off the anxiety that’s creeping up.
Sam immediately presses a hand to Eric’s chest and in the lowest whisper possible says, “Breathe.”
You take one of Eric’s hands in your own and give it an encouraging squeeze. Hoping he’ll follow your lead, you take a large breath in, then let it out. It helps a bit, but the anxiety is so strong. How could it not be in the situation you’re all prisoners to?
Your eyes move from Eric to Sam as you watch her nuzzle her face against Frodo and press kisses to his black and white fur. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s saying goodbye to him. Then she hands Frodo to Eric, and it hits you. She was saying goodbye to Frodo. Instinct tells you to fight her on this, but how can you? One, you can’t speak. And two, who are you to tell her not to do this? If it were you, you’d rather go out trying to save the lives of your companions rather than let a vicious disease let you waste and wither away, slowly and painfully as the world ends around you. Sam is thinking that her life is almost up, and she’d rather buy yours and Eric’s lives with the short time she has left.
Sam pushes herself into a crouch as Eric clings to Frodo, holding him close to his chest. You let go of Eric’s hand so he can hold onto the cat better—Lord knows he’s already run away enough times.
“Run,” Sam whispers.
Before she takes off, you look her in the eye and nod your head once. Between that and the tears building in your eyes, you hope she sees your acknowledgment of what she’s doing and all the gratitude you can convey to her.
Sam nods in return, telling you she knows. Then, she’s gone. You see her crouch down behind cars as she makes her way through the lot. She picks up a crowbar and smashes it through a still-intact window of a car.
The smashing glass catches the attention of the creatures, and you know the time to move is now. Looking at one another, both you and Eric take a deep breath before getting up from behind the car.
Monsters rush past you, leaving you almost no room to dodge them as they race in the direction of the noise Sam is making. It seems like a miracle once the two of you see the dock ahead, no creatures between you and there.
Your sprint turns into a run, Eric keeping pace right beside you as he holds Frodo securely against him. A few steps onto the pier, Eric’s foot kicks a large metal can that skids a few feet away. It clangs as it tumbles, and the monsters hear it.
There’s no need for you to look back; you know they’re coming. All energy reserves go into your legs as you run faster. The rail around the dock is broken in one place, giving you and Eric the perfect opportunity to jump into the water.
But they’re getting closer.
You can hear the monsters gaining on you, and a quick glance shows one leaping in the air, aiming to land right on top of you, Eric, and Frodo. But you jump. The flash of yellow beside you brings immense relief as you hit the water—both of you jumped in time.
As you surface, you look back and see a gang of creatures waiting at the exact spot you and Eric leapt from. Two heads pop up next to you, one human and one cat, both safe. If this were any other circumstance, you would probably chuckle at how Frodo looks all wet.
Eric gazes back at the land with you and you both see Sam, standing between two dedicated cars.
Shouts come from the ship behind you, encouraging you to swim over to them. Without saying a word to each other though, both you and Eric take the time to look back at Sam. To watch her, this brave woman in every sense of the word. There could never be a way for either of you to thank her enough, but you hope she feels some semblance of it.
Wide brown eyes meet yours as you turn towards Eric. The two of you bob in the water for a few moments, looking at each other as you attempt to catch your breaths. Now it’s time to get to the boat. It’s time to get to safety.
Once the three of you have made it to the boat, you’re helped on board and assured that you’re safe now. Blankets are brought to wrap around you, Eric, and one for Frodo as well.
It seems impossible to attempt relaxation after the last few days’ events, but there’s nothing else to do as the ship sails slowly along. Where it’s headed, you don’t know. You don’t particularly care at the moment, either.
You, Eric, and Frodo make yourself comfortable in a small alcove on deck. It feels like you fall in a heap together, collective exhaustion kicking in. You weren’t even aware of how tired you were until this moment. The adrenaline finally starts to wear off and you lay your head down on Eric’s shoulder. You don’t intend to, but you quickly fall asleep against him.
When you wake, your head is still on Eric. Slowly, you sit up straight and smile when you see Frodo sleeping on Eric’s chest, all curled up in his blanket. Eric’s gaze catches yours and the moment you look into the beautiful brown eyes that make your knees weak, you remember what you promised Sam. On the boat. I’ll say something to him there.
After everything you’ve been through, you now understand clearer than ever what Sam meant about there being no time for embarrassment. No one knows if the next moment is their last, and do you really want to regret keeping your feelings inside? No. Plus, there was absolutely no way you could break your word to Sam after what she just did for you.
“Eric,” you start, unsure of how to phrase what you want to say. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. Gathering your nerve, you do. “I want…I have to tell you something.”
“Sure. Anything.”
Another deep breath. Sam’s voice whispers in your head, you can do this.
“I don’t, um, know where we’re going. Or what’s going to happen next. I can’t even begin to think about that, really. B-But I do know that I would like to stay with you for as long as you’ll let me. I like being with you.”
A shy smile grows on Eric’s face, and he nods his head.
“I like being with you, too,” he says. “I’d love to stick with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But can I ask you…is it because you think I’m cute?” Eric is trying his hardest not to smirk, but the look of surprise on your face threatens to overtake him.
“I-I…”
“Or well,” Eric says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and holds it between the two of you, “at least that’s what you told Sam.”
Your eyes dart down to the paper, and you recognize your and Sam’s handwriting. A gasp startles out of you as you realize it’s the note you and she passed back and forth in the church.
Eric is full on grinning when you look at his face again. His shoulders shake as he chuckles, and his laugh is infectious. You start giggling yourself and bring your hands up to cover your eyes.
“Oh my God, she ripped it out of the notebook and shoved it in her pocket? She thought I was gonna wimp out!”
Neither of you can stop laughing now. After being so scared and quiet for so long, it just feels so good.
Eric pulls out another piece of paper and hands it to you.
“She also wrote us this sweet note.”
The letter from Sam makes you smile, cry, and oddly, feel some form of peace. She’s home.
“Aw, Frodo,” you say as you fold the note back up. “You would be the handsomest boy even if you did get fat. But no, we’re not going to feed you too much.”
Eric chuckles and holds his arm open for you. You gladly accept the invite and curl up against his side. The scent of the salt water, wet cat, and the mustiness from the blankets do nothing to cover the scent that is pure Eric. You rest your forehead against his neck as he wraps his arm snugly around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“You know,” he says softly as he lays his head against yours, “I came very close to getting you and I killed multiple times.”
“What?” You frown as you reach your hand out to stroke the top of Frodo’s head. “How?”
“Well, when I first saw you, when you stepped out of your apartment, I didn’t say anything. Not only because I couldn’t, but I was speechless. You’re so pretty and I froze. Sam had to push me three or four times to get me to walk again. And then there were so many times I’d just look at you and almost blurt out how beautiful you are. Because your beauty is something that’s impossible to keep quiet about. Then I got to know how kind you are. So compassionate, brave, selfless. Your beauty runs farther than skin deep and it made me even more of a bumbling idiot.”
You can’t help but giggle as you bury your head farther into the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet.
“But I do have a bone to pick with you,” Eric says.
Reluctantly, you pick your head up to look him in the eye.
“Why?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.
He picks the note between you and Sam back up and begins to read a part aloud.
“Why do you think it would be heartache?
Because guys like him aren’t interested in girls like me.
Guys like him? Girls like you?
Yeah. Handsome, smart, kind. And me, not those things. I don’t need to feel like the rejected high school girl again right now.”
He lowers the note and shakes his head.
“Now, I don’t know what kind of absolute prats you went to high school with, but anyone who rejected you is, quite literally, insane. And I don’t like this talk about ‘girls like you.’ You make it seem like such a bad thing to be you. But you’re possibly one of the best people I’ve ever met. And I know that after only knowing you for about two days. And it didn’t take me more than four seconds to see how stunning you are. Frodo and I want you to see yourself the way we do. Right, boy?”
Both of you look down at the snoozing cat and you scratch between his ears with a chuckle.
“I’ll work on it,” you say earnestly.
Frodo tilts his head and you let your hand drop. You lift your head and Eric is so close. It would barely take any movement for his lips to be on yours. So, you make that move. The hand that was petting Frodo comes up to cup Eric’s jaw as you lean in and press your lips against his.
Eric’s body immediately sinks against yours, holding you tighter as he kisses you back with urgency. It’s as if he remembers the two of you have more time now and he can savor this moment as he slows the kiss down, enjoying exploring your mouth at a lazy speed. There’s no rush anymore. You’re safe and both here together.
When you part, he rests his forehead against yours and you’re pretty sure there are identical grins on both of your faces.
“I can’t wait to hear your laugh over and over again,” you tell him.
“I can’t wait to hear you say my name,” he replies.
“Eric.” It’s the first time you’ve been able to say it above the lowest of whispers. “Eric, Eric, Eric.”
His grin grows even larger, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips.
