#but it’s getting late and I’m getting hungry

[alexsnerdycorner]

Animalistic (Logan X Reader smut)

Title: Animalistic

Word Count: 2079

Warning: Smut, slight exhibitionism (if you squint), kitchen sex, oral (f and m receiving), PIV sex, multiple orgasm (f)

Fandom: X-Men/X-Men Movies

Pairing: Logan X Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature, Explicit

Request: I need someone to write a Logan Howlett x reader where reader can communicate with animals and she finds out she can also hear logan’s thoughts (bc that man IS an animal lets be real) at first she doesn’t realize who’s /what’s thoughts she is hearing but gets closer with logan and realizes it’s him when he starts thinking about her

Tags: @grapejollyrancher @pinkiemme

Summary: You’re a mutant who can communicate with animals. Lately you thought you’ve been going crazy, getting images and feelings when there were no animals around. One night you wake from a weird nightmare and find Logan in the kitchen. You soon discover that the nightmare was Logan’s and that you’re not going crazy, but that you can communicate telepathically with him. Smut ensues.   

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up. I’ve had lots to do with work and personal life. I also got sick five times since September. I also made it so the reader can see his thoughts more than hear them – you’ll see how it works out.

Work:

From a young age you could communicate with animals. You got feelings and flashes of images from them. You discovered it first with your friend’s dog. Whenever you were over there you felt happiness radiating off of him and glimpses into his mind. When the dog was hungry you would get images of kibble and feelings of hunger. You would always be the first to know when the dog needed to go outside and use the bathroom.

When you were a young adult your parents discovered your abilities and sent you to live at the Xavier institute. You loved it there. Mostly because it was quiet and there was very little animal activity. You studied there for a little while and then became an animal sciences teacher.

When a man named Logan and a girl named Rogue came to the institute things began to get more complicated. You would feel angry, agitated, or afraid for no apparent reason. You would get images – no memories that weren’t your own. You thought you were going crazy. You were too scared to even tell the Professor.

One night you woke after a terrible nightmare. Too afraid to go back to sleep, you trudged down to the kitchen and found Logan there.

“Hey, Y/N” He said, “What are you doing up? It’s almost midnight.”

“I could ask you the same thing, Logan” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You suddenly felt parched as if you hadn’t drunk anything all day.

“Touche” Logan opened the fridge. He grabbed a soda out, opened it and chugged the contents. Your feelings of thirst were suddenly gone. Weird.

“I had a nightmare and I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” You finally admit to your friend.

Logan let out a mirthless laugh, “You and me both, bub. Wanna talk about it?”

“I…I don’t want to sound crazy,” you said. Pulling at the hem of your nightgown. Logan looked over at you with an unreadable expression. Flashes of male hands sensually roaming a female body went through your mind.

“You could never sound crazy,” Logan said.

“I don’t know about that,” you let go of your nightgown’s hem and crossed your arms across your chest. You looked away from Logan and felt a heat wash over you as you got glimpses of a man kissing a woman’s breasts.

“Try me,” he responded drawing you out of your visions.

“Okay, well, I was in this lab of sorts and my body was hooked up to these wires and tubes and stuff. And I was submerged in water or something and I was in pain. Lots and lots of pain. I looked over to a man, Stryder, I think, and get so angry at him I want to kill him, but I don’t. I don’t know why I don’t. But I pull all the tubes and wires and stuff off my body and start to run but then feel a sharp stinging pain and then I woke up,” You looked back up at Logan whose eyes were wide.

“Stryker. His name was Stryker,” Logan said quietly.

“Yes, how did you…” You trailed off.

“Because that’s my nightmare. My past,” he threw the bottle of soda away.

“What? How… Why?” You stuttered.

“I don’t know, Y/N.” Logan said, “Let’s go to the professor in the morning and see if he knows what is going on.”

“No! I’m not crazy. It was just a coincidence. Must be,” You shrugged.

“I never said you were,” Logan held out a hand to calm you. He licked his lips and you received flashes of a man undressing a woman with a similar nightgown to yours. You felt wetness pool in your panties.

Could it be? No, you thought. It can’t be him.

“Quick, logan, what are you thinking right now,” You spoke up.

“What? I don’t see – ” He began.

“Just tell me.” You interrupted.

“I…Y/N, I don’t see how this is relevant.” His face turned bright red.

“You’re thinking about me, aren’t you.”

“Well, I am talking to you.”

“But you’re thinking of me in a different way than just talking to me, aren’t you Logan? You’re thinking about fucking me, aren’t you.”

“What are you on about, Y/N?” Logan cleared his throat.

“I think I know why I had your nightmare. I can communicate with you like I can with animals, can’t I?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Logan denied it but you knew deep down that it was true.

“Stop lying, please. Ever since you and Rogue arrived several months ago, things have been different for me. I thought I was going crazy and just seeing and feeling things without an explanation.  But it’s been you this whole time, hasn’t it.” You said without taking a breath.

“I suspected a little after we first met. I could feel you in my mind.” Logan sighed, “But it was all just suspicions. I didn’t know for sure, not until just now when you told me about the nightmare.”

“So, what were you just thinking about, Logan?” You stepped towards him while maintaining eye contact.

“Princess, I think you know.” He cleared his throat.

“I do. But I want to hear you say it,” you closed the remaining gap so that he was inches away from you.

“I was thinking how damn fine you look in that fucking nightgown.” He purred, “And I was wondering how you would look without it.”

“Well, there is only one way to find out, isn’t there” you smirked and looked up at him through your heavy eyelids.

In a flash Logan’s mouth was on top of yours, kissing you hungrily.

“My room.” You said between kisses.

“No. Here.” Logan growled while his fingers grazed the hem of your nightgown and his mouth moved to your neck. You let out a moan and your hands roamed his chest over his white t-shirt.

“We’ll get caught, Logan,” you whined.

“If anyone is up past midnight, they deserve to catch a show.”

You would have cared more but the ache you felt for him was too strong. You nudged his lips up to yours and bit onto his bottom lip.

“Oh, look whose got the animalistic tendencies now.” Humor shone in his eyes.

You giggled and went back to kissing him. Logan ran his large hands up your thighs and hooked them onto your nightgown hem. He took the hem and lifted. You complied and he took the nightgown off your body and threw it to the floor. He then moved onto your soaked panties. WHen he saw the pool of wetness in them, he grinned. 

He took some time to look at your naked body. To soak your beauty in. When he had enough of the view he ran his rough hands over your soft breasts, toying with your nipples. He brought his lips down to your breasts and pressed a kiss between the two.

“Ya know, I’ve wanted to do this since I met ya, princess.”

You smirked at him and removed his shirt, “Really? Is there anything else you’ve been wanting to do?”

“Well, yeah, a couple of things, actually. Now that you ask.”

You put your hands on the buckle to his belt and pull it. It releases, “I see. Care to share with the class, Mr. Logan?”

He put his hands over yours and pulled his belt off, tossing it onto his shirt. He popped the button of his jeans and undid the zipper. Then the thought of you sucking a long thick cock came into your head. Logan smiled at you. You returned it and got on your knees. You pulled down his pants and boxers, allowed him to step out of them and then looked up at your daunting task. He was huge. While a little above average length, he was very girthy. Your hand couldn’t fit around him on its own if you tried. You lifted your lips to his cock and gently kissed the tip of it.

”Fuck,”  He let out a gruff moan, “y/n.”

The corners of your mouth turned upwards as you took him into your mouth. You moved your mouth forward and back while you found his eyes locked onto yours. His eyes worshiped you even from this position. Soon you felt his cock twitch in your mouth. Logan pulled back and he slipped out of your mouth. 

“Princess, if you keep it up, I won’t be able to fuck you the way I can smell you need it. Now get up here and kiss me.”

You obeyed. His cock was squished between the two of you. Logan pushed you back into the counter, lifted you up, and sat your bare ass on it. You yelped at the cold granite counter top. Logan stopped in his tracks and looked at you with concern. 

“I’m okay, just cold,” You reassured him.

“Well, let's fix that,” he smirked and knelt down on the floor in front of you. Logan steadied his rough calloused hands on your thighs and bent his head toward your core. You felt a warm wet tongue lick a strip up to your clit. You sighed in pleasure. He worked his tongue and lapped at your clit as he hummed against you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Logan.”

You could feel the scruff of his trim beard tickle the insides of your thighs as he smiled. You ran your hands through his headband tugged gently. He inserted a finger into your pussy and you gasped, not ready for him to do that so quickly. He worked his mouth and his fingers in unison. You squirmed under his touch. Logan added a finger to your pussy and you swore, “fucking hell.”

“You good, princess?” he said into your pussy, making brief eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” you said breathily, “keep going, Logan, please.”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. He dove back into your core and licked in circles at the bud of your clit. You moaned and tried to squeeze your legs together, but Logan’s head and other hand stopped you from getting too far. You could feel the knot in your core tightening and tightening, it was not that far off from bursting. 

“I’m close, Logan, Really close.”

“I want you to cum on my mouth, princess,” he said gruffly against your core before returning to his pleasurable assault on your clit. 

Your hips involuntarily bucked up and you cried out Logan’s name. Pure bliss radiated throughout your body. Logan returned to his standing position and brought his lips to yours. You could taste your sweet juices on his lips. 

“Are you ready to take my cock, y/n?” 

You nodded, unable to speak yet. That was all Logan needed for him to pull you to the edge of the counter, line himself up to your entrance, and push his way into your soaking core. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he started to buck his hips slowly. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He hit your g-spot once, twice, and three times. You moan his name loudly and scratch your nails down his back. In return he pulled your hair not too gently but not enough to really hurt you.

“y/n,” he growled, “do that again and I might just finish before we’re done” 

You drew him in deeper with your legs. He grunted. Your hands roamed his entire body. His one hand toyed with your boob while the other was a steady constant on your back. 

He shifted you to hit your g-spot again. And you shouted out in excitement. The knot in your sore was tangling again. 

“Logan, I’m close.” You whispered into his ear. 

“Me too, Princess.” He thrust into you to punctuate each word. 

He sped up slightly. The knot came undone and you came on his cock. His moves became erratic. And he was not too far after you to spill his seed inside of you. He stayed inside you for a moment as the two of you hung onto each other and panted. 

When you pulled apart he looked you in your eyes and spoke softly, “come to bed with me, maybe company will stave off the nightmares?”

You nodded, still unable to speak. Slowly, the two of you dressed and went up to his room.

You fell asleep in his arms and slept the night away without any more nightmares.

[madamechrissy]

♔ Silent Serenades ♔

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Duke Satoru Gojo x Duchess Reader

♔ Content/Warnings: Explicit sexual content, pregnancy sex, lots of teasing and nipple play, super smutty and emotional, Oral ( m and f recieving) mentions of jealousy and past angst- a lot of closure I hope you enjoy

♔ Word count: this chap: 9k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you at all, leaving you a crying mess on your wedding night, alone. Now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage that destroys you from within. Royal AU, Cruel Duke Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful in this. You'll hate Satoru, warning you now. HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

A/N- dual povs <3 Comments and Reblogs verry appreciated if you enjoy

♔ Part Fourteen ♔ Masterlist ♔ Playlist

Part Fifteen- Take me back to the night we met

Satoru is going to be… a father.

You’re showing just a bit, a little roundness to your tummy and breasts, but mostly he can tell by your glow. They way your eyes glimmer brighter, the way your skin illuminates just so, as if it’s shimmering, he’s never seen anything like it, like your beauty with his child growing in you. How could you get more beautiful? It seemed unreal, just your little smile destroys him in an instant.

You’re snuggling up to his arm as you both near the inn on your journey up to Scotland, you’d been beaming about it all morning, Satoru just hopes he can make everything perfect, while still being somewhat terrified of what being a father will mean. Of fucking it all up royally, of not being good enough, and also he’s terrified of what the pregnancy means for you.

He’s heard horror stories of women in labor, of them dying after having children or even during, and that’s one thing Satoru cannot have, anything happening to you, ever. The thought of living one day without you is a torturous one that he just doesn’t think he could ever handle, you are his everything, you are his sun and his moon, his air in his lungs.

Now there will be a baby, and you’re already so damn thrilled, your little hand rests on your tummy already, having had it confirmed by the physician, you’d been a little sick at first but now you’re just sleepy very often. But your heart is so full, as you look up at your husband, who smiles softly at you, caressing your face while the carriage rocks back and forth.

“What are you thinking of, devious little Duchess?” He teases, you giggle then, chin tilting up as you look into the swirling blue storms of his eyes.

“Thinking how excited I am, for everything. I’ve never even seen Scotland, and I’m going to marry you again-”

“It’s going to be our first marriage, I refuse to acknowledge that night.” His words are a little hoarse, breaking your heart.

Satoru is harder on the past than you are to him, surely, you don’t think anyone could punish themselves more than he does. “Of course, you are right, this is our choice, hmm?”

“Our choice. My choice. Always you.” He kisses you, passionate presses of his lips, until you’re both heated, because when isn’t it that way?

No amount of domestic bliss truly helps the intense and insane need that the both of you constantly have for each other. The way he touches you, grabs you, possessive and hungry, the way your lips both move, desperate and messy, tongues sliding, teeth nipping. His hand entangles in your hair, yours clutches the stark fabric of his jacket.

Satoru’s kissing down your neck, yanking out a breast almost from your bodice, hot hungry kisses down your chest that make your back arch for more. “You’re more beautiful, you kill me.” He murmurs, as he nips a sensitive nipple with sharp teeth, earning a whine.

“I’m always wet lately, it’s so bloody inconvenient.” You grumble, he grins so deviously now, one of his big hands squishing a breast as he peeks at you with his swirling blue eyes.

“I love it, how’s it inconvenient, bratty girl?”

“It’s all the time, Satoru, is this some odd symptom!? Ah!” Satoru’s sucking your nipple in his mouth, hot and wet, your eyes roll back in your skull.

“Mmm…” He pulls back with a pop, saliva dripping from his lips, sapphire eyes locking on yours. “I have no clue of pregnancy, any more than you. Just know that you’re even sexier, god these tits, look at em.” Your eyes dart down, seeing them marked, glittering and glossy.

“They’re getting huge! You would like that, hmm?” Your eyes narrow and he snorts in laughter, kissing you as the heat pools between your thighs.

“Oh yes, can’t wait till they’re even fuller. Dripping milk.”

“You’re so insane sometimes, Duke… all the time, actually.” You whisper, but it’s half hearted, his dilated gaze so hungry only makes you more sensitive and needy.

“You love it, hmm, love me insane for you? Slutty Duchess.”

“Shush, man whore.” He glares now, snowy lashes lowering, cutting your giggle off with a bite that makes you gasp. “Ow!”

“Shut your pretty mouth, you love it.” You shove at him, looking at your now puffy nipple, before he yanks you on his lap, and you’re pressed against him, feeling he’s just as excited for you, when the carriage stops. “Just wait till I get you in the room.”

“Oh?” You smile just a bit, and he smirks, looking like the charming ass of a man he is.

“Oh.” He teases back, kissing you deeply, before pulling back and smiling. “Are you excited?”

“Very.”

The rolling hills of Scotland are breathtaking when you all arrive at Satoru’s estate a few days later, somewhere he hasn’t been in many, many years, not since he left everything for a time to escape here. A time when he had to escape his father, escape Adelia, he had spent much time here, alone.

The memories linger but are so quickly replaced by the beauty of you in everything that you do. Despite the insane beauty of the rolling land, of the hills and cliffs jutting out, the warm sun illuminating everything, Satoru can’t help but watch you, as you’re eyeing everything in wonder, your face lit up.

You are a better sight than anything.

“It’s a far cry from London, hmm?” He teases, and you shake your head, hair loose and flowing softly over your shoulders, as you clutch your little green cape tightly around you.

“It’s a million times better than London ever could be. Oh, I do not think I’ll ever want to go back!?” You grab his hand as you look up at his sprawling estate, so different from the Gojo manor, no it’s breathtaking and bright, not dark and brooding like what you’re used to, brighter and more open.

Satoru chuckles as you run up to the doors, lifting your skirts as you do, smiling behind your shoulder at him. “A chase, hmm?” You nod, giggling, and Satoru runs after you, quickly catching you with his long strides. “Got you.”

“Because you’re so lanky! No fair!” He picks you up, chuckling and spinning you in his arms, kissing you over and over. You’re melting in his embrace, arms wrapped around his neck as he holds you tight.

“Are you ready to see inside? I had them prepare it for us.” You nod eagerly, and Satoru carries you over the threshold in his arms, your feet still dangling, slippers up off the stone floor.

When he puts you down, you are greeted with several servants waiting for his orders, and you take in the surroundings of the castle, the immaculate high ceilings, every aesthetic so different from Gojo Manor. It’s much older, hundreds of years you imagine, things are more simple and slate gray, versus the ornate paintings and coverings of the manor.

“Your Grace.” They all curtsey and bow, one of the men in kilts come up and smiles at you both then.

“Hello there, it’s been a long time.” Satoru says, smiling and patting him on the shoulder, the slender man with glasses smiles.

“Indeed it has, Master Gojo.” You blink a bit at the name.

“He sort of raised me for a few years.” Satoru murmurs, and you smile brightly up at him then.

“Then it’s a pleasure!”

“And a pleasure to meet this lovely wife of Master Gojo’s. He does go on and on in his letters-”

“Ah-ah.” Satoru scowls at him, but you’re giggling behind your gloved hand.

“So sorry, Master Gojo. Well then, shall we show you to your chambers? The ceremony is set for tomorrow.”

“Indeed, it sounds perfect.” Soon you and Satoru are in a giant bedroom with an even bigger bed than you have seen, you’re wide eyed at it.

“Was this meant for your harem?”

“Psh, brat.” You giggle as he helps unlace your bodice, pecking little kisses along the backs of your shoulders. “I was not whoring in Scotland.”

“Good, no need to burn all your beds.” You peek up at him with a little smile, he laughs softly then, cupping your face as your bodice falls to the ground, kissing your lips softly.

“I’d burn the world for you, Duchess.” You gasp as he unlaces your stays, unzipping your skirts until you’re bare, looking at the mirror in front of you, his hand splaying the expanse of your stomach.

“The things you say ruin me, Duke.” He exhales, kissing across the nape of your neck now, your head falls back against his chest, moaning softly.

“I desire to ruin your pretty mind, pretty body every day, don’t you know?” You’re whimpering when his long fingers find you, your little pearl, soaking him as you watch, blushing from the sight, eyes wide and glittering. “Do you enjoy it, watching us?”

“It’s scandalous…” You murmur, he chuckles then, and you turn, undoing his vest, sliding off his dress coat, then his dress shirt carefully, baring his perfectly chiseled body to your gaze. You trace the fine muscles of him, while he looks in the mirror at the curve of your ass, the jut of your hips, making him hard when he grabs it, feeling it firm in his palms.

“God, look at you, pretty at every angle.” You nervously look behind yourself, as he spreads you just so, to where you see everything.

“Oh goodness. I’m not sure I’ve… seen all of this?” He laughs again, moaning when you look back at him, and he frees your hair from the endless pins, they clatter along the floor.

“I get to look at this every day, see how lucky I am?” He asks, and you smile sweetly, undoing the buttons of his breeches.

“I am the lucky one, looking at your body.” You start trailing kisses down his chest, pale and perfectly sculpted, tongue darting across a flat pink nipple, making his breath catch, when you start touching his cock gently.

“Fuck… get on your knees, Princess, hmm?” He orders softly, and you eagerly do, helping him out of his breeches completely, his pretty cock smacking his belly button before settling, jutting thick and long.

“And what does my Duke wish for me to do?” You tease, two little hands pressing into the muscles of his thighs, tongue kitten licking his tip, already leaking precum.

“You’ll make me beg for it?” He demands, and you giggle, nodding as he brushes back your hair, holding it in a ponytail, pulling just so.

“Would it hurt for you to beg?”

“You’re evil.” He groans, and you lick him again, but make no move to suck him, fingers darting across the soft white hair on the base of his cock.

“I can just kiss it?” You do just that, delighting in the tensing of his muscles, while blue eyes narrow.

“Bratty girl. Open your mouth.” You do just that. “Suck me down that tight little throat, please?”

You eagerly do as he asks then, sucking his cock down your throat eagerly, moaning and making him lose his tentative control, as he looks at the looking glass, seeing his beautiful wife on her knees, servicing him. He surely does not deserve any of this, he thinks, wondering just how he has you, when you suck him deeper and deeper with each stroke.

His hands pull at your hair when he begins to stroke his hips. “Want me to fuck your slutty throat, Princess?” His words end you, making you so soaked you’re aching to touch yourself.

You just nod a bit, and he begins to cup your face, fucking into your throat, groaning as you take him so well, as he feels you gagging and choking on his cock, staring at your pretty teary eyes. Drool, tears all pooling down and mixing with the salty sweet taste of him in your mouth, pussy throbbing around nothing, but your hands stay on his thighs.

“You’re such a good girl, you know only I can touch you?” You nod again, and Duke Gojo chuckles, sucking in a breath as he pulls you off him gently. “What if I let you, hmm?”

 You pull off, cheeks hollowing, licking your lips. “What? You never let me, you psychotic Duke.”

“Maybe I want you to.” He helps you up gently, kissing his taste off your lips, turning you until you’re on the bed.

“You really want to see me touch myself?” You’re blushing now, and he smiles as he watches the pretty color spread.

“You blush everywhere.”

“Hush! You’ve never…”

“I’ve spit in your mouth, and now you’re shy?” You cover your face, nodding, and he spreads your thighs, planting a little kiss on your clit, watching you jerk as his laugh tickles it. “You have tried to when you’ve sucked me.”

“Um… yes well…”

“It does not bother me if you… with…” He cups your face now gently, and your eyes meet his. “Whatever you did before me and you? It doesn’t bother me. I promise you, I know it’s only us.”

You blink rapidly, taking a nervous breath. “How’d you know?”

“You didn’t just figure out touching yourself on your own, sheltered as you were I imagine.” You nod then, nervously, biting your plump lower lip. “If I didn’t do things that I did with other women? Well we’d do nothing.”

“Whore.” He snorts.

“You’re a little slut.”

“Mmm…” You kiss him then, desperately, as he hovers over you.

“Show me, then. My permission.”

You take another breath, as he eases back on the bed, kneeling between your thighs, spreading them just so, you take a finger and place it between his lips, he moans as he sucks it into his mouth. After pulling it back with saliva dripping, you find your clit between your lips, pressing up and gasping, Satoru’s eyes dilate then, the pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

He watches hungrily as you run little circles over your clit, whining out, hips shifting, him watching you making it even more erotic, even naughtier to you. You’re growing slick under your ministrations, as you press on your clit that’s stiffening and twitching under your touch, wetness pooling to your little hole.

“Is that what you do? Have you cum from it?” He kisses your knee, hands itching to take over. You shake your head with a little moan.

“No… j-just feels good.” He exhales now, teeth nipping into the plush of your thigh, thumbs trailing down your skin in little circles.

“Make yourself cum, then, hmm? Keep showing me.” Satoru’s pearly seed is leaking out of his pretty pink tip as he watches you intently, hands gripping tighter as you keep rubbing circles, crying out as you do, fingers slick and glistening with your arousal. He’s stroking his cock now with a hand, moaning softly. “Put them in.”

“Inside?” You whisper, he nods then, and you flush even brighter, looking so pretty his cock aches to be buried in you. “Like this?”

You slip a finger inside yourself, breasts smushing between your arms as they press together, your other hand reaching for his shoulder, pulling him toward you just a bit, so that his hot length presses on your thigh just a bit as his hand moves. His grunts and the sound of the squishing wetness mix in the chamber, as his eyes worship every bit of you.

“Try two, you have tiny little fingers.” He says hoarsely, and you slip both in then, just to the first knuckle, pumping up and down, brows drawing together as you crave the cock he’s stroking right near you. “How’s it feeling, Duchess? Do you feel how tight you are?”

You manage a weak little nod, continuing to pump your fingers as he pumps his cock, his free hand gripping a breast, squishing it just so, thumb brushing across your nipple. You’re so wet your fingers slip, drenching your hole and further down, making a mess for his eyes, your eyes fluttering shut as you picture him so deep, making you more sensitive.

“Not gonna cum from this… need you, Satoru.” Satoru laughs softly, leaning over you now, taking your fingers and sucking them into his mouth, drinking your arousal off them, so sexy your cunt is clenching around nothing.

“Can’t even make yourself cum?” He taunts, tip pressing at your entrance, making you grip his arms tightly, feeling the muscles tensing under your grip.

“Need you.” You repeat again, desperately, and then he presses into you, moaning as he feels you gripping him.

“Your little fingers don’t stretch you out, do they?” You shake your head, feeling the delicious stretch as he sinks deeper, you’re whining now, thighs trembling against his hips, one of his hands slips up your waist as he presses his heavy weight over you, kissing down the side of your jaw. “You’re so tight, fuck…”

“Ngh…” Is all you manage to squeak out, when he sinks in fully, buried to the hilt inside you. “T-told you… too tiny to do… anything- ah!”

“Need mine, do you?” You nod eagerly, as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, rocking his cock inside you so deep, you’re close with just a few strokes, so overworked by your own ministrations, by him watching you.

“Only n-need you.” Duke Gojo is desperate then, frantic as he holds himself up on an elbow, the other arm grabbing one of your thighs, slinging it over his hip to sink himself deeper inside you.

“I only need you, Princess. Fucking perfect for me, just me.” You feel tears prick your eyes at the overwhelming sensations, of him fucking so deep into you, tip dragging just so on that spot in your velvety walls, as they drool down him.

“For you…” He drinks your cries, a hand entwining with yours over your head, slowly rocking his hips deep, you’re cumming all over his cock then, fluttering and gripping him so hard he can hardly stand it.

“I’ll stretch you out next time, this is too much… fuck…” You giggle, breathless, earning his glare.

“Too much for you, Duke? Gonna cum in me?” He slams into you then, shutting you up with one thrust against your cervix.

“Evil duchess. Yes.” You can’t giggle again, not when he’s lifting your hips like you’re his little doll, fucking into you harder and harder, until he’s cumming so deep, and you’re shattering with him, lips drinking in the cries that are echoing in the room, his cock pumping more and more cum until you’re too full.

“Oh my god…” You whisper, so breathless, Satoru has drips of sweat falling down onto you as he kisses you over and over, slowly pumping more and more of the seed spilling out of your hole.

“Do you have to feel so fucking good? Never wanna leave.” He muses, kissing you over and over.

“Mmm, she’ll push him out you know.”

“Yes, evil like you.” He eases out as your muscles contract, earning a glare from him now. “You’re so evil.”

“Says you! Didn’t even touch your bride to be?” He laughs then, kissing you and slipping a finger down your sensitive slit, making you jerk.

“I’ll take good care of you on the wedding night. Have my face buried in you, hmm?”

“On a plaid and everything?”

Satoru eases up now, sitting you up with him, a hand running down your spine, sending shivers across it. “You want me to lay you out on a plaid outside?”

“Outside!?” He smirks now.

“Yes outside, it’s how it’s done, you know, traditional Scottish weddings. You’d take your bride out to some pretty meadow and lay her down.” The images make you heat up all over again, he watches you curiously. “I see, slutty Scottish bride.”

“It does sound intriguing. But I’m more excited to wed you truly.” He pulls you against his chest tightly.

“As am I.”

The ceremony the next day leaves you breathless, as you walk into and see the rows and rows of candles along a trail in the dark evening, stars glittering the sky along with a bright full moon. You’re dressed in a traditional Scottish gown that clings to your figure, the material feeling thick and quite different than you’re used to, but it’s perfect for the slight chill in the air.

The evening breeze that gently caresses your overheated cheeks as you clutch a bouquet of hand picked flowers, flowers your husband picked. It seems insane, if you didn’t live through it you wouldn’t believe such a thing possible, your very rich and pampered husband digging through wildflowers in a grassy field, in his finest suit no less.

He’d given you this boyish, sweet grin as he’d handed them to you this morning, every day you see so much more charm in his blue eyes, glittering and swirling as he’d kissed your forehead this very morning. You fall deeper for him every moment, that he lets go, that he trusts you, that you see who he was and who he always has been, even when he didn’t show it.

Of course you remember it, the nights alone staring at your ceiling, terrified of the man but also yearning for him, torn into pieces and split in two. You remember the cruelty, but you look at it with different eyes. He was hurting deeply and hurt you in turn, and though it was not right, you no longer have resentment, not when he makes you feel so happy every day.

Not when he looks at you that way, when he touches your tummy, big hand splaying the slightly rounded expanse, smiling softly, his snowy lashes lowered as he pictures having a baby. Not when he is trying the best he can, despite being completely terrified at times at being a father, Satoru is trying, and he tries so hard every day, he slowly kisses away each worry.

You can feel it now, like a new beginning, grinning when you see him wearing a kilt of all things, Satoru Gojo in a kilt! You’re smiling so big your cheeks hurt, he’s got this sash over his chest, his white hair slicked back just so, his bare knees something one just never saw. He looks you up and down as you get closer, walking through the trail of candlelight.

You take his very breath away, bright and beaming, glowing with the baby inside you, each step you take bringing you further into his view. Your plaid makes you look like some medieval Princess, but you were his Princess, weren’t you? Clutching the flowers he’d picked so tightly, smiling so sweetly.

Satoru feels it, a new beginning, one where he can start over, his kilt fluttering slightly in the breeze as his eyes lock with yours. You feel a warmth spread through your body, reaching every part of your soul, heart racing and thrumming in your chest as you get closer and closer, and as you approach him, his gaze never leaves yours.

The priest is standing in front of him, holding a large ribbon in his hands, as Gojo’s grin glints in the darkness. Gojo’s hand reaches for yours, his grip firm but gentle, large hand taking your little one in his, bringing it up to his lips then, you feel the press of his lips on your skin as you take a little breath, air puffing just slightly with the chill that’s approaching.

The ribbon is placed over your joined hands, the Priest begins to wrap them, and an overwhelming sense of emotions are taking you over, something so beautiful then as you look at each other with soft smiles. When the Priest has finished wrapping you both together, handfasting it’s called, he smiles at you.

It’s just you two, there are no guests, no grand affair to see what is truly so beautiful, so precious with you both. No one but a couple people really know what happened, and even those that do know, have no sense of your hearts, your souls, that entwine with each other so deeply.

“Satoru Gojo,” you start softly, he exhales, looking intently as your entwined wrists press against each other. “I am so in love with you, with who you are, deep inside here, all smushy.”

“Tch.” He rolls his pretty blue eyes, and you giggle then, before sombering just a bit, stepping even closer, tilting your head to look up at him.

“I love who you are, how you make me feel. I love a new chance at this, a new start for us, so desperately needed.” Your voice drops to an emotional whisper, as Satoru’s eyes begin to glisten with his own tears. “I fell in love with you when I didn’t want to, when I fought it so hard, tooth and nail, but then even, I knew it, as I saw you in every dream.”

He whispers your name softly, his free hand cupping your cheek.

“And now, we will have a family, and I know it’s so quick, I know we still have so much to learn from each other, but I know you’ll be a great father, you’re a kind, smart, funny and sweet human, despite you acting so brooding.”

“Hush.” He’s holding back his own emotions, as your hand rests on his atop your cheek. “Making me cry, hmm? Bratty Duchess.”

“I love that you’re opening more and more to me.” You whisper then, voice hoarse with emotion. “I love you more with every breath I take, so overwhelming to me, and now… I love this so much.” You touch your tummy with your free hand, looking so beautiful with the candles glowing, casting shadows across the little stone path you both stand on.

Satoru says your name, earning your eyes looking up at his, eyes that are so intense it hurts at times to look at, eyes that pull you in, that make you ache, make your heart flutter. You cannot take it for just a moment, the intensity of the swirling blue orbs that once filled with detest for you, that now are so full of love, affection. Lust and want in equal measured.

“You make me feel that I have no need to be ‘perfect’.” You say softly, tears flowing down your cheeks as he gulps, his heart breaking for you. “I can be imperfect, and still be perfect for you.”

“You are perfect for me, in all your imperfections is where your beauty truly shines. Your witty, bratty mouth.” You giggle then, earning him sniffling just a bit, as you both have tears fall in the night. “Your laughter, your pretty genuine smile, not the little practiced one you used to throw around. You light up my heart with it, a heart I once thought shattered.”

“Oh, Satoru…” You’re resting your foreheads together as he bends low at the hip, his sweet breath against your lips.

“I have fallen madly in love with a messy, foul mouthed, emotional brat.”

“Excuse me!?”

“She has such a temper.” He rolls his eyes, smirking then, as you glare up at him. “She’s so pretty angry.”

“I swear you’re insolent!”

“You love it. You love me, whole heartedly, when I did not think or know I deserve love from you.” Teasing is gone now, as you listen with your breath caught in your throat. “You loved me when I was cruel, when I was low, you showed me kindness even in our most wicked battles against each other. You tried to understand me before I let you in.”

All you can do is nod weakly, feeling every bit of his soul with yours, as if the ribbons truly were binding you both.

“I promise you, with all that I am, I will never fail you again.” He clears his throat, as both of your hearts pound in your chest, and you are shaking your head. “Let me say this. I will be everything you need, everything you want, everything you deserve. I will give you the world, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Satoru!” You’re kissing him, you can’t help it, not when the man you love is there, when he’s promising to give you the world. His free hand entangles in your hair, lips working over yours, hungry. “I promise you, I will give you everything I am. I’m yours, Satoru Gojo, my Duke, my husband.”

“And you’ll have all of me, Princess. Every bit, even the parts you don’t want.” You laugh through your tears as you kiss him once more, softer now, before the priest clears his throat, both of you jumping slightly, blushing. You both look into each other’s eyes, as he says something in Gaelic, which both of you are unfamiliar with, watching curiously.

 He smiles at you both now. “In English - “With a tie not easy to break, take the time of binding.” His cadence is lilting as you and Satoru listen eagerly. “The wish that your marriage will be strong, that your love will last, in this life and beyond, what the ties symbolize.”

He gently eases the ribbons off you both, smiling at the two of you, a couple so in love one would never have a clue of what you both went through. He sees a tall young Duke so enamored with his pretty Duchess that he can’t look away for a second, and sees a pretty young lady that has stars in her eyes as she looks up at him, your love radiating and intense.

“I will leave you both to this.” The priest leans his head just a bit in the direction of the goblets of honey mead sitting on a little table in a pretty lit Gazebo, which you both pick up as you step under the awning, putting the rims to your smiling lips as you put the rim of yours to his, and you sip.

“We’re married, truly married this time.” You tease, he laughs then, pulling you against him, so very tightly with those strong arms you nearly fall, giggling with flushed cheeks from the drink.

“We are married.” He kisses you again, before he pulls back with the most devious smirk on his pretty lips. “Shall I take you traditionally?”

“Oh goodness, what even is that?” He’s pulling you to him, putting down your goblets then.

“Take you right here.” he’s easing off the enormous plaid that’s over you, laying it down gently on the floor, you’re looking around, earning his soft laugh. “My brave little Princess is scared?”

“What if someone sees!” He walks around you, fingers drifting across your chest now, darting across your skin, leaving networks of goosebumps in their wake, until he’s brushing your hair to one side, making your breath quicken. “Mnh…”

“You like that idea, hmm?” He’s kissing hot, open mouthed, shooting pleasure across your entire body. “Let me show you what I should have done, that night you looked so beautiful.”

“Satoru…” You choke on a cry then, when he unbuttons the dress from your skin, moaning against you, the intensity of his every action growing as more of your pretty skin is revealed for his hungry eyes, all lit up under the soft glow of the little candles all around.

“I should have kissed every bit of your pretty body.” You hear it, the desperation in his voice now, but god if you could see his eyes, glowing so brightly blue as he stares at your back, running his fingers across the delicate red marks from the ties of your dress pressing in. He watches the goosebumps rise across your spine, as your head falls to the side.

“I wish that you did.” You hate it, the longing escaping, while you’re nearly naked aside from your skirts, which he starts to make work of, tilting your chin up to have you look at him.

“You wish I touched you that night?” He asks, confusion clear on his features, you nod then, blinking tears that quickly are whisked off your cheeks.

“I know I would have melted for you.”

Satoru’s hands brush up and down your body ever so slowly, images burning in his brain, of if he did not get in his own way, if he tried, if he gave it a chance. So much it overwhelms him, leading him to one realization then, while you’re arching towards him with your eager body. “But we were not ready, were we?”

“No, not yet.” You agree softly, shaking your head, as you’re left completely bare for him, naked outside which seems like insanity, as he helps you step out of your skirts, leaving your stockings, garters and slippers on only. He walks to the front of you, drinking you in, your beauty, everly line and curve of you, hands gently brushing the sides of your breasts.

“But now we’re ready, and I’ll show you.” He kisses your hand, eyeing the stockings that had driven him mad that night, the same ones with your little bows, gently pulling you to kneel on the plaid with him now, easing off his jacket, baring his skin, your fingers run across it but he captures them. “You’ll let me kiss you everywhere, every inch, hmm?”

“Can I not kiss you?” You smile when he places his jacket under your head, hand slipping down your body, tummy trembling under his touch.

“I want it about you.” He says huskily, teasing touches brushing across your arms, your waist, your hips, as he hovers just over you, and you’re arching up for more of him. “Of what I wanted to do.”

“Show me please.” Your whisper ends him, he’s kissing you deeply, tongue moving in a motion that his body aches to follow, resting on one elbow as he lays over you, a hand gripping your breast, squishing it and making you gasp. “Ngh!”

“I wanted to suck on these pretty nipples, poking out of that chemise, tantalizing me to no end.” You blink rapidly when he sucks one areola into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, fingers squishing into the softness of your breast, making your hands enwrap in his hair.

“Satoru…”

He pulls back with a pop, turning his attention to your other breast while he looks at you with lidded, dilated eyes, tongue licking right around your other nipple. “Sensitive, Princess?”

“Very-ah!” You’re soaked between your thighs from just this, from his teasing of your breasts, kissing them, nipping them, lavishing them, until he’s kissing lower, right above your belly button, exhaling against your skin that tingles under his breath, making your thighs press together, craving friction.

“I wanted to tell you these stockings were killing me, hiding your pretty legs and making me want to…” He unsnaps your garter now, slipping the stockings down your skin, pressing kisses slowly down your thigh, your calf, your ankle. “Kiss them, just like this, watch you write with pleasure.”

You moan as he nips your ankle, his hand slipping down your thigh, backs of his fingers brushing against the slick heat of your pussy, which throbs with need, mixing with the intense feelings swirling your mind. The desire, the look he gives you, the need in his eyes, you flash back to your wedding night, shutting your eyes for just a moment, trying to breathe.

“You’re remembering.” He murmurs, you shake your head, tears forming from your eyes when he slips off your other stocking, now leaned down, cupping your face as he rests up on his elbows over you. “It’s alright to remember.”

“It’s not, I don’t want to think of you that way, Satoru. I only want to know this.” You whisper, your hands slipping down the muscles, the ribs of his torso, as he shakes his head, sad smile on his face.

“It’s okay to remember, just know that was not me, was not what I wanted. I wanted you from the moment you looked at me that way… that little glare, the smack on my face? God how I wanted you.”

“You’re insane, you know.”

“We both are.” He kisses you, a little softer now. “I wanted to please you, make you shout my name, and I didn’t know why, why you did that to me. Why you made me want to please you so badly with my mouth, watering every time you fucking came near me.” Your hips buck up as he touches your slit again, sliding slippery fingers up and down, finding your twitchy clit.

“T-Toru… please…” You’re whimpering as he runs his fingertip in a tantalizingly slow circle, smiling softly, lips glossy from your kisses.

“I’ll get there, impatient Duchess. Let me take my time tonight, bride.” The words are too much, they end you, your body shaking when he slips a finger inside your entrance, already soaked, earning his groan, cock throbbing now with how badly he needs you. “I would have tried to keep control, but…” He slips two in.

“Ah!” You’re clinging to his bare shoulders desperately, your blunt nails pressing against his biceps, pressure building in your tummy as he curls them just so.

“I’d have lost control at how wet you were, I don’t know how gentle I’d have been.” He says, kissing lower, pressing your thighs apart as his fingers work you like the keys on a piano, tapping and pressing and pushing, while he smirks against your tummy, pressing a kiss.

“Y-you’d have lost control? Been rough?” You whisper weakly, he chuckles against you, making you jerk, as he kisses the hood of your clit, pulling his fingers out to suck you off him.

“After I tasted you, I would have lost my mind, even that night yes, god how could I not.” Satoru damn near growls, as he stares at your pretty pussy. “She’s so wet for me, isn’t she?”

You nod quickly, gasping as he laps a bit of your honeyed arousal from between your glistening folds. “When am I not wet for you? It’s most… disconcerting-ah!”

“Is it?” He’s drinking you now, burying his face against your pussy, drinking and sipping all your wetness away, only for you to produce more, so much it’s unreal, coating his face with it, dripping off his chin as he moans. “Fuck…”

All soft pretense is gone as Satoru loses himself tasting you, long fingers pressing against the plush of your thighs as he pulls your hips so that he can devour you properly, bringing you to the edge so quickly you have to cling to his silky hair. He’s rolling his tongue inside your slick, velvety walls, which flutter around the wet muscle while he massages every bit of you so thoroughly.

His nose hits your clit, sending you just over that edge, and Satoru moans, cock leaking precum, looking up to see your face screw up with pleasure, as your climax rocks your body, and you’re gushing all over his face again. He moans, slurping it up, all while little fireflies dance in the field, the manor behind you while you’re naked in the night for him.

“You’d h-have done all… that?” You whisper weakly, he moans then, sliding up you, kissing you, letting you taste yourself off his lips while he grips a thigh.

“I could lick you for hours, but I’m just a little too… hard to not…” Satoru’s just now taking the kilt and pulling it up, you’re flushed then.

“Oh!?”

He grins. “Scots are easy-access people, I quite like it.” He teases your entrance with his tip, kilt still on as you lay atop the plaid, waiting for your husband to fill you. “I’d have gone slow on the first stroke, sure.”

He eases inside your tight hole now, you’re whining out at it, head falling back, as he fills you inch by inch, so many inches, until your cavern is filled with nothing but his length. He moans then, feeling you grip him, cumming again when he’s fully stuffed his cock in you.

“You’d be that easy?” He huffs, you try to glare but it fails, as you’re pulsating all around him, and his own eyes roll back you feel so good. “Fuck…”

You’re pathetic then, whimpering as your thighs shake, Satoru’s body shielding you from the chill of the evening. “T-Toru…”

“God, feel her.” He’s moving then, huffing as he fucks into you, deep strokes that wreck your cervix, as his big hands take your body over, pushing you down onto his cock.

The wind is playing with his silvery hair, tousling it just so as he fucks you, eyes boring into yours, seeing through you. “Toru…”

“I’ve got you, Princess, shh.” He sinks so deep it hurts, but the pain is fucking perfect, when he’s got his face buried against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a bite, mixing pain with pleasure again.

“Mnh!” You’re just whining as he thickens inside you, stars swirling in the sky as the night comes, fuzzier and fuzzier while he works over you.

You’re crying out now, begging, sobbing, your nails digging into his back as he thrust at a maddening rhythm, kissing you again, drinking your cries, your nails leaving scratches as his thumbs leave bruises. “I fucking love you.” He whispers, and you cry out as it’s met with him rolling his hips inside you.

“L-love you!” You’re panting now, cupping his face as he stares right into your eyes, as everything starts to fall into its perfect place. “This… is our- mnh!”

“Wedding night.” He finishes the sentence, brushing your tears when he sinks in fully, your cunt struggling to take him, stretching as he presses your thighs up. “And on our wedding night I’ll fill you so good, hmm?”

“Please.” Your little beg ends him, he’s fucking erraticaly, strokes hitting deep as his tip drags on your walls, your legs wrap his hips, heels of your feet resting against his thighs as he begins to fall off the edge with you. “Cum inside.”

“Needy, Princess?” You just nod, you are.

“Please.” Your eyes lock, and he pumps into you then, resting his head on yours, entwining a hand with yours, the same hands that had been tied with that ribbon, pouring inside you, so much you’re sent again with him, cumming from being filled with his hot white seed. “Mnh!”

“F-fuck… oh my… fucking perfect…” The word, it just feels fine, after all this time, Satoru cumming inside you, with you, it is perfect.

You’re crying when he pulls up, looking down and gulping, trying to catch his own breath, his heart pounding against the breasts squished under his chest. “It’s good tears, swear.”

“Oh, I know. I know you, every bit of you.” Satoru says, kissing your tears away, as he swallows down his own. “I’ll never get enough of you, of this.”

“Nor will I, Satoru.” He’s kissing you, falling into you again, until you realize you both fell asleep out on the gazebo, you wake up and sleepily blink, seeing him smiling, watching you sleep.

“Your snores, so cute.”

“Shut it.” You’re laughing as you kiss him again, snug under the plaid, blissful with your husband, your Duke, once so cruel, now brightly smiling, brushing your hair back so sweetly. “Good morning, husband.” You whisper.

“Good morning, Wife. Gods, I never want to leave?”

“Me either. We could just stay?” You grin at him then, and you both sigh. “Too many blasted duties.”

“Indeed, but, we will make this our yearly trip.” You giggle in excitement, snuggling even closer to him.

“I love this idea, oh and we’ll have a little one!” He smiles softly, touching your stomach.

“I’ll have to fight for attention, I suppose.” You shove at him playfully, to land on top of him, as he exhales, hands running over your body under the plaid. “God I fucking love you.”

“I fucking love you.”

“Dirty mouthed brat.”

“Excuse me!?” He’s kissing your lips, over and over, hands now gripping your ass, making your sore pussy throb again for him.

Six Months Later

You’re at the King’s ball, but this year you are no longer the diamond, no you’re the Duchess, and likely about to pop soon, a round tummy and even rounder breasts, that enamor Satoru to no end. When he’s helping you dress, he’s running his hands over the curves of your body, curves you’re not accustomed to, but he makes you feel beautiful.

Every new line from the baby earns several kisses from Satoru as he worships your body, every time he feels the baby kick he gets more excited. But, tonight you both have your duties, and one of them is attending Sukuna’s ball, helping name the next diamond of the season.

“I hate the King.”

“Treason!”

“Shh.” Satoru’s pouting as he walks into the ballroom, seeing Sukuna grinning from up above, big red throne while he’s watching the crowds below.

“I’m also no fan.” You admit, but luckily no Adelia. From what you’ve heard, she’s been sent back to France.

Even Sukuna couldn’t stand her.

Satoru’s eyes fixate then, on Nanami Kento, he tenses, despite not ever being angry at you, he can’t help but have a murderous instinct as he looks at the man that had you once. Well, he never really had you, but he did so many things. Satoru has been glad he’s not of social standing, surprised to see him here of all places.

You look at him in shock, as he has a pretty lady on his arm, and he whispers something to her, before calling you over. You look at Satoru with wide eyes, he nods just a bit, walking you over, you smile brightly as the lady is introduced, she is lovely and sweet, making eyes at Nanami.

“I’ve heard of you, your Grace.” You flush then, eyes lowering. “Only good things, I promise!”

“Then Mr. Nanami is too kind.” You murmur softly, Satoru sighs then, addressing the Lady.

“Care for a dance, my lady?” He asks, and she nods, smiling at Nanami now.

“Go right ahead, darling.” He murmurs, kissing her forehead so sweetly, it melts you then, as you feel it.

Nanami is in love.

As Satoru gives you time to speak, he gives you a little smile, eyeing your tummy now. “You’re with child?”

“No, too many cookies. Habit from you.” You tease, he rolls his hazel eyes then, shaking his head.

“Oh, cookies caused it?”

“Mmhmm!” You fall into an easy laughter, fiddling with your hands then, watching Satoru twirl her around the court. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she? And… she’s amazing.” He’s coughing a bit then, voice hoarse with emotion. “Should this be… harder to say to each other?”

“No, it’s not for me.” You smile sadly at him then, memories not of the intimacy, but special moments you both had, how sweet he’d been, it makes your heart swell. “To see you happy? Well…”

“Please, do not cry, Duchess.” He murmurs then, brushing a tear from your cheek in a sweet gesture, you blink back tears, touching your tummy.

“The baby she makes me so weepy.”

“You always cried a lot.”

“Excuse me!?”

You both laugh again, and he sighs, stance relaxing. “I wondered how you were, I’m so in love yes… yet I think of you at times, like a good friend long gone?”

You smile tremulously, feeling the exact same. You adore Satoru, you love him madly, but Nanami became important to you. “We were good friends. We were… foolish friends?”

He nods just a bit, flush on his high cheekbones. “Indeed. I am glad to see you so well and… glowing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nanami. I wondered about you too.” You take his hand, smiling up at him, and he feels that little bit left of his feelings finally close up, knowing you’re okay, because Nanami always wondered if you would truly be okay.

Nanami loved you but now Nanami is in love.

“I know what you meant, that day. When you said you’re in love with him.” You take a breath, squeezing his hand and smiling, looking at Satoru as he steps around the floor so gracefully. “It’s different from what we had.”

“It is different. I felt so terrible for so long-”

“Please, do not. I think… I should have trusted you knew what you were speaking of. I fear I did not give you enough credit?” He blinks his own emotions, recalling the things he said, but you’re shaking your head.

You treasure his words, as your eyes lock with Satoru’s for a moment. “No, it’s all in the past now. I only hope the best for you both, truly. With all my heart.”

“And I you. I know you’re excited.” He grins warmly, watching as you look at your tummy, smiling sweetly.

“I couldn’t be more excited.”

“He is good to you?”

“He is. No more punches required.” He smiles again, your hand falling, exhaling with relief in knowing Nanami was okay, in fact he was thriving. “I have something I’d like to do for you.”

“You need not do anything.” He says, but you lean close.

“For your lovely lady. What if I… suggested something to the King?”

“Like?”

“Like… she’s shimmering, hmm?” Nanami blinks then, smiling as he looks at the love of his life, in a man’s arms he should hate, but he doesn’t. Maybe he never did, but he feels it, Duke Gojo is different. Better.

“She’d die if she got told that.” He admits softly.

“Then let me work my charm, even this round I can bat my eyelashes.” Nanami chuckles, shaking his head, running a hand through sandy locks.

“That charm could never fade, Duchess. Or… your Grace?”

“No, Duchess is fine. Alright Mr. Nanami, I’ve got this.” You wink and Satoru curiously watches you step up, until you’re right next to the King, who eyes you amusedly up and down. “Your Majesty.”

“Sukuna.” You smile just a bit as he stands, taking your hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it.

“Sukuna, how have you been?”

“Not as busy as you and Gojo apparently.” He muses, looking at your tummy, you laugh a little.

“Think it probably happened at your castle.”

“Scandalous, Duchess.” You roll your eyes, stepping closer. “You’re even sexier now, you know.”

“You’re even worse, you know.”

“You enjoy me, don’t worry I won’t tell your Duke.” You shake your head at him, as he tilts his head, ruby eyes glinting. “Out with it, what is it you want?”

“I’m so obvious?” He nods, smirking. “Well… this lovely lady… dancing with Satoru, I think she’s sparkling.”

“Fuck, the diamond bullshit. Yes, fine then, I did not want to do it.”

“Yay! Oh thank you.”

“Need a kiss on the cheek for it though.” You glare, jaw setting, as he taps a rugged cheek. “C’mon, one.”

“You’re insufferable, Sukuna.” You peck a kiss on his cheek, dodging when he turns, wiggling your brows. “Cheek only.”

“God he’s a lucky bastard. You’re so-”

“Shush it, now.”

“Oh fine. I’ll announce it, go on now, breaking my heart.”

“Oh whatever.” You curtsy at his fake pouting, light hearted when you’re back in your husband’s arms.

“I had to watch you with the two men who wanted you so badly, ugh. Why did Sukuna bother me more?” He grumbles, you giggle then.

“Aw, does everyone want your wife?”

“They do, it’s my ultimate payback.” He tilts your chin up then. “Just what were you up to?”

“Doing something sweet for Mr. Nanami’s lady. Thank you for giving us time, you did not have to.” You whisper, as he brushes a kiss over your cheek, a hand coming to rest where your baby decides to kick.

“I trust you, and I know you need to. But Sukuna, no.” You’re giggling as he pulls you closer, looking down into your slightly rounding face, your brilliant glittering eyes under chandeliers. “You’re prettier while pregnant, he’s going to try again.”

“He’ll not try a thing, you jealous man.”

“I am, very.” He leans close, lips against your ear. “Don��t think I won’t fuck your pretty mind out just because you’re so far along.”

“Satoru!” You’re heating up, as his palm presses against your back, tracing little circles along it. “Shh, look!”

Soon the king is begrudgingly announcing the diamond, and you get to watch her so excited, and Nanami grinning at her. Satoru watches you, however, face a little tight, wincing in pain. “What is wrong?”

“She’s just kicking me to death.”

“You always say she.”

“I can just tell.”

“A witch, hmm?”

“Mmhmm. I… oh…” Suddenly your eyes widen, and you feel it, panicking. “Oh dear…”

“Oh dear what!?” He demands, then looks down. “You’re having the baby, aren’t you!?”

“Bloody inconvenient timing, little one.” You whisper, and both of your eyes lock. “I’ll keep it in till we-”

“You can’t keep it in, stubborn brat!? Shit… he does have the best doctors…”

You were going to have a baby.

Satoru’s baby.

At the King’s ball.

“Well… Shit…” Satoru grumbles, before making the announcement, far too loudly, and soon every eye of the ton was on the former diamond.

You.

Taglist: (rest in comments) - @kalopsia-flaneur @bunheadusa @7thsthings @disilluzions @antisocialinlw @Sukunassfinger @lelsforlino @heeknow @muvasuperior @prince-wyiilder @lavender-hvze @ssetsuka  @labelt-san  @sadmonke @philiatothephobia @ambiguouslady42 @stromynight @dreamygirli3 @jjknanamin @jazlenekasi @victoriaaaa00 @wuvnada @nanasukii28 @sw3etnena @dark-agate @tamaki-simp @yuuuumii @givluv2tyy @airandyeah @peppertoastuniverse @sw3etnena @webshooterrr9 @miizuzu @thikcems @erensblackwife @murayamayoshiki-lovergurl @blue-musingss @huuuhwhaat @makingtimemine @saccharinesatoru @sunnyviewsblog @nanananananaiknow @ekaterinatepes @szna @ayumilk @trishiepo0 @just-pure-trash @norikuna @ifiwereabug @jinjen @baepsays

OMG one more chap!! I rly hope you enjoyed.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

A Cut Above

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader AU: Butcher Simon

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, nervous Simon, reader loves food, domestic vibes, minor language. Authors Note: I loved adding more heartfelt details to this one! Thank you for inspiring such a sweet story. 💜 Masterlist MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The little bell above the shop door jingled softly, its cheerful chime breaking the stillness of the late afternoon. Simon Riley instinctively glanced up from the butcher counter, a habit he’d developed over years of working behind it. But the moment he saw you step inside, his heart did something it rarely did—flutter.

You were a sight for sore eyes, as usual. Bundled in your favorite coat, a knitted scarf loosely draped around your neck, you brought a warmth into the shop that rivaled the heating system.

“Afternoon, Simon,” you greeted, your voice soft yet sunny.

“Afternoon,” Simon replied, his usual gruff tone carrying a faint gentleness he reserved just for you.

You made your way to the counter, your eyes scanning the neatly displayed cuts of meat. “You’ve outdone yourself with the arrangement again,” you teased, pointing to the precisely stacked rows of steaks and chops.

Simon huffed a quiet chuckle. “Gotta make it look good for the customers.”

“Oh, come on,” you said with a grin. “You know I’m not just any customer.”

Simon swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away for a moment. You had no idea how true that was.

“What can I get you today?” he asked, focusing on the task at hand to steady himself.

“I feel like trying something different,” you mused, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “What do you recommend?”

Simon considered your question, his brows furrowing slightly as he pondered. “Got some lamb chops in this morning. Fresh, tender. Thought about taking a couple home myself.”

“Sold,” you said, your smile lighting up the room. “I’ll take two.”

As Simon wrapped them carefully, his large hands moved with practiced precision. He found himself lingering over the task, not quite ready for your visit to end.

When you handed him the cash, your fingers brushed his—a fleeting touch that sent warmth spreading up his arm. You didn’t seem to notice, but Simon? He was certain he’d never forget it.

Simon couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started, but you’d become the highlight of his week. He’d catch himself glancing at the clock in the late afternoons, hoping for the telltale jingle of the bell that meant you’d arrived.

He started setting aside little things he thought you might like—an extra-thick cut of steak, a special seasoning blend, even a handwritten recipe for the perfect roast. Each offering was met with your delighted smile and effusive thanks, and each time, Simon felt his resolve to keep his feelings to himself falter just a little more.

Until one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the shop stood quiet save for the hum of the fridge, Simon decided to take a chance.

“You’ve got a knack for cooking,” he said, his voice steady despite the nervous energy coiled tight in his chest.

“Thanks,” you replied, your surprise evident but not unkind. “I’ve had plenty of practice. Why do you ask?”

Simon cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Thought maybe… you’d let me cook for you sometime. If you’d like.”

For a moment, the shop felt impossibly still. Simon’s heart pounded in his ears, every second of your silence stretching into an eternity.

Then, you smiled. Not just any smile—the kind that crinkled the corners of your eyes and made his chest ache in the best way.

“I’d love that, Simon,” you said, your voice warm and sincere.

----

When you arrived at Simon’s flat, you were met with a comforting warmth and the rich, savory scent of cooking. Simon greeted you at the door, his usual black apron swapped for a crisp button-down that suited him more than he realized.

“Come in,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Hope you’re hungry.”

The dining nook was modest but charming, a small table set with candles and a simple bouquet of fresh flowers.

“This is beautiful,” you said, touched by the effort.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his ears. “Figured you deserved somethin’ nice.”

In the kitchen, Simon moved with quiet confidence, his hands deftly handling the stovetop as he plated braised lamb chops and roasted vegetables. He poured you a glass of wine, his hand brushing yours as he set it down.

Dinner was nothing short of incredible. Each bite was a revelation, the flavors perfectly balanced and cooked with care.

“This is amazing, Simon,” you said between bites. “You’ve got serious talent.”

“Just glad you like it,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer than usual.

The conversation flowed as easily as the wine, Simon opening up in ways he never had before. He told you about his childhood, his dry humor catching you off guard and making you laugh until your cheeks ached.

When the meal was over, Simon disappeared into the kitchen and returned with dessert—shortbread cookies he’d baked himself.

“These are perfect,” you said, savoring the buttery sweetness. “You remembered I mentioned these, didn’t you?”

Simon shrugged, his blush returning. “Might’ve stuck in my head.”

As the night stretched on, the two of you found yourselves on the sofa, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you talked for hours. For the first time in a long while, Simon felt a deep, unshakable contentment.

When it was time to say goodbye, he walked you to your car, his hand lingering on yours as you climbed inside.

“Thank you for tonight, Simon,” you said, your voice soft. “It was perfect.”

“Goodnight, love,” he murmured, his heart full as he watched you drive away.

As he turned back toward his flat, Simon couldn’t help but smile. He’d taken a chance, and it had been worth every nerve-wracking second.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[first-edition]

Wishes

Spencer reid x reader

(Not proof read my bad)

Soencer is turning 30 and you are the only one who remeberd

Confession kissing Spencer crying fluff

(Hes a blurb while i get back into writing sorry I disappeared lol)

You’ve been planning this for 2 weeks getting the decorations and presents and setting up his schedule so he’s be free. You’ve been talking to Emily about it but somehow it got lost in all the work and she’s forgotten you’ve tried to do the same with the others but they forgot as well.

“Hey! Spence.” You call to him. He spins around in his chair to face you.

“Hmm?” He asks

“What are you doing tonight?” You ask.

“I was gonna go see my mom but that got cancelled hospital difficulties so I was gonna go to the library of olden books.” He says giving you a small smile.

“Oh I’m well did you wanna come over maybe I could go with you?” You ask.

“Yeah sure that’s be great I can talk about the making and weaving of how hard covers and soft covers were made.” He chuckles

“Yeah!” You smile and nod walking off passed Morgan’s desk. As he eyes you in confusion.

———

The entire rest of your evening is filled with the large library soencer taking your hand and leading you to each book talking about how they were made and crafted and the kind of paper they used.

You actually found it quite interesting it helped that you had been crushing on him for the past 2 years and him as wel to you.

He bought a few books for an obscene price before you faked the realization that you had to rush home and since he drove you both hurried into his car and drove to your place.

“It’s fine Spencer I can just grab it and we can continue to another library before it’s too late out.” You smile as you open your door all the lights off not helping with the time of night as your home seems to be a menaching place to be.

“Light switch to you left.” You say as you disappear into the darkness. He closes the door behind him and turns on the light. The sight of balloons and presents with a mini banner that says happy birthday strung across the ceiling.

“Happy birthday spencer!” You exclaim holding out your arms. His expression drops as he looks around at all the things for him. You rush to the fridge to take out the cake you had made of his favorite flavor.

“I also got a cake. And custom ordered the flavor as well as the decor. The presents are all for you and I-“ you stop as you look at him setting the cake down. Tears fall down his cheeks and his bottom lip quivers.

“S-Spencer…oh I-I’m sorry I know you like cupcakes more but they didn’t have any and I just through may if you wanted you could eat it by your self if yo-“ with out saying anything else he cups your face and presses his lips to yours in a deep kiss which you kiss back.

It lasts for a few seconds before pulling away.

“Thank you..thank you so much you have no idea how much this- how much you mean to me and not just for doing this.” He says his voice breaking you wrap your arms around his neck kissing him again before pulling away to speak.

“You’re welcome I wouldn’t miss your birthday.” You say a smile on your face.

The rest of the night is spent with him opening every present he could’ve ever wanted eating cake and watching a movie before you’d both fallen asleep on the couch.

A few months would go by before the case in Vegas where he and Emily would be talking and she’d ask him how old he was.

“Common it can’t be that far how old are you 29.” She says rolling her eyes before Spencer has time to correct her.

“I’m thirty.” He says her expression changes in shock as she realizes.

“We missed your birthday?”

“No..not everyone. Y/n remeberd planned a whole thing.” He says smiling looking over at his girlfriend who talks with jj.

“Fuck….i forgot she wanted me to come over for that. I’m so sorry.” She apologizes Spencer shakes his head adjusting his glasses.

“It’s okay.”

“Hey! There’s a spot new place down past Luxor if you’re hungry.” You skip up to him holding onto his arm.

“Actually I made a reservation as Caesars palace for us.” He says.

“W-what!? Why.” You smile looking up at him. He leans down to you ear whispering to you.

“Happy birthday.” He says this time it’s his turn to remember your birthday.

[eddiesvixen]

Just Like Paradise

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳, 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁, 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘀 (𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆), 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗛𝗮𝘄𝗸𝗶𝗻𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗝𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗺 𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲, 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟵

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗻𝘁: 𝟯.𝟳𝗸

the first chapter of Open ‘til Midnight

Friday mornings always start off simple for you. You wake up, get yourself clean and dressed up for work. Maybe have breakfast but if not, you usually pack some snacks to munch on behind the counter or go with Eddie to the diner near the store.

Eddie.

Your friend, best friend even. Since attending elementary school together, to summer concerts to working at Empire for 4 years now, you two are the closest friends. You look after each other, care for each other, dream of each other. Actually that might just be you.

The blaring horn of his van rings your ears as he approaches the curb.

“Sorry i’m late sweetheart.” He grins from the van, leaning over to open the door for you.

You sigh and climb into the passenger seat. “It’s fine. I like smelling like sweat during a long shift,” you remark sarcastically.

He groans and pulls off. “Wasn’t my fault, ozzy’s being a pain in my ass.”

“He scratch up another cd?”

“No, little shit keeps hiding my lanyard. Gonna have to make an entirely new one today.”

You laugh. “Oh, Hop’s gonna kill you. That’s like the third-”

“Third one this month?” He smirks, “He’ll have to catch me first.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re wearing a new perfume. Trying to impress someone?” He wiggles his brows suggestively, even more so teasingly.

“Can’t a girl just smell good?”

“Well yeah but you’re not fooling me. I remember when you wore that new skirt to impress that guy at the garage show in November, so.. spill.”

Damn you, Eddie. Why’s he so observant?

“Is it that blonde guy who buys all the Aerosmith? Because let me tell you, I’ve seen him pull at the doors too many times. They cleary say push.” He smiles.

“Aren’t you the guy who locked himself in the supply closet during a closing shift?”

He frowns, though there isn’t any real sadness behind it. “Sweetheart, that was one time. And how was I supposed to know that the lock was jammed.”

You giggle. “Yeah well don’t forget it tonight. Closing with you and Harrington just sounds like disaster waiting to happen.”

He smirks. “Give the guy some slack.”

“If he spent less time flirting with customers and more time pricing the cds we’d be alright.”

“And you don’t flirt with customers?” His smirk is accompanied by yet another raise of his brows.

“Shut it, Munson. Or I’ll make Hop put you on booth duty.”

Eddie cringes and shakes his head. “You’re so cruel.”

“And very hungry.”

He pulls into the parking lot of the diner. “Well we’ve got a solid 18 before the store opens so.. lets eat.”

~~~~

You’re full and grinning when you walk into the store with Eddie. You find yourself smiling everytime you walk into the store. On your worst days and nights, you’ve never been more grateful to work in a place like Empire, consistently surrounded by things and people you love.

When you walk into the back room you head into the employee restroom. Fixing your hair as you look into the mirror you do a smell check. Yeah.. the perfume is great. There’s no way you’d ever tell Eddie you wore it for his reaction alone.

Just like you wore these true religion jeans for his reaction. Curvy and dark wash, the bootcut flattering your curves. The cropped band tee on your body. You even did your makeup a little differently. A new lip combo you only miss he’d ruin.

You run your hands over your body. Feels good, looks good-

Knock, Knock.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there again.”

The voice is muffled by the door and still very amusing to hear. You open the door.

“Geez Harrington, what ever would I be doing in the restroom?”

His brows raise. “Oh, thought you were Munson.”

You smile, challenging him a bit. “What did you think Eddie was doing?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs but your mind isn’t gonna rest on the matter so he changes the topic quickly. “Listen, Hop said he wants to see you in his office anyways.”

“Me?” You don’t worry. It’s no secret that Jim loves all of his employees, his most reliable being you.

“Yeah. I’ll find Eddie next. Think it’s about our closing shift.”

He follows you as you walk towards Jim’s office. “Cool. I think Eddie just went to make a new ID.”

“Another?!” Steve laughs and shakes his head.

“Says ozzy hid it from him.”

“This guy and his cat. Okay, i’ll go get him.”

You nod and with that give a nice knock before walking into Jim’s office.

“Morning.” You grin.

He greets you by name. “Hey, how are you doing?”

“Good. Steve said you needed to see me?”

“Right, your closing shift. Listen, i’m gonna need to leave the store a bit early tonight.”

“Is everything alright?” He usually never leaves. He loves the place just as much as any of you.

“Everything���s fine. But just for tonight, I am leaving you in charge of the store.”

You smile. “Me? Are you sure?”

“I trust you.”

“You know, Chrissy’s coming in at 2 if you wanna ask her? Or maybe Robin?”

“You shying away from your opportunities?” He raises a brow.

“No! Just, sounds like a big responsibility is all. Plus I kinda stay in the metal section all day.”

“And that’s okay. I’m just telling you work freely today. Wherever you’re needed, just like me. Can you do that?”

“Of course.” You smile. “Won’t let you down.”

~~~~~~

By 1pm, the crowd of customers is chill, but growing per usual. Customers take up the listening booths, others reading vinyl covers and checking out the clearance section. Jonathan’s cleaning the booths, Steve organizes the pop section and doubling on another task, reading an article on the next Duran Duran album. Eddie’s across the store, talking to a customer. Some older guy who’s definitely judging how he’s dressed and he still does it with a smile.

“It’s just totally ridiculous.” Robin says eyeing down your expression.

You turn to face her. “What?”

“Oh nothing just, you know, watching my idiot friends who clearly want a piece of each other do absolutely nothing about it.”

“Robin for the millionth time. Friends. Platonic with a capital P. Those are literally your words.”

“Uh, yeah. Because im a lesbian and Steve’s a nut. That’s platonic. But two people who share beds, share drinks, share underwear-”

Your eyes widen. “Okay that was one time.”

She smiles. “Once during movie night, another after leaving the pool.”

“Okay well movie night I bled through mines so I had no choice. And as for the pool, my clothes were drenched Rob. What was he supposed to do, let me freeze my bare ass off?”

“Fine whatever. That still doesn’t mean you dont wanna bone each other.”

You cringe. “Bone? Please don’t tell me that’s what you and Vickey call it.”

“Well at least someone’s getting some.” She winks. “But seriously, are you not gonna talk to him about this?”

“No, Robin. Look at this place. Look at me and Eddie. That’s my best friend. I don’t need some little feelings getting in the way of that.”

“Getting in the way of what?” Eddie says from behind you.

“Geez Munson are you trying to give us a heart attack?”Robin rolls her eyes.

Eddie laughs. “Excuse me for doing my job.” He tucks some cds under the shelf and holds one behind his back.

“Whatcha got there, rockstar?” You raise a brow.

“Just a little surprise for my favorite metalist.”

Robin teasingly mouths the word favorite before she walks off with a stack of vinyls. You grin and focus back on the cd.

You gasp. “Holy shit.” You take the cd. “Skyscraper?! Where the hell did you even find this?”

The sold out pretty quickly when they hit the shelves. In all honesty who doesn’t love David Lee Roth.

“Under the shelf in the break room. Dropped my ID and he was hiding under the sofa.” He smirks, proud of the smile he caused on your face.

“Wow. Thanks Eddie.” You smile.

“No need for that. But how about we give him a spin for the speakers, give everyone a taste of last year?”

“Deal.”

Eddie pops the cd in, and plays it loud for the intercom of the store. From Knucklebones to Just like Paradise, you smile and dance a bit behind the counter as you scan in your cds. Leaving a small wave to Hopper as he exits the store at 2 and Chrissy walks in. Time for you to leave the counter and become manager.

~~~~~

You grabbed a clipboard and got to checking and making sure things were in place. Vinyls, check. Bathrooms, clean. Customers, attended to. When the clock strikes 5pm you decide to take a break.

In the back room, you sit on the sofa and take off your boots, letting your feet rest on the rug. The soft cotton of your socks nuzzling the scratchy fuzz of the rug beneath your feet. You look around the room. Pics of everyone on the walls. The rolling stones, heavy metal and well.. playboys on the coffee table. The staff lockers decorated for each employee. It’s comforting. A home away from home.

You put on your walkman and rest your eyes as Biff Byford sings.

Lady face the morning sun

the sunlight in your hair

Northern Lady, you’re the one

You’re so relaxed and enjoying the music that you don’t hear the door open. Eddie walks in and sits down a box of damages. He looks at you, enjoying seeing you so relaxed. He walks over and watched you for a bit. The rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes kiss your skin. He gently nudged your knee with his and you open your eyes, smiling and removing your headphones.

“Hey, everything okay?”

He looks at the tape and gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like someone stabbed him.

“Listening to Saxon without me, sweetheart? I thought you cared about me.” He flops onto the sofa and falls out dramatically over your lap, failing to hide his grin you start to laugh.

“So dramatic!” You try to shove him off but he won’t go.

“I think i’m dying, sweetheart. Tell the others I love them.”

You frown a bit. “No love for me?”

He thinks for a bit rubbing his chin and you giggle and flip him off at the hesitation.

“Screw you.” You grin and shove him and stand, causing his mop of hair to flop onto the sofa with the rest of his body. He’s grateful of the angle he fell at, moving his hair from his eyes to see the sight of you bending over and digging through the box of damages. The way they shape your ass does plenty for him. He’s suddenly a huge fan of true religion.

“Someone stole a Wham cd?” You giggle and shake the empty cd case.

“That’s not even the worst part. Dig deeper and you’ll see that someone actually stole not one, not two, but three Cyndi Laupner tapes.” He stands and walks over to stand next to you.

“Wow. And they think we’re the criminals for listening to a little metal.”

Chrissy’s voice comes through the intercom. “Help needed in aisle 8.”

They always call for you or Eddie to attend to the metal section since you’re the only two who actually knows what a customer means when they ask about Metallica tapes with and without Dave Mustaine.

“I got this one sweetheart. You take this break, okay?”

You nod. “Thanks Eddie, I owe you.”

“No worries.” He grins and walks out.

As you look through the tapes you see one that warms your heart. A beatles tape with a red sticker on it, a pentagram drawn on the sticker.

When Eddie leaves stickers on different tapes, he wants you to hold them for him. And you know exactly why he chose the beatles tape. His mother loved their music. Eddie told you about how she would sing to him and let him dance on her toes. Elizabeth Munson was an angel, and she birthed the most sweetest boy who marks tapes now in her own remembrance.

It makes you think of your parents. How nice things were before your mother started cheating on your father with her coworkers. You remember how she’d tell you to play outside. “Go ride your bike!” That’s what you got told most summers while she’d have company over, only to come back later to hear your father angry and yelling about her infidelity.

“Is this what you want for our daughter?!”

“She wasn’t here!”

“And who was she with? She’s eight years old, she’s not blind!”

“Well i’m tired of your shit!”

“What shit?! My consistent work of two jobs to keep my family out of the street?!”

“You never make love to me anymore!”

For hours, they’d argue. Screaming and fussing. Glass breaking, cursing, your mother threatening to take you from your father, claiming youre both better off without him. When nights got really bad, you snuck out and stayed at Eddie’s.

He’d given you his bed and when you begged him not to leave, you swore you saw him tear up. Eddie never cries in front of anyone, but that night he knew you needed someone. Needed him. And as his mother’s tapes helped him when times were rough, it helped you too.

But all of these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

The beatles would sing and Eddie would rub your back as you cried, crying until your body goes slump and you fall asleep. You always swore to take care of each other, and even now looking at the tape, you remember it all and it somehow feels bittersweet. You showed each other what love is

~~~~~~

“Mm… marry Patrick Swayze, kiss George Michael, kill Nikki Sixx.”

You gasp at Chrissy’s obnoxious opinion.

“Are you kidding me? You’d kill Nikki Sixx?” You help her dust off the record player and move to the register together to count the cash from the day’s end.

“Well Patrick’s so hot,” she smiles. “And besises I can’t kill George Michael he’s like the heart of pop, next to Michael Jackson anyways.”

“You blow my mind.” You shake your head and she looks at the guys upstairs, cleaning out the listening booths. And you both zero in on Eddie with his walkman headset on.

“What do you think he’s listening to?” She looks at you.

Eddie’s not headbanging or dancing, which he would usually do if he were listening to metal, which means he isn’t. You have a hunch it’s the beatles tape, but that’s personal. Something Eddie confided in you about. So you shrug.

“Maybe some Journey? Or a Billy Idol tape. I did see him bring one up here earlier.”

She grins, tilting her head as she watches Eddie. “Journey, huh? That doesn’t seem very Eddie.”

You chuckle. “You’d be surprised. He’s got layers, like an onion.. or I guess those burgers he likes so much from Lucky’s. There’s always something unexpected hiding in that mane.”

She snorts at the metaphor and leans against the counter, her gaze drifting back to Eddie. “I wanna ask but then again I don’t. Feels like peeking into his diary.”

“Yeah,” you agree, lowering your voice as if Eddie might hear you. “He’s always so private about his walkman but just blasts his music in his van, it’s so silly.”

She studies you for a second, a slow smile forming across her face. “You know him better than anyone.”

You shrug, pretending not to care as much. You tske much pride in knowing so much about Eddie, but you shove those feelings down to avoid Chrissy causing a scene. “Yeah I guess. We’ve been through a lot together so I can’t help but look out for him.”

“Sure.” She says simply, smirking a bit as she starts to count change from the register. You want to ask her what’s so funny or to knock it off, same as you told Robin earlier.

Before you can respond, Eddie pulls off the headphones and looks down at you both. “What’re you whispering about down there?” he calls, his voice teasing but curious. He removes his headphones and ruffles his hair, not wanting to have a dent.

You smirk and call back, “Your deep, dark secrets. Hope you’re not listening to Careless Whisper up there.”

Eddie flips you off with a grin, and you catch the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks. His smile grows when you and Chrissy flip him off in return.

“I bet you’d love that princess.”

Steve comes up to the register. “Booths are all clean. Did the back room, I think we’re ready for closing.”

“Okay. I um.. I have to stay behind. Jim left me in charge and I’ve gotta count the cash and take it to the bank.”

“Okay.” Steve raises a brow. “You gonna be okay alone?”

“Yeah, i’m fine. It’s late and you’re opening tomorrow you should go.”

He nods and hugs you. Chrissy joins in and Eddie yells from upstairs. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Shut up.” You all say in unison. But you laugh when you hear his sneakers scruff down the stairs and the hug gets tighter as he joins in.

“Assholes. Every single one of you.”

“Dude don’t ruin it.” Steve says as he sighs.

When you all pull back Steve and Chrissy leave. You put on the same David Lee Roth cd from earlier. You start to dance around a bit, thinking you’re alone in the store. But then you hear singing and you turn around to see Eddie pretending to sing with the broom. You laugh.

“Seriously?”

“What you don’t like my moves?” Eddie shakes his hips, his chains on his jeans smacking the pole of the broom.

“Nerd.” You roll your eyes and grin taking the cash back into Jim’s office and Eddie follows.

“Look at assistant manager.” He smirks and sweeps a bit.

As you sit in the chair it does feel amazing. Eddie knows you’d love to be assistant manager here. This store is your everything. His everything.

“He didn’t say that.”

“But it feels like he will. You know you’re his favorite.” Eddie grins.

“Yeah well,” you place the cash into the cash pouch and start writing down the checks in the manager’s journal. “If he does, maybe it won’t be so different. I’d still be on the floor with you guys.

“We know.” He gives you a heart warming grin. “Maybe you wanna grab a bite? I was gonna get a pizza. Don’t have much lying around at home right now.”

You don’t answer him. You can’t. Not when your heart skips a beat, not when you place the cash pouch into the bottom left drawer and see the orange paper lying there. You lift it and read.

“Uh.. you okay?” He stops sweeping and grows concerned for you.

“It’s the store..” You shake your head and Eddie walks around the desk, taking the paper as he sees you biting your lip nervously. He gently grips your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you as he reads. You can his eyebrows sink more and more.

To Jim Hopper,

Empire Records is due to purchase for Nine Thousand Dollars by June 1, 1989. If you fail to meet the deadline, your contract of ownership will expire. I will more than happy to convert the store on behalf of the American Society of Language and Literature. A new environment for educational purposes and more family friendly activities aside from the provocative musical acts it promotes now.

Best of Luck, Larry Bassinger.

“Who the hell is Larry Bassinger?” Eddie squints as he tosses the paper onto the desk.

“I don’t know.” You look at Eddie. “But the first is just 8 days away.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Screw that, he’s full of shit. He can’t buy Empire, this is our store. It’s Jim’s store!”

“Eddie.” You shake your head and stand. “Calm down. We can’t let anyone know we saw this.. not yet.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his hair, his dark curls bouncing as he starts to pace the small office. “How the hell am I supposed to calm down? Some stranger is swooping in to take the one place in this town that doesn’t suck, and we’re just supposed to sit on this?”

You grab his arm, forcing him to stop. “We don’t know anything for sure, okay? This could be a scare tactic or… or even a mistake. But if we start running our mouths everyone else will start panicking too.“

Eddie picks up the paper from the desk again, his eyes scanning it one more time. “Eight days. We don’t have much time.”

“We’ll figure this out okay? But I need you to not lose your mind. Jim trusts us okay? We have to trust him too.”

“We can’t sit by and watch him face this alone either.”

“And we won’t.” You nod and look into Eddie’s eyes. That tinge of fear behind all of his anger. Empire’s home to all of you, and it scares him that he could be losing another important part of himself. It scares you even more, knowing this could hurt Eddie. How badly it’s hurting you. But you know that you have to be strong in the moment, so you take his hand.

“But tonight you rest. Let’s go eat like you said and we will figure this out tomorrow. Okay?”

He nods and relaxes, lacing his fingers with yours. You put the paper back in the drawer and you both close the store, driving off to get dinner. It’s a quiet ride. You can’t help but think about Empire. How your own paradise, your own home, could be going away for good.

It lingers in your mind while you’re eating, when Eddie drops you off, when you shower, when you lie in bed. It takes you ages to fall asleep but you do, in hopes that tomorrow, you’ll be able to figure out some way to save the store.

[xoamiiren]

TOUCH DOWN, ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 all star boy

𖥔 PRECIS. a series of headcanons for my university star athletes au PAIRING. star football player!jay x supportive gf!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, kissing, petnames

authors note ୨୧ I’m back. For real this time. ♥️

─────────

Star football player Jay, who always catches you staring during practice, playfully winks every time, knowing it flusters you, and then gets extra smug when you quickly look away.

Star football player Jay, who is known for his intensity on the field but turns into a total softie when you wear his jersey, tugging you close and whispering, "You look so much better in it than I ever could."

Star football player Jay, who walks around campus like he owns the place, yet always makes sure to save you a spot at the cafeteria table, offering you bites of his food even though you pretend you're not hungry so he fills up.

Star football player Jay, who stays late after practice to work on extra drills but never leaves without sending you a teasing voice message, telling you to "be a good girl and wait for me."

Star football player Jay, who doesn't care about anything but the game during matches, but the second he scores, he looks up into the stands, searching for your reaction, heart swelling when he sees you cheering.

Star football player Jay, who playfully throws his sweaty practice jersey at you after a long workout, smirking when you scowl and toss it back, but then pulls you into a hug, refusing to let go until you laugh.

Star football player Jay, who texts you at 2 AM after an away game saying he can't sleep, and when you ask why, he sends a picture of his empty bed and writes, "Guess who’s missing."

Star football player Jay, who hates being the center of attention at the post-game parties, but insists on keeping his arm around your waist the entire time, showing everyone who you belong to.

Star football player Jay, who seemed effortlessly confident until he was about to ask you out officially, suddenly stumbling over his words as he muttered, "So, uh, are we… like… together or what?"

Star football player Jay, who gets into a tense argument with you right before an important game, and even though he plays his heart out, he can’t focus until he sees you waiting for him in the locker room afterward, looking just as torn up as he feels.

Star football player Jay, who isn’t the best at expressing his emotions but leaves small notes in your locker—"You looked cute in class today"—with a tiny heart drawn at the end, just so you know he’s thinking about you.

Star football player Jay, who gets too cocky sometimes, draping himself over you and whispering, "You know you love being my number 1 fan," before trailing kisses down your neck, knowing exactly how to get a reaction out of you.

Star football player Jay, who jokes that his teammates can fend for themselves after games because he has better plans with you, only to groan when you suggest study dates instead.

Star football player Jay, who hates seeing you upset, especially if it's because of something dumb he said. He'll show up outside your dorm room with your favorite snacks, looking apologetic and muttering, "I’m sorry, okay? Can we talk?"

Star football player Jay, who lifts you up after every big win, spinning you around in front of his teammates, who all hoot and cheer, while you laugh and cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Star football player Jay, who clearly limps off the field after a brutal tackle, his jaw clenched in pain, but the moment he catches your concerned eyes in the stands, he forces a cocky smile, pretending everything’s fine just to make sure you don't worry.

Star football player Jay, who often crashes in your dorm after practice, sprawling out on your bed while you massage every knot and tension in his shoulders, arms, and thighs. He lets out quiet groans of relief, murmuring, “You have no idea how good that feels,” while his hand lazily traces patterns on your leg.

Star football player Jay, who is left completely stunned when, during halftime, you walk out onto the court with the cheerleading team, this being your big reveal that you made the squad. He stares, jaw slightly dropped, then breaks into the biggest grin, his heart racing for a completely different reason now as he watches you perform.

Star football player Jay, who completely dies of laughter when you try on his football pads, looking so small and wobbly in them. As you stumble under the weight, running with the ball, he’s practically doubled over, gasping for breath between laughs, saying, "Babe, you're gonna fall over!" even though he's secretly loving how adorable you look.

Star football player Jay, who you find in the locker room after a particularly heated game in the rain, jersey off, smeared with mud, his hair damp and dripping. The second you see him, you can't help yourself, kissing him hard on the mouth right then and there. He doesn’t waste a second gripping the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the tension melts away in that moment.

[itstobias149]

Little Macs Sibling Lore dump

Hey guys! Today I bring you a post made up of a collectionon of random lore drops about Marie through the eyes of Little Mac! I had a lot of fun, I'm sorry its such a long post. I hope you all enjoy it though.

This post contains stuff about my oc, if you don't like oc stuff this post may not be for you and that's okay! This is also based on my own Headcanons and ideas! Everyone has their own interpretation of the boxers and their stories and personlives and that's okay!

“Alright, so Marie’s like, my older sister or whatever, but I swear, she’s basically an old lady trapped in a chubby cutman’s body. She’s out here knitting scarves for nobody, like just endless scarves that pile up in her closet. She’s got this thing for baking cookies at 6 AM—6 AM!—like who wakes up thinking, ‘You know what the world needs right now? Snickerdoodles.’

Oh, and don’t get me started on her tea collection. It’s massive. She’s got every flavor you can think of, like she’s preparing for a tea apocalypse or something. You open her cupboard and BAM! It’s like a botanical garden exploded in there. She’s always watching those weird crime shows too—like, if you ask her about “Murder She Wrote,” she could probably write a dissertation on it.

And you know what really gets me? The puzzles. Marie will sit there at the kitchen table doing jigsaw puzzles for HOURS. Like, she’s got all these guys fawning over her, and she’s over here acting like a grandma just waiting for bingo night. It’s weird, but it’s Marie, y’know? Her card game obsession is just the cherry on top. She’s always trying to rope people into playing Gin Rummy or Canasta. If she doesn’t have anyone to play with, she’ll sit there doing solitaire, shuffling the cards like she’s in a Vegas casino. And don’t even think about beating her—she’s ruthless, calling out rules you’ve never heard of, like, ‘Actually, you can’t play that card because it’s Thursday.’

Marie also has these old-school habits that just make her seem even more like an old grandma, and I mean that in the funniest way possible. First off, she’s always trying to feed everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re hungry or not—she’s like, ‘You’re too skinny, you need to eat.’ She’ll whip out a full meal in five minutes like it’s a magic trick. Fighter? Coach? Cameraman? You mention you are hungry and she just appears with food, where does it come from? Her big beehive?

And the food—oh, the food. Marie’s kitchen always smells like she’s been cooking for a village. She’s making kugel, latkes, stuffed cabbage—you name it. She even learned how to make her own challah, which she insists on braiding perfectly, and don’t even get me started on her chicken soup. It’s practically a cure-all. Got a cold? Soup. Bad day? Soup. Sprained your ankle? Guess what? Soup.

And the guilt trips? Oh, man. Classic Marie. Like if I don’t call her when I’m out late, she hits me with, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll just sit here and wonder if my little brother is alive or in a ditch somewhere.’ I’m like, ‘Marie, I went to the store for five minutes!’ I get it I'm short and I'm only 17, but I've beaten guys that are three times my age and height.

Then there’s her obsession with coupons and deals. She’s not even strapped for cash, but if she gets something full price, she acts like she’s personally betrayed her ancestors. She’s all about ‘Why pay $5 when you could pay $4.75?’

Oh, and holidays? Forget about it. She goes ALL OUT. Passover, Hanukkah, you name it—she’s dragging me to synagogue, making matzo ball soup, and lecturing me on traditions like I’m in Sunday school again. But honestly, it’s kinda nice. Makes things feel like home.

Marie’s just got this old Jewish lady energy, even though she’s… y’know, Marie. It’s like she’s channeling generations of bubbes, but in her own chaotic, lovable way.”

“Oh man, don’t even get me started on Marie’s house. It’s like stepping into a time capsule. She’s got these old decorations everywhere—like, actual antiques. She’s got menorahs that look like they came straight out of the shtetl, ceramic pomegranates, and a hamsa on every other wall. There’s even this weird old clock that doesn’t work, but she won’t get rid of it because ‘it has character.’

And then there’s the singing. If she’s cleaning, cooking, or just puttering around the house, you know she’s gonna be singing something in Yiddish. It’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it half the time. She’ll be scrubbing a pan and humming ‘Tumbalalaika’ or ‘Bei Mir Bistu Shein.’ Sometimes she gets into it and starts belting out like she’s on stage, and I’m just sitting there like, ‘You good, Marie?’

It’s honestly kinda comforting, though. Like, it’s chaotic, but it’s her. I mean, yeah, she’s got this whole grandma vibe, but it just makes the place feel warm and alive. Even if she’s singing so loud the neighbors can hear.”

“Okay, so Marie’s list of grandma activities is endless. Like, she collects random jars and containers. Doesn’t matter if it’s an old pickle jar or a tin from cookies—she’ll clean it out and say something like, ‘You never know when you’ll need a good jar.’ Now her cabinets are full of ‘em, and I swear, half of them are empty.

She’s obsessed with gardening, but not, like, normal plants—she’s growing herbs and weird flowers that I’m convinced nobody’s even heard of. She’ll come in with dirt on her face like, ‘Look, Little Mac, my rosemary’s thriving!’ Meanwhile, I can barely keep a cactus alive.

Oh, and she’s got this thing with handwritten notes. Like, she refuses to use her phone for reminders. Instead, she’ll write down recipes, to-do lists, or random thoughts on little scraps of paper—and they’re everywhere. You’ll find ‘em in her coat pockets, on the fridge, even in the bathroom.

Then there’s her perfume collection, which is wild. She’s got these vintage bottles that look like they came out of a 1920s department store. And the scents? They’re super flowery or musky, like classic grandma fragrances. She’s always dabbing it on her wrists like it’s a ritual, and if you say it’s strong, she’ll just shrug and say, ‘That’s how you know it’s good.’

And her dishes—oh boy. Marie’s got the fanciest plates and bowls, but they’re so old-school they’ve probably been passed down for generations. She’s got these blue and white porcelain plates she only uses for special occasions and some glassware that’s so delicate she practically makes you sign a waiver before touching it. Meanwhile, she’ll serve you cookies on a little tray that looks like it belongs in a museum.

Marie’s collections are a big part of who she is—they tell stories of her past, her culture, and her unique personality. Walking into her apartment is like stepping into a cozy, lived-in museum of sorts. It’s a collection of memories, keepsakes, and things that hold sentimental value. But at the same time, it feels like home, a space that’s warm and inviting despite all the stuff packed into every nook and cranny.

First, there’s her collection of old religious items. You can’t miss them. She’s got candles, menorahs, and even an antique silver kiddush cup that’s been passed down through generations. When she talks about these objects, you can see the reverence in her eyes—they’re not just decorations; they’re links to her family’s past, to the traditions her grandparents carried with them from Europe. She’s got prayer books in Yiddish and Hebrew, their pages yellowed with age, some of them with notes written in the margins. It’s clear that every item in her collection has a story, a memory attached to it.

Then there are her trinkets—lots of small figurines and dolls from different cultures. Some are from her travels, like the little wooden figurines from Slovakia or the hand-painted pottery she bought when she visited Romania. They’re scattered around her living room, on shelves or in glass cabinets, like little time capsules. Each one seems to have a story of where she’s been, who she was with, or something important that happened in her life. Some of the pieces are quirky—like the hand-carved wooden clown from a street market in Prague—but others are so intricate and beautiful, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Marie also collects vintage cookbooks. Old ones, some of them falling apart from how much she’s used them. She’s got this one cookbook that’s a hundred years old, and she’s used it so much that the pages are stained with grease and food marks. She said it belonged to her grandmother, who taught her how to cook all those old-world recipes. Every time I look at it, I can’t help but think about how much history is packed into those pages. You can tell these aren’t just recipes; they’re part of her family’s identity. Whenever she cooks, she’s connecting with her roots, with the women who came before her. It’s like she’s passing the knowledge down, one meal at a time.

There’s also a whole section of her home that’s dedicated to vintage postcards. She’s been collecting them for years—mostly ones from different places she’s been, but also some old ones she’s found at thrift stores or flea markets. They’re mostly from the early 1900s, showing cities, landmarks, and scenes from long ago. I remember her showing me one of New York from the 1920s, and she told me that her great-grandparents used to live in that exact neighborhood. It’s amazing how these little postcards capture a moment in time—like frozen memories of lives that were lived long before we came along.

And then, of course, there’s the collection of old dishes and teacups. She’s got this collection of mismatched, delicate porcelain teacups—most of them from different countries. There’s one that she’s really fond of, a cup with little roses painted on it that she got from a shop in Vienna. She says it reminds her of when she visited the city with her mother, back when things were simpler. Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, she’ll pull out one of her favorite cups, brew a pot of tea, and we’ll sit and chat, letting the time slip by. It’s like she’s recreating those small, intimate moments of her past, making new memories with each cup.

I’ve noticed how Marie’s collections aren’t just about having stuff; they’re a reflection of her life, her history, and her connection to both her Jewish roots and the cultures she’s grown up around. Sometimes, when she’s showing me her collections, it’s like she’s telling me pieces of her story without saying much at all. It’s in the way she talks about the items, the pride in her voice when she tells me the history behind them. It’s almost like these collections are her way of holding onto the past while moving forward—an acknowledgment of where she’s come from, and a way of keeping it all alive.

The coolest part, though, is how she’s started teaching me about her collections, how she’s opened up about the stories behind each item. I’ve learned so much from her—about her family, her heritage, and her way of seeing the world. She’s passed along some of the old cooking techniques from her family’s recipes, the way they used to stretch a meal and make everything from scratch. And every time we cook together, it feels like I’m adding my own little piece to her collection—like I’m a part of her story now, too.

Marie’s collections have this way of connecting the past and present, of honoring where she’s come from while she builds her life here and now. And even though I’m not really a collector, it’s hard not to get caught up in the magic of it all—the way she looks at each item, the pride she takes in preserving these pieces of her life. It’s not just about the things she owns; it’s about the memories they hold, the people they’ve connected her to, and the legacy she’s continuing. It’s a big part of why being with her feels like being part of something so much bigger than just the two of us.

Marie’s collection of old quilts and handmade clothes is probably one of the most personal and heartfelt parts of her home. Each piece is like a patchwork of memories, not just fabric, but moments in time, stories of hands that sewed them, and the love that went into making them. I’ve always been amazed by the way she talks about her quilts—how each stitch feels like it holds a piece of her family’s history.

The quilts are incredible. Some of them are centuries old, handed down from her great-grandmother and others from her mother. They’re faded now, the colors soft and worn, but they’ve got this warmth to them—almost like they still carry the imprint of the hands that created them. I remember the first time I saw them, spread out across her bed like a tapestry of the past. The designs are intricate, sometimes even abstract, and Marie can tell you exactly where each one came from. Some are made from fabric scraps, leftovers from clothes that her family wore, while others are more meticulously designed patterns that took hours to stitch together.

I think what really strikes me about the quilts is the level of care in each one. Marie says her grandmother made them during the tough years when they didn’t have much. They used whatever fabric they could get their hands on—old dresses, scraps from coats, bits of whatever they could salvage—and then she’d sew them all together into something beautiful and functional. It’s not just about making something to keep warm; it’s about creating something from nothing, something that could be passed down, that would be there to tell the family’s story.

Marie’s not only a collector of these quilts—she’s a maker, too. She’s shown me how she still hand-stitches some of the smaller repairs or adds new designs to the older quilts, kind of like preserving them, but also giving them a little life of their own. She told me that it’s part of how she connects with her family, with the women who came before her. Each stitch she adds feels like she’s participating in the same tradition, carrying it on in her own way. I never really understood how something like that could feel so personal, but when you see the care and attention she gives to each piece, it’s hard not to feel the love in it.

And then there are the handmade clothes. Marie’s always been into crafting—knitting, sewing, crocheting. She has this incredible collection of vintage sewing patterns that she’s gotten from all over the world, some dating back to the 1930s. I’ve seen her pull out these old patterns with these beautiful, detailed drawings of women’s dresses, coats, and even accessories, and she’ll talk about how she wants to try them out one day. She’s made everything from wool cardigans to hand-sewn dresses, each one unique, each one a work of art. The fabrics she uses are often vintage, too—like old silk from her travels or linen she picked up at a market in Spain—and she’s so particular about every little detail. I’ve watched her sew late into the night, her hands moving over the fabric with this incredible focus, like she’s channeling the spirit of all the seamstresses in her family.

One of the most special things she’s made, though, is a sweater she knitted for me. She gave it to me last winter, and when I first saw it, I couldn’t believe how much care she’d put into every stitch. The yarn was this deep blue, soft and thick, perfect for the cold weather. I don’t know if she meant for it to be anything more than a simple sweater, but when I put it on, I felt like I was wearing a piece of her heart. I wear it all the time now, especially when it gets cold, and it always makes me feel close to her, like I’m wrapped in her warmth.

What I love most about Marie’s quilts and handmade clothes, though, is how they represent her dedication to the people she loves. It’s not just about creating something beautiful—it’s about making something that lasts, that can be passed down through the generations, just like the quilts and clothes from her ancestors. It’s like she’s making her own legacy, stitch by stitch, and with each quilt she adds to her collection, each sweater she knits, she’s making a piece of history for the future. Even though she’s modern, her love for these handmade creations feels timeless, as though she’s carrying a tradition forward that might otherwise be lost. And every time I see her working on one of her projects, I’m reminded of how much of her heart goes into everything she does.

Then there’s her knitting addiction. She’s making blankets, socks, and hats for everyone. And she doesn’t just stop at knitting—she crochets too. Sometimes she’ll call me over and be like, ‘Try this on,’ and it’s some oversized sweater that I’m not even sure fits me.

Oh, and Marie LOVES writing letters. Like, actual letters with envelopes and stamps. She’ll sit at the table for hours with her fancy pens, writing to people who probably won’t even write back. She says it’s ‘more personal.’

I’m telling you, she’s basically 80 years old in a younger body. It’s kinda hilarious, but also weirdly comforting.”

“Okay, so I get it—Marie’s an immigrant from Germany, and her late family was super traditional. She’s told me the stories a million times: how they kept kosher, how her mom would light candles every Friday night, and how her dad used to lecture her about the importance of keeping traditions alive. Like, I know where all her quirks come from.

But sometimes I look at her and think, ‘Marie, we’re not in the old country anymore.’ Like, I’m pretty sure nobody else in the WVBA is sitting down to hand-roll kreplach or yelling at the TV in Yiddish when the news is on. And yet, there she is, making gefilte fish from scratch and humming old folk songs while she does it.

I get that her upbringing made her who she is, and I respect it—I really do. But Marie takes it to a whole new level. She’s out here sewing patches onto my clothes, like it’s 1935 and I can’t just buy a new jacket. Or she’ll tell me things like, ‘In my family, we always did this,’ while setting the table with enough food to feed the entire league.

Okay, so yeah, Marie’s got all these old-school habits, but honestly? She’s been teaching me a ton of stuff that’s actually useful. Like, she’s a master at stretching a dollar. I used to think meal prepping was just for fitness buffs, but nope—Marie’s out here making meals that last a week, and they taste better every day. I’ve learned how to make a mean pot of chicken soup, and now I’m the guy everyone calls when they’re sick.

She’s also big on fixing things instead of throwing them out. My gloves were falling apart, and I was ready to toss them, but she showed me how to sew them up. I know, sewing doesn’t sound tough, but you’d be surprised how handy it is when you’re training and gear gets worn out.

And her cooking? It’s like a crash course in survival. She’s teaching me all these recipes that are cheap, filling, and taste amazing—latkes, kugel, even braided challah. She says it’s about ‘taking care of your people,’ and now I feel like I could feed an army if I had to.

She’s even teaching me some Yiddish phrases, which is great for trash-talking in the ring without anyone knowing. Marie says, ‘If you’re gonna call someone a nudnik, at least do it with flair.’

So yeah, she’s old-fashioned, but it’s like having my own personal life coach. I don’t just get a sister—I get a survival guide, a tailor, and a chef all rolled into one.

It’s like she’s stuck between being this old-world Jewish bubbe and a modern-day cutman, and somehow, it works for her. It’s just… sometimes I have to remind her that we’re in New York, not a little shtetl in Germany. It’s funny how people can look at Marie and think she’s just this old, traditional lady, but they don’t always know the full story. I’ve heard her talk about her parents, and honestly, it’s a bit heartbreaking. Her mom and dad, they were born and raised in Germany, and they had that old-school, strict mindset that a lot of people from their generation carried with them. You know, they had lived through a lot—survived the war, rebuilt their lives—and they were determined to keep their family traditions alive, even if that meant keeping a tight grip on Marie. They weren’t bad people, but they were overbearing in a way that you’d only understand if you were raised in a time and place like that.

She was expected to follow the rules, do things the “right” way, and stick to their ideals. It was all about preserving the family name, the old customs, the way things had been passed down from generation to generation. And I get it—her parents went through things most people can’t even imagine. They lived through the worst of history, and their experiences shaped how they viewed the world. They probably just wanted to protect Marie from the chaos that had torn apart their lives and their home. But that didn’t mean she had to stay trapped in that mindset forever.

Marie’s always been this independent spirit, though. She’s got her own opinions, her own ideas about how things should be, and as much as she respected her parents, she didn’t agree with a lot of the things they pushed on her. She loved them, no doubt, but she needed more than just their way of living. It wasn’t until after they passed that Marie felt like she could truly breathe, like she was finally free to make her own choices and live her life on her terms. I think that’s when she really came into her own. That’s when she left Germany and came here, looking for something different, something that would allow her to be herself.

It wasn’t easy, though. Coming to a new country, starting fresh, and breaking away from the expectations her parents had set for her—it was all a huge challenge. But that’s Marie. She’s never been one to back down, and even though she didn’t agree with the way her parents had raised her, she understood where they were coming from. They’d lived through the worst times in history, and for them, that kind of control was just a way of coping with everything they’d lost. But for Marie, it was suffocating. She wasn’t going to live a life defined by fear or by the shadows of the past. She came to us, to America, for freedom—freedom to be who she truly was, to make her own path, and to define her own future.

It wasn’t like she rejected everything they taught her—she still holds onto parts of her heritage, her culture, and the values that shaped her. But she learned that she didn’t have to live under the weight of their rules, and that’s something she’s always fought for. She believes in embracing the past, but she also believes in moving forward, in creating a life that’s her own. That’s why she’s so willing to learn from others, to hear different perspectives, and to understand people from all walks of life. It’s her way of reclaiming her own identity, and I think that’s what makes her so special.

She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that leaving Germany wasn’t just about escaping her parents—it was about finding herself, finding a place where she didn’t have to live in anyone’s shadow. And when she came here, she didn’t just step into the world that awaited her; she built her own life, on her own terms. It’s something I admire a lot about her—she took the lessons from her past, the struggles she went through, and used them to shape the woman she is today. She’s proud of her roots, but she knows she can’t be confined by them. That’s Marie—always pushing forward, always staying true to herself, no matter where she came from or who tried to hold her back.

But outside of her old ways her opinions are pretty modern. She is for the people, for the minorities. You know, sometimes Marie comes off as old-fashioned, especially with the way she carries herself. She’s got her routines—like making sure everyone’s got enough to eat, or making time for her old-school traditions, like keeping the house cozy with homemade quilts or sitting down with a good book. People might look at her and think she’s just this sweet, old lady who’s stuck in the past, but they couldn’t be more wrong. She’s actually one of the most forward-thinking people I know, especially when it comes to social justice.

It might not always look that way, but Marie’s got this fire inside her. She doesn’t just sit back and accept things because “that’s how it’s always been.” If she sees something she thinks is wrong, you can bet she’s going to stand up for it—no matter the situation. She might be the one sitting in a quiet corner at a dinner party, but when it comes to speaking out, she doesn’t hesitate for a second.

I’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with people who try to put others down, especially when it comes to injustice. Whether it’s racism, discrimination, or people being treated unfairly, she’s never afraid to call it out. It’s not always dramatic—she doesn’t make a big scene—but you can feel the power of her words when she does speak up. I remember this one time when a few of the boxers were making some off-hand remarks about someone’s culture, and Marie didn’t let it slide. She didn’t lecture them, but she calmly told them how those kinds of comments were hurtful, how important it was to respect every person’s background, no matter where they come from. The room got quiet, and for a moment, I think everyone realized how much they’d been missing—how easy it was to fall into ignorance if you didn’t stop and think.

Marie’s not the kind of person who makes a big deal about it, but when she stands up for what’s right, people listen. She’s never one to shy away from a conversation, especially if it means standing up for the underdog. I’ve seen her defend workers in the stores she shops at, the people who’ve been overlooked by others. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone cleaning the floors or serving food—Marie sees people as people, and if she feels like they’re not being treated right, she’ll speak up. She’s taught me that being kind and respectful isn’t just about showing love to people who are easy to love—it’s about standing up for the ones who might be forgotten or mistreated, too.

I think part of it comes from the way she was raised—growing up in a tough time and learning that you’ve got to fight for what’s right. It’s a different world now, but Marie’s sense of justice hasn’t changed. She was taught that you stand up for the people who don’t have a voice, that you make sure everyone gets a fair chance. She doesn’t just fight for others when it’s convenient or when it’s easy. She does it because she believes it’s the right thing to do.

And even though she’s old-fashioned in some ways, it’s clear that she’s got a modern heart. She understands the struggles people are going through today, and she’s got a strong opinion about how things should change. Whether it’s talking to one of the boxers about their behavior or stepping up for a cause she believes in, Marie is never one to back down. She may be gentle, but she’s got a backbone made of steel.

It’s honestly kind of amazing to see someone so rooted in tradition still push for progress. She reminds me all the time that standing up for others doesn’t have to be loud or flashy—it’s about doing the right thing even when nobody’s looking. That’s the real power she has: making sure people are treated with dignity and respect, no matter who they are or where they come from. And to me, that makes her more modern than a lot of people I know, despite the fact that she’s into old quilts and listening to language tapes. She’s got a wisdom that comes from experience, and I can’t think of a better role model.

“I mean, I’ve always been Catholic, y’know? It’s kind of in my blood. I’m Hispanic, so that whole church thing was a big part of growing up. Sunday mornings meant heading to church with my mom, and then there’d be the whole family afterwards for a big meal, and of course, we’d say grace before we ate. It’s just… tradition. My mom would make me sit still through the whole mass, even when I wanted to run around as a kid, and she’d always say the rosary with me at night before bed, counting the beads like it was a ritual. I’d pray to the Virgin Mary and Jesus, asking for guidance. It was something I didn’t always get, but it was comforting, like it grounded me in a way. Even if I didn’t understand all the words or the history behind everything, there was this peace in it. Church was a space for me to reset, y’know?

Then, there’s Marie. She’s Jewish—born and raised, and her family’s super traditional. I know she grew up with a lot of the same values, just with a different foundation. Every time I stay with her, I learn a little more about her culture and her faith, and she’s always open to hearing about mine too. I don’t think I ever realized how much I didn’t know about her traditions until she started explaining it. For example, she told me about Shabbat, how every Friday night, she lights candles, says a prayer, and makes everything peaceful for the weekend. It’s such a simple but deep thing, right? She said it’s about setting the tone for the rest of the week—something like that. Honestly, I was kind of surprised by how similar it felt to what we do, except ours is on Sundays. She also explained how lighting the candles is a way to honor the Sabbath, and I thought that was powerful. She said the prayer in Hebrew, and I couldn’t really catch all of it, but the way she said it… there was this calmness to it. I wanted to understand it more.

One night, I asked her about some of the prayers she says before meals, and she told me about the bracha, the blessing over bread. That was something I had never heard of. She said, ‘Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,’ and she explained how it’s this deep connection to what the earth gives us. I liked that. It felt really… connected, you know? Like, appreciating where food comes from, where life comes from. I actually started saying a little prayer in my head after hearing hers, kind of like how we do grace before meals. It wasn’t exactly the same, but the feeling behind it—being thankful, taking a moment to appreciate what we have—it made sense to me. It’s not that different when you really think about it.

She’s even asked me to teach her some of the Catholic traditions, like the rosary. I showed her how we pray with the beads and how the Hail Mary and Our Father are part of our routine. At first, she didn’t really get it—like, ‘Why do you have to repeat so many prayers?’ But as I explained it to her, she seemed to find it interesting. She said something like, ‘It’s kind of like meditating, right? Repeating the words to focus your mind?’ And I guess, in a way, she’s right. It’s not just about the words, but about the mindset. About putting your trust in something bigger than yourself, taking a minute to just breathe and let go.

It’s funny because sometimes we’ll sit together, each of us in our own little world, practicing our faiths in the way we know how, but we never judge each other. Instead, it’s like we’re both learning from one another. I’ll catch her lighting candles, and sometimes, without even thinking, I’ll say a prayer to myself. Or we’ll sit down for a meal, and she’ll say her bracha while I quietly say grace. There’s no conflict, no “this is better than that.” It’s just… respect. We’re different, but there’s a shared understanding that both of our faiths are important parts of who we are.

I remember one day, I was feeling kind of off after training, and Marie noticed. She looked at me and said, ‘Maybe you should say a prayer for strength.’ She didn’t know what I usually do, but I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to explain. I just said, ‘Yeah, I think I will.’ And we both took a moment, in our own ways, to connect with something bigger than us. I said my rosary prayer, and she said one of her own, and it was like, for just a moment, we were both in the same place spiritually.

Honestly, the more we talk about it, the more I realize that faith isn’t just about the specifics of the tradition. It’s about believing in something, having that foundation to stand on when life gets tough. And Marie… she’s shown me that while our religions might look different on the surface, the core of it is the same: love, family, tradition, and a deep appreciation for the life we’ve been given. And, I guess, in that way, we teach each other, without even trying.”

“Man, when I think about how Marie and I have blended our cultures together, it feels like it’s more than just about food or traditions—it’s about a deeper connection. We’re from different worlds, right? Me, with my Hispanic background, raised in a Catholic household, and her, with her Jewish upbringing, coming from a family that holds onto traditions like they’re a lifeline. At first, I didn’t think we’d have that much in common when it came to holidays or meals or anything like that, but as we started sharing more of ourselves with each other, I realized it’s all about finding that space where both of our worlds can exist side by side.

I remember the first time I went with Marie to her family’s Shabbat dinner. It was so different from anything I’d ever experienced. The candles, the prayers, the way everyone gathered around the table to share the bread and wine—it felt intimate, spiritual. I had never been part of anything like that before. And I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand all the prayers or the Hebrew, but I could feel something deep, like this connection to the past, to her ancestors. It was like they were carrying on something that meant so much, something that had been passed down for generations. There was such a reverence in the room, a respect for tradition. I felt like an outsider at first, but Marie, she didn’t make me feel that way. She just told me to do what felt right, and that was enough.

And then, she started asking me about my own traditions. I remember the first time I talked about Día de los Muertos with her. She didn’t know much about it—how we honor our loved ones, set up altars with candles, marigolds, and pictures, and how the food, like pan de muerto, is a symbol of life and death coexisting. I could tell it really resonated with her. She asked a million questions, like she was trying to understand the whole concept—not just the rituals, but what it meant to me, how it shaped my perspective on life and death. And I think that’s when I realized: it wasn’t about just explaining a holiday; it was about explaining a part of myself. Sharing that with her felt like we were connecting on a deeper level than I ever imagined.

When we decided to merge our two cultures for Christmas last year, that’s when it really hit me how much we were growing together. I cooked up some tamales, and she made her famous latkes. I swear, she was more excited about my tamales than I was—she was curious about every little detail, asking how I wrapped the masa, what kind of fillings I liked. And when it came time for dinner, we sat down together, and it wasn’t just about eating—it was like a celebration of both our families, both our histories. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that meal was a symbol of us coming together in this space we created—our own little mix of everything.

But it’s not just the meals or the holidays. It’s how we’ve both started weaving bits of each other’s cultures into our everyday lives. Like when Marie would teach me the Yiddish words her grandmother taught her, and I’d throw in some Spanish phrases she didn’t know. Or when we started making room in our lives for both the rosary and the Shabbat candles—one for the end of the week, the other for the beginning. It’s small stuff, but it feels monumental, like we’re building this bridge between us, brick by brick, until the difference between us doesn’t feel so different at all.

And the best part is, we don’t feel like we have to choose one over the other. It’s not about me abandoning my roots or her abandoning hers. It’s about realizing that the beauty of our relationship isn’t in our sameness, but in how we’ve learned to respect and embrace each other’s differences. It’s like each holiday, each meal, each little ritual, is a way to say, ‘I see you. I understand where you come from. And I want to be a part of that.’

We’ve built our own traditions now—ones that mix the old and the new. Like, this past year, we decided to make a whole bunch of different dishes for Thanksgiving. We had the turkey and the stuffing, of course, but we also had marinated brisket, challah bread, and tamales. It was a weird combo at first, but when we sat down to eat, I realized that this—this was the new tradition. It wasn’t just one holiday, one culture, or one history; it was a reflection of both of us, coming together and carving out something that was uniquely ours.

And the deeper I get into all this, the more I realize it’s not about any one meal or prayer—it’s about what those things represent. It’s about learning the sacredness in each other’s customs and realizing that, even though we’re from different backgrounds, we’re both carrying pieces of something bigger. That’s what’s made this whole journey with Marie so special: it’s not just about learning from each other, it’s about creating something new together, something that honors both of our pasts while looking forward to the future we’re building.”

Marie’s always looking for ways to connect with people, even when it’s hard. She’ll invite the other boxers over for dinner or lunch, and it’s not just about feeding them—it’s about sharing something, learning from each other, and seeing if they can break through the barriers that sometimes exist between them. I’ve seen it firsthand. No matter how different the boxers are, or how much tension might be between them, she’ll set a table for everyone. Whether they’re from different parts of the world, speak different languages, or come from different cultures, she’s always trying to create this space where people can connect.

Marie doesn’t expect miracles. She knows she can’t always get along with everyone, and she knows that sometimes, people aren’t going to suddenly become best friends just because there’s food on the table. But she tries anyway. She makes an effort to make sure everyone feels heard, even if it’s not easy. I’ve seen her with Bald Bull and Soda Popinski—those two can barely stand each other, but somehow, at one of Marie’s dinners, the tension fades a little. It’s not like they forget their differences, but it’s like they understand each other a little better. They’ll start talking about their hometowns or their favorite foods, and even if it’s just for that moment, the rivalry takes a backseat.

She’s got this deep need to get to know people, not just as boxers but as individuals. She’s always looking for common ground, always trying to understand where someone’s coming from. It’s not always about speaking the same language; it’s about making the effort, showing respect, and being curious. That’s why you’ll find her listening to language tapes in the car on the way to the gym or before bed. I don’t think she ever stops trying to learn. She’s always listening to lessons in German, Yiddish, Ladino, or Spanish, working on something new to help her communicate better. It’s one of the things I admire most about her—she’s not content just knowing what she knows. She wants to understand more, and she’s willing to put in the work to bridge those gaps.

And even though not everyone gets along, she still believes in the value of that connection. She knows there are going to be days when the boxers clash or when there’s a rough atmosphere in the gym, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to build something different. If she can’t make them all get along, at least she can try to give them the tools to understand each other better. She’s not a miracle worker, but she’s definitely a bridge builder. It’s something small, but it has a big impact. Even if they don’t always see eye to eye, I think they leave her dinners with a little more respect for each other and the cultures they come from.

Sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that mean the most. She doesn’t ask for much in return—she doesn’t expect anyone to suddenly speak fluent Yiddish or learn all about her background in a day. But it’s the effort she puts in, the conversations she sparks, that slowly starts to change things. I think it’s part of who she is—this belief that no matter where someone’s from or how different they seem, there’s always something you can learn from each other. It’s not easy work, and sometimes it feels like it’s not making much of a difference, but she’s always at it, trying to make the world a little smaller, one dinner at a time.

Oh, man, Marie’s definitely had her moments with the language barrier. It’s actually kind of funny how hard she tries, and how sometimes, it just doesn’t go the way she plans.

I remember this one dinner with a few of the boxers—Bald Bull, Soda, and a couple of others. Marie was really excited because she’d been studying a bit of Turkish for a while, trying to connect with Bald Bull more. She had this whole plan to surprise him by speaking a little Turkish when he arrived, and she’d been listening to language tapes for days. So, she’s all pumped, right? The food’s ready, and she says to Bald Bull, “Hoş geldiniz!” (which means “Welcome”), and she’s smiling real big, waiting for his reaction.

Bald Bull just stands there, blinking for a second, and then he says, “What’d you say? Is that a new kind of soup?”

Marie’s face went from excited to totally confused, and we all just started laughing. It turns out she’d gotten one of the phrases wrong. She’d meant to say something welcoming, but it sounded like she was offering him a bowl of something. Bald Bull wasn’t upset, though. He actually laughed, too, and started teasing her about being “fluent in food, not language.”

It was funny, but it also showed just how hard she works to make that connection. She could’ve easily just stuck to speaking English, or German, or whatever she knew best, but no—she’s always pushing herself, trying to speak someone else’s language, even if it doesn’t come out perfectly. And honestly, even though it didn’t go as planned, it meant a lot that she tried. After that, Bald Bull was actually way more open to talking to her, even teaching her some Turkish words. He got a kick out of it, and by the end of the night, everyone was joking around in a mix of languages—English, Yiddish, Turkish, even a little Spanish from me.

Marie’s always learning and pushing herself, but she doesn’t take herself too seriously when things don’t go perfectly. The language barrier’s still there, but she doesn’t let it stop her. That’s just Marie. She’ll stumble, but she’ll keep going, even if it means saying something that makes everyone laugh.

Oh, Marie’s always so thoughtful about these things, so before she gives anyone a hug or that European cheek kiss, she always checks with the management first. She doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable—she’s just naturally affectionate, you know? She’ll ask them, “Is it okay if I greet him this way? I just want to make sure it’s not too much.” She’s got this polite, considerate side that’s honestly kind of funny considering how enthusiastically she greets people.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always go as smoothly as she thinks. I remember one time, Marie had just been told by management that it was fine to greet this new boxer from Eastern Europe with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They’d said it was cool, so Marie went for it—no hesitation. She walks up to the guy, big smile on her face, arms open wide, and as she goes in for the hug, you could see the panic in his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

He tries to awkwardly sidestep her, but Marie’s already there, giving him this big warm hug, and then she quickly plants a kiss on his cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But here’s the thing—this guy doesn’t even know how to react. He turns bright red, completely flustered, and backs up a little like he’s trying to get his bearings. At first, he’s just standing there, looking around like he’s trying to figure out if he’s supposed to do something in return. Is he supposed to kiss her cheek back? Hug her again? What was happening?!

Marie, not missing a beat, just smiles at him and says, “There, see? Wasn’t that easy?” as if it’s a casual, everyday greeting.

But this poor guy? His face goes even redder, and he starts mumbling in a mix of broken English and his native language. He’s flustered, trying to explain he’s not used to the whole European cheek-kiss thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her—it was just, well, a cultural shock. He looks over at the other boxers like he’s hoping for some guidance, but everyone else is trying to hold in their laughter, not wanting to make it worse.

Then, just to add to the comedy of the situation, one of the other guys (who’s seen Marie do this a hundred times) leans over and says, “It’s okay, buddy. Just wait until you get the full Marie treatment—you’ll get used to it!”

It wasn’t that the guy didn’t appreciate the greeting, but the suddenness of it caught him totally off guard. After that, he made a point of giving Marie a little wave every time they passed by, but still kept a bit of a distance—like he wasn’t quite ready for the full embrace yet.

Marie, though? She just laughed it off, completely unaware of how flustered he was, and continued to ask management about the next person she’d be meeting. She never wants to make anyone uncomfortable, but she’s definitely got that big, heart-on-her-sleeve attitude that sometimes takes people by surprise.

Man, when I think about Marie, there’s a lot I could say. She’s definitely not perfect—nobody is, right? She’s got her quirks, her old-school habits, and sometimes, she comes off a little… overbearing. But in a lot of ways, that’s what makes her who she is, and honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

She’s a hugger(sometimes), always going for those big, warm embraces, and the European kiss on the cheek greeting is so her. I’ve seen her catch people off guard with it—guys who aren’t used to that kind of thing. She’ll greet anyone like they’re family, whether it’s Bald Bull, Soda Popinski, or some new guy we’re training with. Sometimes, they’re flustered or confused at first, but they come to appreciate it. She doesn’t judge people, and she doesn’t care where they come from. She just wants to make sure they feel welcomed. And that includes asking management if it’s okay to greet someone that way, making sure no one’s uncomfortable.

Marie’s got a lot of old traditions—she loves her Yiddish, her German roots, and her ethnic foods. She cooks like you’re at your grandma’s house, and she’ll make sure you know every single ingredient in that dish, even if it’s hard to pronounce. And don’t even get me started on how she’s always trying to learn new languages—she’s listening to tapes in the car, studying words late at night, just so she can connect with the guys better. She knows it’s not always going to work, but she tries anyway. Even when there’s a language barrier, she’s trying to make that bridge. It’s like she believes that communication, no matter how imperfect, is key.

She’ll invite boxers over to dinner, even if they’re from different cultures, just to get to know them. Sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it’s a little weird, but she makes it work. I’ve seen her do it—making those cultural exchanges happen, finding something in common, and trying to break down those walls. Even when they don’t get along, she’s there, working her hardest to build some kind of understanding. She doesn’t let differences keep her from trying to make people feel at home, even if it’s a battle sometimes.

Now, I’ve seen the way she handles things with her family, too. Her parents were strict, real traditional—especially with her being Jewish and growing up in Germany. They had a way of thinking that didn’t always mesh with Marie’s need for freedom. She didn’t agree with everything they said or did. When they passed, she left for the U.S. She came here for a new life, for more opportunities, and for the chance to live on her own terms. She didn’t let anyone hold her back, and that took a lot of courage.

She’s got a big heart, but she’s also a fighter in her own right. She stands up for social justice, even when it’s not popular. You don’t always see it, but she’s got that fire. She might not be loud about it, but she’s quietly pushing for what’s right, helping people out in the ways she can.

But yeah, she’s not perfect. Sometimes she’s overbearing, sometimes she’s got her own ways that don’t always make sense to everyone, and sometimes she makes things awkward with her affection or language mishaps. But that’s what makes her Marie. She’s real. She’s stubborn, kind-hearted, and she doesn’t stop trying to make the world a little better—whether it’s through food, hugs, or just taking the time to learn about people. And to me? That’s enough. She’s family, and I’m proud to have her as my sister.

P.S. If you ever find yourself at one of her dinners and you see her pull out a dish that looks like it came straight out of a history book, just smile, nod, and eat it. You’ll be fine—unless it’s one of her experimental Yiddish-Slovak fusion dishes… then just pray you survive the taste test.

P.P.S. If you’re ever wondering why Marie insists on giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek every time you walk through the door, just remember: it’s not because she thinks you need it, it’s because she’s convinced that if she doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget that you’re loved and appreciated. She’s like a walking, talking emotional safety net.

P.P.P.S. And if you’re one of those boxers who’s not into hugs or physical touch? Don’t worry—Marie’s got a backup plan. She’ll give you the warmest, most awkward air hug you’ve ever seen, complete with a look like she’s praying it doesn’t freak you out. Or some cheesy joke. It’s her way of saying, “I respect your boundaries, but also… I really want to hug you, just so you know.”

[spacebell]

I get so annoyed at my brother sometimes

[hawkeyeslaughter]

happy birthday trapper john i love you trapper john

[wlw-webcomic-bracket]

Am I aware that adderall can’t do its job if I don’t get enough sleep?

Have I utterly failed to make use of this knowledge?

Am I, an entire adult with a wife and a salary, hoping “you wouldn’t want to disappoint HP, would you?” is the thing that finally motivates me to go to bed before two in the morning?

The answers to these questions will probably not surprise you!

[stealingyourbones]

Spent so much time making sushi for dinner and was so excited to have a funky little sushi roll and eat it like a burrito but then my nori ripped apart mid roll and I had to eat it as a salad and apparently my brain doesn’t like the texture of imitation crab + seaweed and rice rn :(

[valewritessss]

Should I sneak into the kitchen to get a cookie at midnight yes or no

[callixton]

it’s 3 am you know what that means…. snack time when i should be sleeping

[peapod20001]

I’m the type that can and will cry if think too hard <3

[okcoolthanks]

Off topic but Whale reminds me of qsmp slimecicle from when he like went to fucking eggsile what the fuck ever kill me

[aroace-poly-show]

eepy time