#gotta stock up on groceries again.

[c0smicdusk]

Our town has been out of water for a few days and now its looking like we wont be getting it back for another week. Which means we're not going back to work either.

Shaking my little tin can spare change? Spare change for art?

[moeblob]

having a stressful time at work but i think it's very important to point out the other day i was asking a guy for help and he's like aight gotcha and then we go to this freezer room and he, from somewhere beyond a mound of boxes, just goes "you like anime right?"

sir this is the FIRST TIME we have spoken how did you clock that.

(he claims i had the vibes of someone who liked it then i was like oh like the woman in the deli wearing a jujutsu- and before i can finish the series name he says "no not her, she just liked the shirt. she's never watched anime". . . oh. i see. you have already had this debate with her then. okay.)

EDIT UPDATE:

So I got clocked AGAIN as a weeb by a coworker because I saw part of her outfit and was like "oh, Attack on Titan?" and while I then said I've never watched it she said that's fair then "do you know anything about vtubers?" and I just. Are you kidding me. I mean yeah but like. Why is your safe question with me "do you know about vtubers".

WHAT AURA DO I BRING TO A GROCERY STORE TO BE CALLED OUT LIKE THIS?

[ordinarydoodles]

Just so you know, i am stalking you on every DCA fandom content.

I always open up the comment and be like: "Wonder if the pineapple with the same hyperfixacion is here today?"

And when you are:

"There they are <3"

Stooop, you're making me blush <3

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Ooooookay so not sure im gonna keep going to walmart to get my groceries unless absolutely necessary cuz the one closest to my house is awful

Its fucking massive. The app tells you the wrong aisles for everything. And there were way too many fucking people. Not a fan.

[strawberryfloofs]

tw: mentions of neglect/abuse

carer with a traumatized age regressor they know they're helping to heal everytime they slip.

never received toys/were given very few toys as a kid? bubbas spoiling you in all the toys you want! if their kiddo is a little more shy and feeling guilty, they'll notice their little one eyeing a toy. "do you want it puppy? no need to feel bad, i just wanna give you everything you deserve"

went without food in public? carer will always order something for you, you never have to watch them eat while you have nothing. "oh honey I would never~ not only is that mean, but you gotta grow big and strong like me!"

went without food/snacks in private? your caregiver always makes sure they stock up on your favorite snacks and brands- no matter how specific they are. there's no shame in only eating a certain brand or flavor of chips. there's always groceries in the house and they're happy to cook for you, wanting to make sure you're safe AND fed. "are you hungy? I can get my sweetheart their favorite snack until the pastas done?"

had bad physical treatment? they would NEVER even THINK about laying a hand on you. if you misbehave or act up, they understand you're just in littlespace. like real kids, emotions can be hard and some moments arent good. sometimes kids like to test boundaries, there's nothing wrong with that. they won't let it slide and will issue lines, time outs, and stuff like early bedtime or shorter playtime- but nothing physical or mentally damaging. "angel I know you're all upset and shouting at bubba, but I need you to sit in the chair for 5 minutes. we don't yell."

missed out on a lot of childhood experiences? that's okay! your cg is soooo happy to integrate anything into their routine. whether it's storytime, going to the park, holiday celebrations, they're happy to accomodate! "oh you wanna have a bubba baby book read before your nap? of course little one!"

touch starved and wanting a lot of physical affection? they'll love on you SO much to try and make up for it! cuddles, pats, carries, boops, you got it! "awww does munchkin need a hug? cmere"

weren't treated the best emotionally? they understand how it can impact you. your carer always reminds you that you're not a burden, it wasn't your fault, and they truly do love you. they're not lying to you, they don't hate you, there's no maliciousness or ulterior motives- just pure love and care. "I know it was a lot, and I'm sorry you had to live through that angel- but I'm glad you're with me now. As long as I'm here, and as long as you'll let me- I won't let anyone treat you like that again. I pinky promise, my little love. Always, and forever."

Icl, this was very self indulgent to me- but I hope anyone who can sadly relate feels atleast a little bit of comfort and wholesomeness from this. I believe you. You're strong.

[animamii]

lockedup!Toji loves his Honeybuns

The phone rang just as you were settling onto the couch, a mug of tea in your hands and a show playing faintly in the background. You glanced at the caller ID, already knowing who it was. With a small smile, you picked up, bracing yourself for whatever Toji had cooked up this time. After accepting the call, hearing that way too long trill, you finally get to speak.

"Hello?" you greeted, feigning nonchalance. Although every phone call from Toji has you giggling and kicking your feet, let's be reallll.

"Hey, princess," Toji's deep voice rumbled through the line, warm and familiar despite the scratchy sound of the prison phone. "Whatcha doin’?"

You rolled your eyes, though the grin tugging at your lips betrayed your fondness. "Just relaxing. What about you? Playing king of the yard or something?"

Toji chuckled lowly. "Nah, nah. Somethin’ like that, though. Listen, baby girl, I gotta ask you for somethin’ real important."

You tilted your head, immediately curious. "Important, huh? What is it this time? A file baked into a cake? Need me to smuggle something in my mouth then tongue kiss it into yours?"

"Close," he quipped. "But nah, just a few more honeybuns."

"Honeybuns?" You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. "Are you serious? Didn’t I just send you a whole box last week?"

"Yeah, and they’re gone," Toji said, completely unapologetic. "Ate most of 'em the minute they cleared it and gave it to me. Besides, those things are gold in here."

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch. "Gold? What, are you trading them for favors or something?"

"Don’t worry ‘bout that," he replied, his tone light but teasing. "Just know your man’s gotta keep his stash stocked. You wouldn’t wanna see me suffer without my sugar fix, would you?"

"You're unbelievable," you teased, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. "But fine. I’ll send more. Anything else while I’m at it? Chips? Cookies? A five-course meal?"

"Nah, just the honeybuns," Toji said, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. "You’re the best, princess. Knew I could count on you."

"Yeah, yeah," you said with mock exasperation. "You’re lucky I like you so much."

"Damn right, I’m lucky," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make it up to you when I get out, I swear. Dinner, a movie—whatever you want. Just me and you, baby."

Your heart softened at his words, a small smile creeping onto your face. "I’m holding you to that, Toji. No excuses."

"Deal," he said without hesitation. "But for now, just keep those honeybuns comin’, alright? They’re the only thing sweeter than you in here."

You rolled your eyes again, though your cheeks warmed at the cheesy line. "Alright, alright. I’ll send them out tomorrow. But you owe me, big time."

"I always owe you, princess," he said, his tone softening. "You’re the reason I get through this mess."

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. No matter how much trouble he got into, no matter how ridiculous his requests, you couldn’t help but love him for moments like this.

"Stay out of trouble, okay?" you said gently.

"Can’t make any promises," he replied with a chuckle. "But I’ll try. Love you, baby girl."

"Love you too, Toji. I’ll talk to you soon."

As the call ended, you found yourself smiling down at your phone, already mentally adding honeybuns to your shopping list. For all his tough exterior and troublemaking ways, Toji had a soft spot that only you got to see.

Later that evening, as you wandered the aisles of the grocery store, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, remembering his unapologetic confession about devouring the last box. You grabbed not one but two boxes of honeybuns this time, thinking about how his face would light up—well, as much as it could under the circumstances—when he got them.

The cashier gave you a curious look as they scanned your purchases. "Big fan of honeybuns?" they asked with a smile.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Not me. Someone special."

And special he was, even if he had a knack for driving you crazy with his antics. As you packed up your bags and headed home, you realized that, despite the distance and the challenges, you’d do just about anything to keep Toji smiling—even if it meant being his personal honeybun supplier.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆⋆

I'm literally addicted to locked up Toji rn what can I say I love a hot felon ughhh

[feralforfrank]

simon riley x fem!reader

simon gets hit by an umbrella like three times, sorry for not knowing proper british and scottish slang, i'm greek and trying my best 👍🏻 implied age gap (reader is in uni)

holidays in Edinburgh, part 1/?

the 141 is home for the holidays. home being all over the uk, with gaz and price spending their time somwhere in the country with their partners and simon accompanying johnny and his partner in Edinburgh. johnny insisted he come along, Edinburgh is full of bonnie birds, you never know, you might meet your match, lt.

you're miserable. spending yet another holiday in a foreign country, isolated in your flat with only your cat, warm tea, and a book to pass the time. you couldn't go back home due to finals starting soon, and your parents decided to spend Christmas in warm weather down under (Australia).

it's not half as bad, you try to convince yourself. your flat is quiet, as are the neighboring ones and the building in general. your bedroom window overlooks a busy street, and you envy those who flood them with shopping bags and smiles. you haven't made that many friends, and the ones you have are already visiting their hometowns. the upside is that you're in a warm, comfortable space while others are freezing their pinkies off.

even johnny is gone. the loud scot from next door, a guy you had disliked at first without having officially met him - thin walls was the only bad thing this building has, and you were forced to listen to him do everything, from weight lifting, to watching tv, to having sex - but when you bumped into each other your opinion changed drastically. a gentleman, funny and light-hearted. he hadn't taken to heart your complaints about the noise, only promising to take it down a notch.

without the muffled sounds of his tv to annoy you - his partner had apologised for the volume, saying he's partially deaf in one ear from having been too close to explosions way too many times - you were left reading your book in silence. maybe you'd go to the grocery store later, stock up so you won't need to leave your house - the weatherman said it's going to get colder, heavy snow expected.

johnny hands simon the keys to his flat. him and his bird are going to the supermarket, there's nothing in the fridge or the cupboards for the next few days. the scot told him to take a shower, relax and make himself at home until they come back, and he didn't have to be told twice with the biting cold making his nose stuffy.

johnny's building is freshly painted to look new on the outside but old on the inside. he's been here before, and he remembers mactavish struggling to open his front door sometimes, for the lock got stuck.

he tries to reenact the technique his best friend uses to get in, trying his hardest to open the door gently instead of pushing with his shoulder like he does back at his own flat. he turns the key one, two, three times and pulls forward softly, trying to turn the key for the fourth and final time.

fuck. you gotta be fucking joking.

"fuckin' hell."

he tries again. and again, this time throwing his bag on the floor. the door rattles as he uses a bit more force, frustration building steadily and quickly.

you press play on spotify, the familiar voices of joe and frank from the basement yard podcast filling your ears. your headphones are pushing the hair out of your face and also act as ear muffs. you check your coat pockets for your phone and keys, nodding to yourself before kissing your cat goodbye. you promise her treats from the grocery store.

at first, you don't notice the hunk of a man at the door next to yours. the podcast is on full volume and your securing your scarf around your shoulder. it's when you turn to shut your door that you freeze mid-step.

in front of you, with is back turned to you, there's a giant guy pressing all his weight to johnny's door. he's wearing all black, hood drawn up, which makes this situation much much scarier.

fuck fuck fuck fuck. what the fuck. he's tryinf to break in the flat. oh fuck fuck fuck, what do i do? has he noticed me? he hasn't turned around yet. what the fuck. shit fuck. FUCK. what the fuck?!

your body reacts a few seconds later. with wide eyes and pursed lips, you hold your breath, and take a step inside your home. half your body is outside, facing him incase he decides to turn around and your arm is blindly reaching for your big umbrella.

once you have a stready hold on it, you don't hesitate to take two big steps forward and hurl it on the intruder's neck. your headphones for on your shoulders, and you hit him again, and this time he physically recoils.

you hit him another time, not quite as hard, and flinch at the sound the plastic makes against his jacket but you're gaining confidence as he grunts in pain. you shout something at him, something about this being karma for trying to break into somebody else's house, and he yelps something in response, but the blood rushing in your ears is louder than your voices.

you swing the umbrella back to hit him again, gathering all the courage you can muster for a final blow. you take a millisecond more to do so and he has time to move before it can connect with his back. unfortunately for the guy, the umbrella hits the side of his face.

he yelps and you drop it with a gasp, hands covering your mouth in shock.

his face is still hidden under his hood, but his ungloved fingers reach for his cheek, where the tip of the umbrella connected.

there's a moment of silence. your eyes are wider than before, as wide as saucers, and you're breathing heavily like him. you're scared beyond your mind, the fear having paralysed you once again. you stand there watching him rub his face witha grunt.

"you fuckin' crazy or wha', lady?!" he finally speaks with gritted teeth. his accent is hot. "'m not a fucking intruder."

oh shit.

"...you're not?"

"no, the fuck 'm not," he says calmly, and your heart rate picks up. "would an intruder have keys to the bloody flat?" he shows you the keys and you gasp softly, recognising johnny's scottish flag keychain.

"i'm—oh," your hands reach out as you try to approach him. "i'm so terribly sorry, i just—mactavish isn't home and you're huge and you were throwing yourself at the door and you have your hood up and you're so. fucking. big, i thought you were trying to rob the place—" you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts - you just beat a guy with an umbrella for no fucking reason!!!!!! ‐ "here, let me help you." you signal for him to enter your flat.

simon watches you for a moment. flushed cheeks, eyes glassy and overflowing emotions, hands waving frantically as you open your own door wider for him to walk in.

he should refuse. flat out say no. you just attacked him with an umbrella for fucks sake. it's still in your trembling hands. he should refuse. but you said mactavish. you know johnny. and he knows himself. he must've looked terrifying to you, back hunched over the lock, shoulder pushing on the old wooden door.

you look genuinely sorry and worried, very willing to let him into your home, even though he hasn't given you any information about himself. for all you know, he could've stolen the keys from johnny or his bird, he could be a proper burglar.

he should shake his head and turn your back on you. it doesn't even hurt. he's had worse. he thinks his cheekbone might have a scratch, but he's fine. ghost has been through torture before - your hits are nothing compared to that.

but you're pretty. extremely so.

so, he nods slowly, removing his hand from his cheek and grabbing his duffel bag from the ground. you wait by the door, watching his every move as he walks in.

you point to your kitchen chair, he sits - he's so imposing, your kitchen seems smaller with him in it - and you immediately rush for a pack of beans from the freezer and a towel.

"put this on your cherk," you instruct and disappear somwhere further inside the flat. he watches you.

when you come back you have rubbing alcohol, cotton pads and a packet of band-aids. simon begins to stand.

"'s not necessary. 's barely a scratch, ma'am."

you don't even look at him as you set the stuff down. he stares at you. "no, no, i feel terrible - the least i can do is fix your face."

"you sayin' my mug is ugly?"

you pause, head snapping to the side to meet the stranger's eyes. you frown, another apology ready to escape your lips.

he's smirking. right corner of his lips tilted up. he's joking. your shoulders sag and you exhale with a smile.

"no, your face is quite nice, stranger."

it is. strong features, long nose - looks to have been broken a hundred times - some scars here and there, long eyelashes and pretty brown eyes.

"simon. simon riley."

simon. nice name - suits him. friend of johnny's, you remember. probably military, judging by the width of his back. and the unintenional scrutinising and intimidating gaze.

you introduce yourself, breath hitching when he repeats your first name slowly.

"pretty name." you shrug, grabbing a wet cotton pad and slowly moving it towards him. he doesn't pull away, and you press it against the small scratch on his cheek as he speaks. "suppose a pretty girl deserves a pretty name."

you chuckle, heat rising up your neck and spreading to your cheeks as you move on to the pack of band-aids.

"so, you know johnny?" you ask.

"saved his ugly mug a coupl'a times. we're spending christmas here."

your smile falters as you stick the small band-aid on his cheek (only now realising it has anakin skywalker printed on it). you're once again reminded of how lonely you'll be during christmas. simon notices it, but hesitates asking if you're okay.

"sorry for the uh, band-aid. uh, i don't have any normal ones." he brushes it off with a shake of his head. "you're good to go, now. i'm sure you have things to do."

simon silently gets up and grabs his things, all while watching you put your coat and scarf back on. whatever light you had on your face moments before is gone, and he's trying to figure out what he said wrong to cause this.

he follows you out of the flat, mind forming different ways to ask if something's wrong. he can't help but ask when he hears you sigh heavily, almost defeated.

"you okay, love?"

"huh—what?" you look at him once and then continue locking your door.

"you alright? did i say something that upset you?"

your smile returns with his words, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"no, i'm all good, don't worry. just don't want to go for groceries in the freezing cold, ya know?" he nods, jiggling johnny's keys in his hands. "anyway, it was nice meeting you, simon. and i'm really sorry for thinking you're an intruder and hitting you with my umbrella and whatnot. i hope to see you around - have fun!"

and before he can ask where you're spending your christmas, or why you're going to the supermarket instead of packing to go back to wherever your home is - your accent clearly indicates you're not from edinburgh, as if the books, pens, and scattered notebooks at your home were not enough - you're walking down the stairs and dissappear from his eyesight.

simon stands for a moment before turning to the door again. you're interesting, to say the least, and you said his face was...nice - he doesn't get that often. and you have band-aids with Star Wars characters, and you laughed at his joke. and you were brave enough to attack him when you thought he was a burglar.

yeah, he hopes to see you around too.

[everrinsly]

a/n; karasu reminds me of kuroo. literally initials are k.t. i adore them both so much. think i have a thing for defense specialists...midfielders and middle blockers.

paris x gen best friends with benefits vibes.

in public with karasu. fluff. slight nsfw. very suggestive. fem!reader. | not proofread.

more reads!

~~~~~

The boys had promised to meet you at the grocery store after their practice. So there you were, dressed cutely in another sundress, this one soft yellow, light and fluttery, off-shouldered and tight around the waist. Your hair was up today, loosely tied with a pink ribbon Shidou had picked out last week—

"How 'bout this one, babydoll? It's pink," he teased in your ear, voice flirty and low.

"What? So she can match your wack-ass dye job?"

"You little SH—"

You cut them off, giggling at Karasu's remark before leaning up to press a kiss on Shidou's cheek. "I think pink is perfect, let's get it."

—and really, you loved the pink ribbon. (Karasu and Rin got you purple and blue ones immediately after though, something about pink being a sight for sore eyes).

The grocery store was unusually quiet, the kind of golden-hour lull where the world felt slower, softer, at ease.

And as you were picking at the avocados, the boys walked in. In all their muscular glory. Compression shirts still on, grey sweats, and a sweaty sheen. It never took much for their eyes to catch yours.

"Oh, there's our pretty mama," Shidou cooed, sauntering over to you and gripping your hips against his. He nosed your cheek.

"Get off her, you fuckin' stink," Karasu growled, stepping behind Shidou to tug him off you.

Rin pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Wanna give us the food list, baby?"

And so, like a weekly routine, you let Rin and Shidou grab the necessary foods. Their protein bars, energy drinks, and self-indulging snacks all included, of course.

You walked side by side with Karasu, pushing the cart while he sneakily kept slipping things that you all still had at home. Not finished. Not even opened yet.

“Did you just add mochi again?” you asked, shooting him a look. "Think there's another pack at home."

“Gotta keep the essentials stocked,” he said smoothly, winking.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved into a soft smile.

“Yogurt, yogurt…” you murmured, scanning the refrigerated shelves.

It was just out of reach.

You stood on your toes, fingers stretching for the top shelf, barely reaching the strawberry-vanilla six-pack, when you suddenly felt a warmth—Karasu pressed in behind you, hands casually braced on either side of your waist.

You froze, but your heart jumped.

He didn’t move away.

“Oh?” he hummed low in your ear, lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. “Reaching so high in a dress like that? Angel, you’re killing me.”

Your breath caught as you felt him shift closer. His chest against your back, the heat of his body all-consuming. His fresh scent intoxicating. He lifted you effortlessly, and you barely managed to grab the yogurt before your hand dropped, trembling just a little. Heart pounding.

“T-Tabito…”

“You say my name like that again, and I’m gonna forget we’re in public.”

His voice was teasing, but his hands weren’t moving. One slipped down just slightly to the small pudge of your stomach. Palms splayed, pressing you back against him. The other trailed up to grip the front of your neck, squeezing a breathless whimper out of you. Your head lolled on his bicep.

And god—you didn't mean to, but when you ever so slightly twirled your hips, you felt everything. His hardness, firm with need and want.

"You really wanna do this here, angel?" he murmured in your ear, voice all raspy.

And all you did was rut back against him, dragging your hips down his length. He removed his hand from your neck to flip your dress over, reaching for the globes of your ass and sounding a soft smack.

"Fuckin' shit, pretty baby—no, not here. I'm wrecking you at home—at home, baby," he groaned, face buried in your neck.

"You promise?" you whispered, voice all breathless, soft, and sweet. Cheeks flushed, all bothered, hot, and needy.

He turned you around to face him, hands cupping your ass.

"I promise, sweet angel. I promise. You're gonna get fucked until morning."

[3amfanfiction]

Ghost!Johnny pt 3

tags: 800 words, ghost!johnny x reader, aftermath of him showing himself for the first time.

Pt One || Pt Two

You'd felt your breath hitch in worry when the broad man pinned you to the door that night only to crash in relief as he faded away like a will-o-wisp after his statement, like he didn't have the energy to hold his body together any longer. A there and gone flicker leaving only the echo of himself behind.

You'd shakily called out into the silent house but there had been no response. It seemed his temper tantrum well and truly wore him out. Just like a toddler.

You were hesitant to celebrate your good fortune too soon but it was relaxing to clean up the aftermath in a quiet environment. The first time it'd been truly quiet in weeks. Still, you couldn't help replaying the vision of him becoming visible in your mind. You didn't think you'd ever seen a man so handsome. It was a shame he was a ghost. And an annoying one at that.

Finished boxing up the food you started on the dishes.

You were a little concerned with what would happen once he came back and the fact that he seemed to be able to touch you now, too. He hadn't been able to do that before. Just like you hadn't ever seen him physically. And then him pinning you to the door? It stressed you out to think about, but you figured you'd cross that bridge when you came to it. It wasn't like you could move out so you two were stuck together unless you found a way to exorcise him.

There was a thought.

Maybe you should see if there were any occult shops near you.

—

Johnny was pissed.

Right after he'd made that statement and pinned you against the door he'd lost all energy and faded right back into the incorporeal realm. He wasn't around to watch you call out 'Hello?' into the empty house and have silence bounce back.

He felt like he'd been rung out to dry. He'd never expended that much energy in one go before and that combined with forcing a physical body had sapped him. He wasn't aware of who or where he was for a while, content to just float as he regained his strength.

His sense of self came back first. A faint, flickering light that reminded him he used to be human, used to have wants and needs that he worked towards. Goals and desires alike. He used to be willful. Driven. Determined. These were the first flavors that seeped back into his psyche and he latched onto them with a fervor.

Next, unsurprisingly, were thoughts of you. Thoughts of how you looked, sounded, acted around his house. You saturated his mind with your brightness and he felt himself craving more. Yearning to be near you. To be in your presence.

Where were you now? He needed to get to you. To find you. Needed to make his presence known again. To touch you. Talk to you.

He needed to get home.

That was enough to bring him back to consciousness, albeit barely. He looked around the living room with bleary eyes, searching for you. Finding it empty he floated into the kitchen where he found you stocking groceries into the fridge and cabinets.

How long had he been gone?

"Did ye miss me?" he cooed exhaustedly cockily, cheeky smile playing across his face only for you to ignore him and continue emptying bags. His smirk dropped into a frown as he pouted. Moving around to the cabinets in front of you he tried to close one to get your attention only for his hand to pass right through.

Pulling back, he looked at his hand then the cupboard then his hand and tried again. It had been ages since he couldn't manipulate items, especially something as simple as a door. Same result. He passed through the wood like it wasn't even there. Or rather, like he wasn't even there.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he said crossly. "You can't hear me at all, can you?"

No response from you.

He let his head drop back with a groan, scowling up at the ceiling in frustration. Why'd this have to happen now? He just realized he could touch you and now you were being dangled just out of his reach? How was that fair?

Turning to glare at you like this was your fault, he took joy in the shiver that skittered down your spine. Pleased that you could still feel his displeasure even if you didn't know he was there. He'd just have to wait until he regained all his strength. Then he could greet you properly.

He could be patient.

Especially if you were waiting at the finish line.

Next

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Tip Your Driver

Week #15 Prompt: Modern AU | Word Count: 4115 | Rating: T | POV: Steve | Characters: Steve, Eddie, Wayne, Robin | Relationships: Steddie, Platonic Stobin | CW: Language, Non-Explicit Mentions of Sex | Tags: Modern Setting AU, Delivery Driver Steve, Rock Star Eddie, Meet Cute, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

Of all the shitty service jobs Steve's had, this one is definitely among the worst.

And he's been stuck working some pretty shitty jobs over the years, both before and after they moved out here. If he hadn't hated the one at the shoe store so much, because ew feet, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place. At least that was in one location, a steady paycheck, and not that far from their apartment. But, he didn't know that feet draw in some weirdos, so here he is, lugging other people's shit around, because he needs the money.

He just sighs as he pulls up in front of the address on the app. He double checks the posted numbers over the garage, and it seems to be the right place. Everything matches enough for him to call it good.

The house is really nice.

It's not in The Hills or anything, so he hadn't expected something so nice.

Now, Steve doesn't mind delivering groceries, not really, but this guy, Eddie it says, ordered a bunch of heavy shit, and the tip was only the mediocre bare minimum. Which, he wasn't that mad about, until right now, after he's seen the house this guy lives in. 

No, now he's pretty annoyed.

Whatever. Par for the fucking course from Fancy Pants Rich McGee over here. How the hell you spell chauffeur? Chauffeur. Indeed. Maybe he should make tiktoks about situations just like this. Robin keeps hounding him, saying if he'd just do it, that he could rake in a little extra cash. 

He's skeptical. 

Steve looks back at the house. 

Oh well. He left his money behind for a reason, the only thing he kept was his car because his parents were dumb enough to put it in his name. And honestly? It does him no good to be jealous or whatever the fuck he's feeling right now.

At least this guy had been responsive, and pretty nice, when answering Steve's messages about substitutions and out of stock items. Not everybody is, unfortunately, acting as if Steve is the one stocking the store himself.

Steve opens the back hatch of his car, and leans in to grab the first items to be left at the door, as requested. If they don't see you, they feel less bad about the shitty tip, Steve's learned.

But it's fine. Steve doesn't want to deal with anyone face-to-face today, anyway. Because he needs to hurry. He and Robin are already a couple days late on rent, and he's gotta try to make up the difference today. If not, they're gonna be fucking screwed. Why is this city so goddamn expensive to live in? It's bullshit.

"Let me help," comes the voice right next to him, and Steve jumps, hitting his head on the open hatch door.

Now, he's skipped over annoyed and has been vaulted straight into pissed off. 

Partly at himself for being so far in his own head that he didn't even hear this guy approaching, but mainly at this asshole for even being in his personal space in the first place. He needs to take about three big steps back.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" the guy shouts, and Steve hasn't even seen this asshole yet, but he knows he hates him. 

"Most people don't help unload the car," Steve snaps, turning to look at him, and the guy is looking back at him with big, big brown eyes. Robin would call them doe eyes, without a doubt. Well, fuck. Fine. Steve softens his tone, "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry," Eddie says again, still too close. "I'm Eddie. I ordered the groceries. Can I help? Please?"

Steve nods, and lets him reach in and grab his own case of water, while Steve picks up a few of the sacks. It's the least the guy can do, now that he's given him a headache. Literally.

Steve carries the sacks towards the porch, and leans over to put them down.

"Just come on in," Eddie says, and the door swings open, banging against the rubber doorstop on the wall.

"Don't bang the door!" comes the yell from the other room, and Steve peers into the house and sees an older guy sitting in a lift chair, with a walker in front of him.

"It's my door, old man, I'll bang it if I want to!" Eddie yells back, but there's no heat there. Steve can hear the teasing affection in his voice, and Steve can't help but smile.

"Don't come crying to me when there's a hole in your wall. Can you patch drywall? Because I can't right now," the guy, probably Eddie's dad the way they're bickering, snaps.

Eddie ignores the question from his dad.

"C'mon, this way," Eddie says, looking over his shoulder at Steve, as Steve lingers on the step. 

Well, no. That's not. You don't go in stranger's houses. It's, like, rule one. And just good common sense. Which apparently Steve has none of, because he does follow Eddie into the house. 

Robin will kill him, if this Eddie dude doesn't kill him first. 

Steve puts the bags down on the counter, and heads back out to make another trip, Eddie following, "That's my uncle. He's just crotchety that he had to have his broken hip replaced, and now he's dependent on me for the near future."

Steve laughs, "Well, maybe don't bang the door and he won't be crotchety."

"You heard me. It's my door," Eddie says, smiling wide. He's pretty, very pretty. Long, dark hair tied up on top of his head, and heavy tattoos all along his arms, creeping up onto his neck.

He's honestly gorgeous. 

Steve wonders if he's famous. He doesn't look familiar, but he looks like he could be famous. And his house is pretty fucking nice. This is L.A. Everybody is somehow famous in L.A. Except for Steve and Robin. They are definitely not famous.

Unless he's a tech bro? But he doesn't really look the type.

Either way, famous or not, Steve smiles back, can't not, not when he looks like that, then asks, teasing him, "Well do you know how to patch drywall?" 

"Fuck no. But I could hire someone to fix it if the door knob somehow gets through the stopper."

"Well, at least you have a plan," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

"He just hates the city. Hates my house. Hates everything. Except me. He loves me," Eddie says, as he grabs a case of Gatorade in one hand and the case of pork and beans in the other.

That's a lot of beans. 

"That's a lot of beans," Steve says aloud, even if he doesn't mean to, even if he knows better than to comment on other people's groceries. 

But Eddie laughs. "Tell me about it. Man likes what he likes, though. There's no changing him now." 

Steve nods, grabbing another handful himself. It's nice that Eddie is taking care of his uncle.

"I'm not usually home much, hence all the groceries being ordered at once. Sorry about that. The cabinets were pretty bare, and I just didn't want to leave him home alone. He's still a fall risk, even if he keeps insisting he's not."

"That's okay, I understand. Big orders are more common than you'd think," Steve says, stepping back into the house that he's probably not going to get murdered in, thankfully.

Big orders are common, he's not lying about that, and more often than not, the tips offered for shopping hundreds of items, are less than you'd think. So, this order wasn't even out of the ordinary. Not really. That's why Steve took it. Some pay was better than none, especially today, that's for sure.

"Still. I'm grateful. You saved my ass today, man," Eddie answers. 

"Well, it's my job," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

They finish bringing everything in, and Steve nods at Eddie, "Okay. I think that does it."

"Here," Eddie says, and plucks an envelope off the counter, "I always worry that your tips in the app will get eaten up by the corporate assholes taking their cut off the top. So. Cash is king."

Steve takes the envelope. A tip he doesn't have to report? Why thank you, Eddie. 

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this, or help bring it in, you know? But I appreciate both."

Eddie smiles, "Thank you for getting all that shit for us. We both appreciate it. Don't we Wayne?"

Wayne grumbles, but Steve's pretty sure he doesn't appreciate anything right now. He knows he wouldn't either, if he had broken his hip.

They say their goodbyes, and that's that. Steve will never see Eddie with the pretty eyes ever again.

At the next red light, Steve opens the envelope, expecting an extra ten or twenty bucks, maybe, but is shocked to see that there are three, insanely crisp one hundred dollar bills inside. 

Holy shit. 

That's way more than he usually makes in a single day. Two days, even. Just by delivering one order that he didn't think was gonna pay well at all.

And he got to look at a hot dude for a minute or two. 

It's enough to cover what they were short on the rent, even. It might not have felt like a lot of money to Eddie, if he handed it over so readily, but it feels life-changing to Steve, right now. He remembers when three hundred bucks wasn't anything to him either, back when he had access to all his parents' money and all their unhappiness.

Now, it's different. 

Robin's gonna shit.

Hot damn.

Thank you, Eddie.

"Booyah," Steve says, slapping the envelope on the counter. 

Robin picks it up, and thumbs through it. It has Eddie's tip, and the few extra bucks he picked up during the rest of the day. 

"Oh my god, no way! Where did you get this much cash, dingus? Are you turning tricks on the side now?" Robin asks, and Steve laughs. 

"Yes. I thought I'd see what I could get for this ass," Steve says, turning and pushing his ass outwards in her direction. 

She doesn't even look, but says, "Honestly, you might be worth more than this, as much as I hate to admit it," she comments dryly, and he smiles. 

"No, some rich dude that ordered a bunch of heavy shit gave me a big tip," Steve explains.

"That's what she said," Robin teases, and her eyes are still wide as she looks at the bills in her hand, "Seriously, though. Thank you, rich, old dude," Robin says. 

"Rich, but not old. I think he might have been famous in some way. YouTuber? Musician? I don't know. Nice house." 

"Well. Describe him. Let's Google him," Robin says, wiggling her fingers in the air like she's stretching before this big task she's about to undertake.

Steve isn't sure searching for him is gonna work, but he lets her try, "Eddie. Probably a little older than us. Lots of tattoos." 

"Was it Eddie Vedder? Please tell me you know who Eddie Vedder is, dingus?" 

He knows who Eddie Vedder is, Jesus. 

He gives her a look, "Not that old. And he was heavily tattooed. Is Eddie Vedder tattooed? Plus, this guy had dark eyes. Really dark. And no flannel." 

She keeps looking on her phone, showing him options, "Him?" 

No. 

"Him?" 

No. 

"Him?" 

"No. Not him." None of them are. Nobody she shows him is the same guy. So, he thinks of all the famous Eddies he knows of. 

"Was it Eddie Van Halen?" Steve asks. 

"Since he's dead, probably not," Robin says. 

"Oh," Steve says. He didn't remember that. And he'd be too old, anyway. "We're looking for someone that looks kinda like young Eddie Van Halen. But with tattoos."

"You're obsessed with the tattoos. Was it Ed Sheeran? He has lots of tattoos," Robin asks, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Robin. I think I know what Ed Sheeran looks like. This man was not ginger. Dark hair, dark eyes. And he was American. Maybe this guy is just rich? Not famous at all. It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyway. We'll just thank him from afar for saving our asses today." 

Robin sighs heavily, and puts her phone down, "If you'd got yourself a rich boyfriend we'd have it made all the time." 

"Well, I'll work on that," he says sarcastically. 

At least for now, they can pay another month's rent. That's a big win. Huge.

Maybe they can keep their heads above water, now.

And they do, by some sort of miracle. It was only three hundred bucks, but that was enough of a windfall to get them back in the black. And somehow they've stayed ahead since, for nearly two whole months. They haven't been this stable financially since they arrived in town.

Today, Steve flips through the different apps he drives for, trying to decide what order to take, when he sees a huge pizza order. The order is absurdly big, but the tip is decent, and picking up a stack of pizzas is infinitely easier than shopping a whole-ass grocery list. Steve's just seriously questioning if it'll all fit in his car.

He's gonna risk it.

Luckily, it does, but there are pizza boxes piled high in every seat and the rear. He definitely doesn't have hot bags for all of them. Hopefully he doesn't get caught in traffic.

The area seems familiar, but when Steve pulls up in front of the house, he knows why. Eddie. Only, the last time it was groceries, not food, that he delivered here. 

There are vehicles everywhere. Clearly some sort of party, Steve thinks, to require this amount of pizza. And as soon as Steve steps out of the car, Eddie is out of the house, being trailed by three other, mostly leather-clad, guys. It'd look threatening, if Eddie wasn't smiling so big.

"Steve! When I saw Steve was my driver, I was like, maybe? But Steve's a common name, and there was no picture, so I didn't get my hopes up, but hey! It is you!" Eddie shouts, moving to the back of the car, "Watch your head this time, sweetheart," Eddie adds, and Steve is sure he's blushing. 

He just stands there kind of dumbly, watching as Eddie commandeers his order right out of Steve's vehicle. Eddie's definitely unusual. 

Eddie hands stack after stack of pizzas to the waiting guys, making them carry the bulk of it. And Steve watches as they ferry them off towards the house, Steve not having to even lift a finger this time. 

Now, it's just him and Eddie standing on the curb. 

Eddie holds out an envelope, and Steve looks at it.

"Man, thank you, but you tipped so well last time, you really don't have to again."

"I want to. You provide a service, I want to pay for that service," Eddie says, shaking the envelope, and Steve reluctantly takes it. Whatever is inside, will really help him and Robin stay ahead. It did last time. He's not really in a position to say no, even as well as they are doing at the moment.

"Thank you, truly," Steve says, tucking it into his pocket, "How's your Uncle Wayne's hip?"

Eddie smiles, so fucking wide, "You remembered! He's good. Great. Headed home soon, which I'm certain he's thrilled about. He's definitely never coming here again. I'll have to go home when I want to see him."

Steve laughs, "Glad to hear he's better, if annoyed."

"Do you want to stay?" Eddie asks, "We're having a little going away party for him. The more the merrier. Or, is your shift not over? You could come back?"

Steve doesn't have a shift, he can clock in and out to take orders as he pleases, and right now he'd really like to accept Eddie's offer. Even if it's probably just Eddie being polite. A pity ask, if you will.

"You don't have to invite your delivery driver into your house, you know? I could be a murderer."

"Unlikely," Eddie says, "and I'm not inviting my delivery driver. I'm inviting you, Steve."

Steve thinks over the options, and then nods. He can go in for a bit. If he's uncomfortable, he can get right back on the clock, no harm, no foul.

"Okay, let me park," Steve says, and he does just that. Putting the envelope of cash into the glove box without opening it. He doesn't want Eddie to see him scrounging through it. That feels tacky.

The pizza boxes are already open on every available flat surface in the kitchen and living room, and Eddie shoves a paper plate into Steve's hands, "Eat. Drink. Be merry."

Steve nods, and grabs a slice from the nearest box. He's not picky.

The house is full of people, and a lot of them seem vaguely famous. Like this is an industry thing, instead of a going away party for an old man with a newly not-broken hip.

Steve's worked enough of these events. They tried the catering thing for a while, and it was fine, for Steve anyway. Robin was just a little too clumsy to carry trays of dainty hors d'oeuvres around rooms filled with beautiful women in expensive dresses.

This isn't any of that though. This is cases of beer being chilled in kiddie pools, and dozens of pizzas. Fancy house, but not a fancy party. Steve spots Eddie's uncle sitting by himself on a couch, a beer resting on his knee and a paper plate of pizza on the arm rest.

Nobody else is sitting by him, so Steve goes over, "Can I sit?"

Wayne grumbles something that could be yes, could be no, Steve's not wholly sure, but he chooses to go ahead and sit down beside him.

"How's your hip?" Steve asks.

"Who are you?" Wayne asks, looking at him, suspicious.

"Steve. Uh, a delivery driver? I've brought a couple orders to you guys now. And Eddie invited me to stay."

Wayne nods, and goes back to his plate, "Hip's fine. Ready to go home."

"Where's home?" Steve asks, and he's not sure why. Clearly this man has no interest in making small talk with him.

"Indiana," Wayne says. 

"Hey! For me, too. Small world."

"What're you doing in California, then?" Wayne asks. "Trying to get into show biz?"

"No. No way," Steve laughs, "Not for me. Uh, my best friend? Robin? She wanted to move out here. Wanted an adventure. And I wanted her to be happy. So. Here we are."

Wayne nods.

"Did you break your hip in Indiana and Eddie dragged you all the way out here?" Steve asks.

"No," Wayne answers, "I came to visit him and broke my hip before I got out of the airport. This is why I don't take vacations."

Steve smiles, "That's bad luck. Sorry."

Wayne nods his head, and Steve assumes that's the end of this conversation, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

"You're Steve? The one that brought the groceries a few weeks ago?" Wayne asks.

"That's me," Steve confirms.

"He's been talking about you non-stop. I was like, just order more groceries. So, he tried. It was never you. Now we have more food than he'll ever eat. Probably need to take it to the food pantry."

Steve grins, looking down at his plate. He isn't sure what Eddie would want to see him for. They definitely aren't on the same level.

Eddie is across the room, talking wildly with his hands.

"He's a good kid," Wayne says, quietly, "All this? Not him. Not all of him, anyway."

Steve looks back at Wayne, "What do you mean?"

"All this fancy shit. I'm proud of him that their music has done so well. But he's a good kid. And he just wants to be happy."

"Don't we all," Steve says.

"People take advantage. If you're here for the money, for the fame. Just. Move on. Eddie would give it to you. But he wants something more. Needs it, I think."

Steve thinks he could be something more. But he doesn't really have anything to offer Eddie in return, and maybe heeding Wayne's warning wouldn't be such a bad idea. What business does he have getting involved with a famous musician? None. 

"Got it," Steve says. "Well, I'm glad your hip healed."

Wayne grumbles at that, and it makes Steve smile.

Steve puts his trash in the can, and looks around. The hallways are lined with platinum records, news articles, and he leans close to read the name. Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin. He's never heard of them. He'll have to look them up on Spotify. 

He doesn't belong here. 

He takes one last look at Eddie. 

Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin.

He tries to memorize his name, his band, so he can tell Robin later, solving their little mystery.

And then he ducks out of the front door, walking down the long driveway towards his car. 

"Hey, Steve! Wait!" Eddie yells from behind him, and Steve slows. 

"Hey, man. Thanks for having me," Steve says, turning to look at him.

"You're leaving already?"

Steve nods, "Work, you know."

Eddie nods, "Okay. Well. Come back. Anytime."

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, because he's pretty sure Eddie means that, "Enjoy your party. I'm glad Wayne's hip is good as new."

Steve turns to keep walking.

"Steve. Uh," Eddie says, and Steve considers pretending he didn't hear him. It'd be easy. The music is loud, probably pissing off the neighbors, but Eddie keeps talking. "Listen. I like you. Yeah, I know. I barely know you. But. We got good vibes, man. Can you not feel that?" Eddie asks, and when Steve turns to look back at him, he sees that Eddie's hands are shoved deep into his pockets. 

He looks nervous.

He's famous, clearly rich, and beautiful. He could have anyone he wants. But he looks nervous talking to Steve. Who delivered the pizza. Make it make sense. Goddamn. 

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Do you not feel it? If you don't, I'll leave you alone. I swear. But if you do…"

Steve nods, "I do. But I'm a delivery driver. I live in a tiny apartment that I share with my best friend. We barely make ends meet. You could have anyone. Why would you want me?"

"Because I like you," Eddie says, "and I want to get to know you. I didn't grow up with anything either. I'm not old money. I'm new money. Brand new. So. I'm not that out of touch yet."

Steve smiles. He's old money, he just doesn't have access to it anymore. Eddie's new money, and doesn't know how to handle it. They'd be quite the pair.

Eddie keeps talking, trying to wheedle a date out of him, "Just. Let me take you out. Just us. Let's see if there's anything here," he says, motioning his hand between the two of them.

Steve wants to, he really does. 

"Okay," Steve finally says, "nothing fancy. A normal date."

"We can definitely do that," Eddie says, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Let me give you my number."

Steve rattles off his number, Eddie texts him, and it buzzes against Steve's thigh. Already coming through, showing he's serious.

"Dinner? Movie? Bar? You name it," Eddie offers, eyes never leaving Steve's.

"Dinner's good. Nowhere fancy, though," Steve warns. 

"Do I look like I like fancy places?" Eddie asks, looking down at his own clothes.

And Steve's eyes cut back to the gorgeous house.

Eddie laughs, "Fair enough. But I don't."

"Can you go out in public? Or are you too famous?" Steve asks. "I'm not familiar with your band, sorry."

Eddie laughs, "I think I like that you aren't, sweetheart. That means that maybe you like me, just for me. And I can go out. Nobody cares about me all that much."

Steve nods. Alright. They can go on one date, and see how it goes. 

Well. That's how it goes.

Very, very well.

So well, that Steve's now satisfied and loose in Eddie's bed, when Eddie laughs, rolling into Steve's shoulder, face pressed to his skin. Lips kissing his shoulder, biting at him gently. Playing with him.

"What?" Steve asks, smiling as Eddie slides his hand into his, squeezing. "What's so funny."

"I tipped my driver," Eddie chokes out, laughing around each word, pressing his crotch into Steve's thigh.

Steve laughs, looking down at this ridiculous man clinging to him, "That you did. And damn well."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[gweelczz]

Idk if ur taking anon requests, but just in case you are, can I request a bo x reader (rosie) where bo is sick but tryna work through it at the grocery store, but throughout the day he's only getting worse so Rosie orders him to close early so she can take him home and take care of him pretty pls

Yup!! Just finished it love!!

———

In Sickness and in health

Bo Chow x OC (Rosetta)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Summary: Bo catches a cold, Rosetta is right there to nurse him

The morning air outside Min Sang was thick with heat, the sun just beginning to peek above the rooftops of Clarksdale. Bo Chow unlocked the front door of the grocery store with slow fingers, the keys jangling louder than usual in his hand. He sniffled once, then again, his head pounding behind his eyes. His throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper and his limbs were heavy—every movement a small war against his own body.

But still, he showed up.

Bo had never been the type to stay down for long. He believed in hard work, in consistency, in showing up for his people—even when he was clearly running on fumes. That morning, he shrugged into his green work apron with less of his usual precision, the embroidered Min Sang patch sitting crooked on his chest. He opened the register, stocked a few of the front shelves, and greeted the first few customers with that tired half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Rosetta watched him from the counter, her brow furrowed. She’d seen the way he clutched his back when he bent down, the way his shoulders slumped just a little too much, and how his usually sharp eyes were dull, ringed with red and fatigue. Bo had turned away more than once to cough hard into the crook of his elbow, thinking she wouldn’t notice.

He thought wrong.

By midday, Bo’s shirt clung to him from a low-grade fever, and his voice—gravelly and quiet—had cracked from too much use. He tried to wave Rosetta off when she asked if he was alright, muttering something about “just a lil cold” before dragging himself back behind the counter.

But Rosetta had had enough.

She stormed over from the aisle where she was straightening jars of preserves, wiping her hands on a rag and planting herself firmly in front of him.

“Bo Chow,” she said, voice low and firm. “I’m not gon’ ask you again. You sick.”

“I’m fine,” he croaked, barely able to hold back a cough. “I got the truck comin’ at five, baby. Gotta—”

“You ain’t gotta do nothin’ but rest. I’m tellin��� you right now—close this store or I will. And you already know I mean it.”

Bo blinked, his vision swimming slightly, his pride struggling to argue—but his body betraying him more and more with each breath. Finally, he leaned against the counter, eyes closing briefly.

Rosetta stepped closer, her voice softening. “Bo, baby. Look at me.” He did.

“You run yourself into the ground, what good are you to me? To this store? Hm?” She touched his cheek with the back of her hand, feeling the heat radiating off of him. “You burnin’ up. Let me take you home.”

Bo exhaled, the fight leaving his bones. “Aight,” he murmured. “Just… help me lock up, yeah?”

Together, they flipped the sign to Closed and pulled the front gate down. Bo leaned on Rosetta more than he meant to as she helped him into the passenger seat of their car. The drive back to their house was quiet, save for his shallow breathing and the occasional rustle of a tissue as she handed it to him. Bo rested his head against the window, eyes barely open, trusting her completely.

When they arrived, Rosetta unlocked the front door and guided him inside, already turning the fan on and grabbing the quilt off the couch.

“Sit,” she said, guiding him gently but firmly. “Shoes off.”

Bo obeyed, hands clumsy. Rosetta knelt before him, untying his laces and tugging his boots off with care. She helped him out of his apron and shirt, then draped the quilt over his legs. The sick sheen of sweat on his skin made her heart clench.

“Head back,” she said softly, grabbing a cool rag from the kitchen and pressing it to his forehead. Bo let his head loll back against the couch, a small sigh escaping him at her touch.

“You always gotta be the strong one,” she muttered, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “But even the strong need rest.”

“M’sorry,” he whispered, voice raspy.

Rosetta leaned down and kissed his temple. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for.”

Then she moved into the kitchen, pulling out the old mason jar of homemade medicine Henrietta taught her to make. A syrupy blend of honey, lemon, garlic, ginger, a bit of elderberry, and a secret touch of molasses that she swore helped “coat the soul.”

She brought it back to Bo in a spoon, watching his nose wrinkle slightly.

“C’mon, baby. Down the hatch. Mama’s recipe.”

He groaned but opened his mouth obediently, wincing slightly at the strong taste, but he knew better than to argue.

A little later, she helped him into bed with a bottle of water and another dose of the syrup tucked on the nightstand. The covers were pulled high and her hands were gentle as she wiped his chest down with a lavender-scented cloth, her fingers lingering lovingly as she cleaned him. Bo tried to stay awake, but his body gave in, lulled by her soft voice humming a tune against the hum of the fan.

She stayed right beside him, sitting up in bed, fingers running through his damp hair as he drifted into sleep. Her lips pressed to his temple one more time.

“You take care of everybody else, Bo Chow,” she whispered. “But today, I take care of you.”

⸻

The early morning light crept through the sheer curtains, casting soft gold across the bedroom. Outside, birds chirped lazily, the world just beginning to stir. But inside the quiet house, everything was still—except for the gentle rise and fall of Bo Chow’s chest beneath the quilt.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking against the glow of day. For a moment, he just lay there, disoriented in the kind of fog that follows a deep, fevered sleep. His head still ached a little, but his body didn’t feel nearly as heavy. The tightness in his chest had eased, and the chills that wracked him yesterday were gone.

But more than anything else, he felt… loved.

He turned his head to the side, and there she was—Rosetta, curled up beside him in her nightdress, facing him with one hand still resting protectively over his chest. Her curls were a little frizzy from sleep, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, lips slightly parted.

Bo swallowed hard, his throat dry, but not from the sickness this time. From awe.

He reached for her hand and kissed the back of it, softly enough not to wake her. His eyes watered, and not from the remnants of the cold.

He thought back to the night before—how she took off his boots, cooled his fever, bathed his chest with that lavender cloth, and whispered to him like he was something delicate, something holy. She gave him her grandmother’s medicine without flinching, tucked him in like he was the one who needed protecting, and stayed beside him, fingers in his hair until sleep carried him off.

That kind of love don’t come around easy. That kind of care… that’s something a man spends his life praying for, and Bo Chow knew he had it in Rosetta.

He shifted just enough to prop himself on one elbow. She stirred slightly, blinking her eyes open.

“Bo?” she asked groggily, voice laced with sleep.

“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice hoarse but warm. “You still tired?”

“A little,” she murmured. “You feelin’ better?”

He nodded. “Better than I deserve.”

Rosetta sat up, brushing hair from her eyes. She reached to feel his forehead and cheeks out of habit, then smiled when she felt his temperature was down.

“You look like yourself again,” she said, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone.

Bo leaned in, kissing her palm. “That’s ‘cause you loved me back to life.”

Rosetta chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. “I told you, you don’t always gotta be the strong one. Let me be your soft place to land sometimes.”

He studied her, eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude. Reverence, almost. “You already are, Rosie,” he whispered. “You always have been.”

She gave him a small, bashful smile, the kind she only ever showed him in quiet moments like this.

Bo pulled her close, laying back down and tucking her against his chest. He held her like a man who knew exactly what he had. And as she draped her leg over his and settled her head on his chest, he buried his nose in her hair and exhaled slow and deep.

“Rosetta Mae Chow,” he murmured. “You gon’ be the death of me… but Lord, what a way to go.”

A few days passed, and Bo was back to his usual self—maybe still a touch hoarse in the mornings, but steady on his feet and strong again. He hadn’t said much about the way Rosetta cared for him while he was sick, but it stayed on his mind like a song he couldn’t shake. Every time he looked at her, it was there: the image of her sitting on the edge of the bed, pressing a cool cloth to his face, whispering, “I got you, baby.”

So that morning, he slipped out of bed before the sun could finish rising, careful not to wake her. He paused a moment, just to watch her—one arm across his pillow, her cheek nestled against the crook where his body used to be. Her nightdress had slipped slightly off her shoulder, and her curls were splayed like a halo across the sheets.

He kissed her forehead lightly before padding out of the room.

⸻

In the kitchen of their small home, Bo moved with quiet focus. He opened windows to let in the breeze, then lit the stove. The cast iron skillet hit the heat, and soon the scent of frying catfish, buttered grits, and honey biscuits filled the air. He added a little lavender to the tea she liked, steeping it slow.

Bo didn’t half-step anything when it came to Rosetta—not love, not tenderness, not the food that touched her plate.

He even sliced fresh fruit, arranging it the way he’d seen her do it, wiping his hands on a towel as he glanced toward the bedroom. She was still asleep. Good.

He set the table with care: her favorite china plate, folded cloth napkin, silverware set to the sides just like Henrietta taught her. Then he pulled out one of the green flowers from the bouquet he’d picked up yesterday and placed it in a jar beside her plate.

⸻

By the time she wandered out of the bedroom in a robe, rubbing sleep from her eyes, Bo was standing there with a dish towel over one shoulder and two mugs of tea in his hands.

“Well, look who finally woke up,” he said with a teasing grin, handing her one.

Rosetta blinked, then her eyes widened as she looked around. The smell hit her first, then the sight of the table—full, warm, thoughtful. Her jaw slackened slightly.

“Bo Chow…” she murmured, voice still thick from sleep. “What is all this?”

He guided her to the chair with a hand at the small of her back. “This here? This is me takin’ care of you, Mrs. Chow,” he said with a wink. “You held me down when I could barely hold a spoon. Least I could do is feed you right.”

Rosetta looked at the spread, then back at him, clearly moved. “You didn’t have to do all this…”

Bo leaned down, cupped her chin gently, and kissed her forehead. “No,” he whispered, “but I wanted to. You take care of my soul every day, baby. Let me take care of your belly this morning.”

She laughed, then pulled him into a hug so tight he grunted and kissed her temple. “You’re gon’ spoil me, Bo.”

“Good,” he said, voice low. “That’s exactly what I plan on doin’.”

[emmyrosee]

He knows you’re tired. Exhausted even.

Standing in line at the grocery store, you’d been closer and cuddlier to Koutarou than usual, burrowing your head in the nape of his neck and swaying slightly to stand. On the car ride home, you can barely keep your eyes open, leaning over the center console and trying to burrow into him.

He loves it an unhealthy amount.

But he doesn’t know, really, why you’re so out of it today- you say you don’t know either, but he thinks youre full of it, and he can tell by the cheeky look you give him every time he asks.

It’s not your fault Kodzuken’s been streaming at ungodly hours lately.

It does seem to reach a point today where you’re a zombie, barely able to function or move without a massive delay. It took you and Koutarou fifteen minutes to unload the car’s groceries; by the sixteenth, he scoops you in his bulky arms and carries you in.

“Taro, no,” you grumble, not really putting up a fight. “Gotta help you.” Still ignoring you, he settles you on the couch with a blanket and a kiss loving nuzzle to your nose, and tutting softly when you mumble a barely coherent ‘m fine.’

“No, you’re not,” he chuckles, guiding you back down. “I got the groceries. Then we can cuddle and nap and be as close as you want.”

And while your eyes look as if there’s a fight in you, your smile of mercy says otherwise, and you lay your head back down onto the arm of the couch and pull the blanket higher, allowing yourself to drift.

And Bokuto has full intentions of letting you sleep. Honestly! The groceries are being stocked, frozen’s tucked away until there’s an incessant buzzing on his phone.

A flurry of text updates from Atsumu; EJP’s game finally started, and he’d be a liar if he said he wanted to miss it.

“Ah, no way! I thought their game was earlier!” He says aloud, bounding into the living room and plopping down onto the couch, startling you from your sleep. You whine angrily, but he’s already zoned in to the action. He feels your eyes boring into him, and the couch dips under your moving weight as you crawl towards him.

“Who’s game?”

He forgets to answer as his eyes are now focused on the screen, a smile of excitement curling on his face as he lets his eyes dance over the action of the game in the middle of its first set.

“EJP? I thought we missed it.”

“Yeah!” He says excitedly. “It’s Washio’s team- game must’ve gotten bumped, thought it was earlier too.”

“Did it just start?”

“Seems like it,” he says, tossing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in for a hug. You nuzzle and curl against him, but his excitement never lets you get too comfortable in his husky frame.

This, has you silent for a second. Then, you hum next to him and get up, breaking his focus from the television, “where are you going?” He asks softly, but turns back towards the tv when a whistle blows.

“Just have to use the bathroom,” you say, planting a kiss to his temple. “I’ll be back, just keep track of the plays for me.”

“You got it!” He says happily, leaning forward on his knees to watch the match.

Time truly does fly, as within seemingly minutes after turning on the tv, EJP finally seems to sweep the match completely, the post game interviews starting up right after. He pouts, but when he looks at his phone, his brows shoot up as nearly an hour has passed from when he turned on the tv.

He turns his head to ask you what you thought, but when he does, you’re not there. The spot next to him is cold, and he checks his phone again to see if you maybe left without telling him?

No dice.

He has no clue where you went.

“Baby?” He calls, rising from the couch and clicking off the tv to look for you. The house is silent, you’ve seemingly vanished from the vicinity, but you usually are pretty good at telling him when you leave.

He calls your name once again before finally crawling up the stairs to search, but it doesn’t take long for him to peek through the ajar door and smile at your napping form.

You’re curled up on his side of the bed, cuddled into his pillow and resting soundly under the blanket. Your eyes twitch as you dream your extravagant dreams, one he’s sure you’ll tell him about later. Koutarou sighs softly in relief before coming in and closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” he mumbles lowly, as if to not scare you. “Whatcha doin?” When you mewl a quiet ‘taro?’, he crawls next to you in bed, spooning you into his warm arms and gently taking selfish inhales of your scent. You flip into his embrace and burrow into the dip of his neck as you’ve done countless of times in your relationship.

“Game over?” You murmur, and he shushes you softly.

“Yeah- we won. I would’ve let you nap; you didn’t have to abandon me,” he snickers.

There’s a cheeky smirk that spreads on your slumbered features. It’s obvious to him now that you wanted to be alone to sleep, and while he’s not thrilled you were in here by yourself, or that you tricked him to be alone, he’s gotta admit that you played the game well. “You were busy,” you murmur. “Nice to nap without your snores.”

“Excuse you.” He kisses your forehead and uses one of his massive hands to cup the back of your head. “Go back to bed. I’ll deal with you later.”

“Mkay,” you yawn. The room is silent again, and just before your breathing can even out once again, you giggle from his neck. “Can’t believe you bought it.”

“I can’t believe you tricked me!”

You let out another little snicker before tuck closer to him, letting sleep take over while Bokuto lets his fingers gently massaging the back of your head with soft hands.

He’ll just have to scold you for it later.

[hynzsn]

★ SUMMER DAYS ★

☆ jaehyun x male reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff

contents: established relationship, boyfriends, romance, soft, domestic fluff, clingy!jaehyun, summer days, lazy days, summer, jaehyun is whipped, jaehyun’s soft for his boyfriend, cuddles, sleepy cuddles, nap time, ice cream eating, fan on blast, playing with jaehyun’s hair, ponytail!jaehyun, rubbing feet (affectionately), texting, pet name (baby)

wc: 0.8k

summary: scorching summer day + clingy boyfriend jaehyun = a whole lot of sugary treats, playful touches, and sleepy cuddles on the couch.

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

📱 -> incoming message from jaehyunnie 💕💕: hey hey hey you free today? 🥺👉👈

📱 -> outgoing message to jaehyunnie 💕💕: depends… what’d you have in mind, babe? 🤔

📱 -> incoming message from jaehyunnie 💕💕: nothin specific rlly… just miss your face 🥺🥺 can i see it??

📱 -> outgoing message to jaehyunnie 💕💕: oh you little flirt ����😩 fineee you win, i’m coming over! what’s your address again? jk i’m already outside your apartment complex lol

📱 -> incoming message from jaehyunnie 💕💕: OMG WAIT REALLY??? IM COMING DOWN RN HOLD ON BABY BE THERE IN A SEC!!! 💖💖💖

you smile down at your phone, the summer sun warming your face. even through the screen, you can feel jaehyun’s excitement radiating. he’s always been a ball of sunshine, but summer seems to amplify it tenfold.

the elevator dings, signaling your arrival on his floor. as the doors slide open, you’re met with jaehyun practically vibrating with anticipation. he’s leaning against the wall opposite the elevator, a wide grin splitting his face as soon as his eyes land on you.

before you can even register what’s happening, he’s crossing the short distance between you and engulfing you in a hug that smells of like pure vanilla. “you’re here, you’re here, you’re here! you’re really here!” he chants, squeezing you tight before pulling back with a blinding grin.

he’s wearing a simple white tank top that shows off his toned arms (you always did have a thing for his arms) and a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. his hair is a mess of tousled black, sticking up in different directions. cute, but you know it’s gotta be bothering him in this heat.

“missed me that much, huh?” you tease, letting him tug you down the hallway towards his apartment

“always,” he says, already fumbling with his keys, “come on, i stocked up on ice cream and everything.”

he ushers you into the cool air of his apartment, the same scent of vanilla and something even sweeter - probably the ice cream he’s been going on about - hitting you immediately.

“you’re spoiling me,” you say, following him further into the apartment.

“only the best for my baby,” he replies, already leading you towards the living room.

the living room is a haven of comfort, with sunlight streaming through the windows and a large fan oscillating in the corner. you collapse onto the plush rug, jaehyun immediately joining you, his legs tangling with yours. he’s already digging through a bag of groceries, pulling out a carton of your favorite ice cream and a bag of colorful ice lollipops.

“you’re really the best, you know that?” you say, accepting the offered spoon with a grateful smile.

he just beams at you, already digging in his own carton.

the afternoon melts away like the ice cream you’re devouring. you talk about everything and nothing, your laughter punctuated by the whirring of the fan and the occasional slurp of a melting popsicle. at some point, you find yourself leaning against jaehyun, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders. his hair keeps falling into his eyes, and you can’t resist reaching out to brush it back.

“hold still,” you murmur, gathering the front strands into a small ponytail. he lets you, tilting his head back against the couch with a soft sigh.

“what are you doing?” he asks, amusement lacing his voice.

“fixing this mess,” you say, tugging gently on the makeshift ponytail. “there. much better.”

he turns his head to look at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “you think i look cute with a ponytail?”

you laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “don’t push your luck, jaehyun.”

he pulls you closer, nuzzling his face into your neck. “but you love it,” he mumbles against your skin.

and maybe, just maybe, you do.

you spend the rest of the afternoon sprawled out on the couch, binge-watching your favorite tv series. the fan whirs, a constant white noise against the backdrop of the show’s dialogue. jaehyun, never one to stay still for too long, has his bare feet resting against yours, playfully rubbing them together.

as the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the living room floor, you feel yourself drifting into a comfortable sleepiness. jaehyun’s breathing has slowed, his head resting against yours. his arms are wrapped tightly around you, as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

you’re just about to suggest moving to the bedroom when jaehyun speaks, his voice thick with sleep.

“don’t move,” he mumbles, tightening his grip on you. “just stay here… with me.”

and really, how could you possibly say no to that?

so you let your eyes flutter closed, the warmth of jaehyun’s body and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a peaceful sleep. the summer heat might be relentless outside, but here, in the embrace of the boy you love, everything feels perfectly, blissfully cool.

[multiheadcanons]

THE MERCS ACTUALLY WOULD WISH THAT ON THEIR WORST ENEMY

aka: request— the mercs receive an invitiation to their enemy’s funeral

scout: he wakes up one day and checks the mail. didn’t know why he thought to do that today, but it was a good thing. somethings in there for him. from his cousin, no less. weird. he opens it, and sees card stock saying “gather in remembrance for Matthew Hunter Crowsman” matthew…. matthew. that son of a bitch is dead? he is off to a phone. to any phone. begging snipes to take him to the payphone. uses the “i gotta call my ma” excuse because it always works on snipes. when he gets to a phone and makes the call, the second he hears that muffled “hello?” of his cousin through the static he is cackling. “who got the bastard? who ordered the hit??” “oh, you finally get that card i sent ya, jerry?” “received it, read it, laughed. who ordered the hit?” “ma got sick of his shit, man. asked me about a month back, at this point. they found him a couple weeks ago. construction dug the body up.” “you need to dig deeper graves. hey, i know a lady down here, she’s damn good at disposal—” he doesn’t end up going, but he’ll send flowers for the next of kin. matthew hunter crowsman has lived rent free in jeremy willis’ mind since the fourth grade when he killed the goldfish his dad got him at show and tell. it was the only thing he had of the man. well now the fuckers dead. dead by his family’s hands. and he didn’t even have to do it. it’s nice to have a big family sometimes.

soldier: soldier had one woman who could be considered his nemesis, and he found out she died through the obituaries. it was this crotchety old bitch he ran into at the grocery store. she took his favorite box of cereal, the last box of his favorite box of cereal in the only store in town, directly out of his cart. he was not invited to the wake and showed up anyway. looking nice and societally acceptable in his military blues, most family of the deceased asked his relation to the woman. he said he was an enemy. and he’s happy she’s dead. they end up getting him up there for the eulogy. he looks very nice behind a podium, even if he is ranting about a dead woman’s sticky fingers.

pyro: pyro doesn’t have enemies, they don’t know enough people to genuinely not like anyone. but pyro does love a funeral. just shows up to funerals to watch people cry. it’s like a touching film for them. the display of grief born from so much love, so much love never to be seen or felt again… it brings a tear to their eyes. but when that nasty french cigarette addict dies they’re gonna be front row to slam dunk the body into a two foot hole. it’ll be a party for pyro at spy’s funeral.

demo: demo also doesn’t have many enemies. and the enemies he does have at this point are in different continents. and he’s pretty sure they don’t think about him as much as he thinks about them. but he does keep an eye on the obituaries in case he needs to update his shit list and remove those who he outlived. he won those, by the way. those are considered wins in his book. if he outlives you he wins. he’ll send flowers to the next of kin of the first ten on the list. superiority rule and all.

heavy: heavy doesn’t need to go to the funeral! he’s there when they die! he has not had a mortal nemesis he didn’t kill with his bare hands. it’s somewhat sad, as he ponders that more, but it’s the way his life turned out. and he’s okay with that much. he knows some people wish they could say that one day, if at all. he’ll pay a moment’s worth of respect. then he’s moving on. might even be in a bit of a better mood on the outside! it’s a good day when enemies die. it’s one less worry off his plate. he even moves lighter. quicker on his feet. yes, it’s always a good day when an enemy dies.

engineer: engie wants to state for the record that he was a kid. and what happened that day was legally ruled an accident. but engie was never a big kid. he was on the chubby side, but he was never big enough to really hold his own against anyone who would find themselves in the position of being a bully against a conagher kid. and engie’s always had issues with keeping his hands to himself. it took a lot of work to not grow up to be that man. but there was this one kid. james. he wouldn’t leave him alone, and always managed to catch him alone, or off guard. and one day, he just got sick of it. nobody was looking at what was going on on the road. dell just shoved him. he didn’t see the car. the kid died from his injuries a couple days later. and he did go to the funeral. he genuinely didn’t mean to do it. he liked the feeling of satisfaction he got when they told him he was dead though. that made him feel real good. so now he just makes sure the body can’t be found. easier that way for everyone involved.

medic: the doctor had an academic rival. insanely intelligent, incredibly ugly, and much nicer than the doctor. everyone loved this guy. loved him a lot more than they liked herbert. but this guy was a fraud. nobody’s able to prove it, even to this day, that the man is a fraud. there are no controversies, no conflicting scientific research, the man’s got a squeaky clean record; but medic knows in his heart of hearts and his soul of souls that the dude was and still is a fraud and a liar. it wasn’t like the guy was doing groundbreaking research here, either. who cares about cancer treatment? but he was so beloved. so the joy, the cathartic sigh of satisfaction he let out the day he read the obituaries and saw he died from a hit and run… he thanked whatever god was there. and he did go to the funeral. told the team they were going to be down a doctor and dipped. he arrived drunk in his best black. sat in the back and smoked a cigarette. didn’t make a noise. just watched all of these people mourn him. then spit on his grave as they carried it towards his resting place and left. he claims it was the happiest day of his life.

sniper: sniper doesn’t have enemies like that. nor would he go if that was something offered to him. you probably would’ve already lost him at the mere mention of the name. if you insist on telling him someone he doesn’t like is dead, he’s going to respond “oh. that’s... okay then—” and then he will exit the conversation. might chuckle to himself when he’s alone, maybe even shake his head, but after that he’s done. back to business. he does not think about the people he doesn’t like. that’s a waste of mental effort.

spy: spy does a weekly check of the obituaries just in case he sees a name he may recognize. sometimes he does; but he remembers he’s reading the obituaries. and he continues.

[thicccshady]

Stock Up For My Bitches (Relax Part Two)🍫

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

PART ONE Relax

Content: Fluff, Cursing, New Relationship

Marshall slouched into the interview chair like it personally offended him. His eyes half-lidded in deliberate disinterest as the interviewer clasped her hands together with a too-sunny smile. Marshall shifted in his chair. How the hell are you supposed to comfortably sit in a director-style chair? His fingers lightly drummed on his legs as he waited for the sound crew to finish adjusting equipment. The woman sat across from him wore a cheesy smile, showing a few too many teeth. The interview had just started, but he found her irritating beyond belief.  Her well-rehearsed questions seemed to lack any depth. Maybe he was just tired of interviews altogether. 

The studio crew moved around quietly, clearly wary of the tension. Marshall’s energy could flip like a switch, and today, he looked like he was ready to burn the whole place down just for fun.

“Alrighty! Are we ready to continue?” She looked towards the crew waiting for confirmation. Somehow her smile widened even more. Marshall secretly wondered how little it would take for her smile to practically reach her earlobes. 

“Eminem, fans are absolutely ecstatic for this Friday’s album release. Your Slim Shady persona has been the target of controversy the past few years. Should we expect to see more of his infamous behavior or has Slim settled down.”

Marshall remained deadpan almost bored, “Shady will be Shady. I’m not gonna change my style or whatever. I mean, anyone who hears an Eminem tape should know what they are getting into. It’s like, I’m not going to censor my music to keep people happy. You don’t like it, don’t’ listen. It’s like, if I don’t like you, I won’t fucking listen either, you know what I mean. I don’t really give a fuck.” He licked his lips and started up again, “Someone has to be a role model for the kids. Y’know what I mean?”

“Yes, well. How about we shift gears.” The interviewers shuffled through some notecards. Pausing her expression grew mischievous. She flipped around a photo for Marshall to see. “It seems you did some shopping the other day. Your unique selection of groceries has left fans wondering, who could those feminine products and chocolate be for?”

Without missing a beat, Marshall clearly answered, “Those are for me. And Dre has a sweet tooth. Gets grumpy without his sugar. And I was low on wings, you know what I mean?” Clearly amused with himself he gestured with his hands like a bird flying away.

The interviewer chuckled slightly, uncomfortable. “You bought those pads for yourself?” 

“What? I gotta be prepared. Shit happens quickly.” After a brief pause, he continued to troll her, “I can’t buy fucking pads? You think Slim Shady doesn’t deserve to feel fresh and protected? Shit… that’s discrimination.”

Her face almost glitching, the interviewer was determined to get a big secret out of Marshall, “Seriously, Eminem-“

“Nah, fine. You got me.” She leaned closer into his words. “I like to stock up for my bitches y’know. I’m just thoughtful like that.” He turned towards the camera making eye contact with the lens. “Ladies, if you bleed on my couch, you will get fucked up. Alright… No bleeding.” He continued staring. His eyes appeared ready to pop out of his head. 

The interviewer cleared her throat. “What everyone wants to know is, do you have someone special in your life.”

“My right hand.” Marshall almost smiled but caught himself.

At home, Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her face buried in a pillow as she cringed at the TV. "Oh… my god, Marshall..." she muttered, though she couldn’t stop laughing. Apparently, modern chivalry meant making a dickhead of yourself on national television. She couldn’t wait for Marshall to come over later.

---

Later that day, Y/N heard a knock a familiar knock on the door, a unique knock Marshall always did when he came over. “Come in!” she shouted from the couch. The door creaked open, and Marshall stepping inside, was still grinning, the adrenaline from the interview still coursing through him. His hood was up, and his eyes had that glint of mischief that was all too familiar. 

As soon as he stepped into the room, Y/N looked up from her book, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hey, you,” she said, smiling warmly. "How do you feel that went?" She sat up a little and sat down her book. "Sounded like a nice Slim Shady interview from what I caught on TV. Although I always pegged him as a tampon type of gal.”

He rolled his eyes, his grin widening as he dropped onto the couch next to her. “Mm, you know how it is. Same old shit.” He nudged her gently, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “Got ‘em all convinced I’m some sort of ladies’ man now.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes glinting with humor. “Oh, really? So, who are all these bitches you bring home, huh?” she teased, arching an eyebrow.

Marshall froze for a second, his mind briefly spinning, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t expected her to bring this up—hell, they hadn’t even really talked about what they were, what this was between them. He had no idea how to respond. His usual response to awkwardness was humor, but for some reason, this one felt different. 

Without saying a word, he pointed to the reflection in the living room mirror, where they both appeared, Y/N’s head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything more—he let his gesture speak for itself.

Y/N blinked, her heart fluttering in her chest at the quiet, unspoken answer. Taken aback for a moment, neither of them spoke. Her eyes flicked between him and their reflection. Her smile softened. The teasing in her eyes faded into something more complex. “Just me, huh?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with something more vulnerable than usual.

Marshall nodded slowly, his hand brushing against hers, his earlier bravado fading into something more sincere. "Yah. Just you." He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. It was like they were both seeing something clearer now, a realization settling in that neither of them had dared to voice before.

Y/N swallowed, the lightheartedness from before slipping away. She shifted slightly, her fingers intertwining with his. “So, what is this, then? What are we doing, Marshall?” The words felt heavy, and for the first time in a while, she wasn’t sure where they stood. Were they just casually hanging out, or was there more to it? She needed to know, needed clarity, but the words didn’t come out easily. “I know you like to keep things light, keeps it casual. And I… I’ve been kinda the same. But after everything... the way you’ve been with me, the stuff you did today... I just—”

“I know,” Marshall interrupted softly, his voice a little quieter than usual. He sat staring ahead for a moment, as if the answer was hiding on the wall. “I don’t know. We’ve been goin’ on dates for a while, and I’m not gonna lie, it’s… it’s been different, I guess? But I never really thought about what that meant. Not that I didn’t wanna think about it,” he added quickly, looking at her now, his eyes meeting hers for the first time in a while. “It’s just, you know, with everything else... shit gets complicated.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his honesty, but the uncertainty was still there, lingering in the air like an invisible weight. “So, we’re not—" She hesitated. “We’re not exclusive, then? I mean, you don’t even know if you want to be... Marshall, what are we doing here?”

He sighed, running his hand over his face, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t know what I want. I’ve been trying to figure it out, okay? I’m not good at this shit. But I know I want you, Y/N. I just... I don’t know how to fucking say it without sounding like a damn idiot.”

Y/N bit her lip, feeling the tension building between them, she moved her hand away from his. The awkwardness of the conversation made everything feel rawer, more real. “That doesn’t make you an idiot, Marshall. It’s just... we’ve been having fun, and I like you a lot, but I don’t know where I stand. I don’t wanna be just someone you come to when it’s convenient.”

He stared at her for a moment, his usual dry humor gone, replaced with something much more serious. “Look, I get it. I’m not the best at... fuck, whatever we’re calling this, but I don’t want anyone else. If you’re asking if I want to see other people, the answer’s no. I’ve been trying to figure it out—trying to figure this all out, really—but you’re the only one I want.” The honesty of Marshalls words seemed to surprise himself.

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The awkwardness hadn’t gone away, but the tension had shifted. “So, that’s it then?” she asked quietly. “You and me, exclusive?” 

Marshall nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. “Yeah. I think so. I mean, we don’t have to call it anything if you don’t want to. But... I’m done with the whole game. It’s just you, if you want it.”

She studied him for a moment, her lips curling into a small, soft smile. Sliding closer to him, the space between them disappeared. “I want it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Marshall leaned in slowly, his eyes meeting hers, a hint of the usual mischief returning to his face. “Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, testing the waters. “So you’re officially my bitch?”

Y/N chuckled, the awkwardness slipping away just a little. “Nah, I think that interview proves you’re my bitch.” She reached out and pulled him closer, kissing him gently on the lips. Her chest tightened with emotion. She cupped his face gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “You’re such an idiot,” she teased lightly, but there was a depth in her words. “But you’re a sweet idiot.”

A genuine smile spread across his face, and he leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers. “Just me and you?”

Y/N nodded, the certainty in her heart echoing in her voice. “Just us. And I’ll take it, Marshall. All the messy, complicated, weird parts of you... and maybe I’ll even buy some pads and chocolate for you.”

Marshall snorted, his smile widening. “Oh, trust me. I’m never forgettin’ that again. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, Y/N.” Pulling away to look at her, Marshall breathed out a relieved laugh. “You know, you make me sound like a shithead.”

Y/N smiled, her hand now resting on his chest. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said softly. “If you keep being honest with me, we’ll be alright.”

Marshall’s grin widened, the tension in his body finally easing. “Deal.” He whispered. Marshall shifted his head to rest against hers, the familiar weight of her presence settling him in a way he hadn’t expected. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. “Yeah, we’re gonna be alright.” 

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A/N: Big shoutout to @tomdayaloveforever for the inspiration for this! I'll admit, releasing this before Your Biggest Fan Part 2 was diabolical of me. I hear y'all. It is coming so so soon! <3

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[conceptofjoy]

i work at a grocery store stocking shelves and i think it is a torture chamber for dirklikes unlike any other. you have to do a repetitive useless task over and over again (organizing shelves that the customers mess up) (sisyphian) (existentially dreadful), customers bother you every few minutes and you have to stop what youre doing and walk them to the raisins or whatever (obnoxious) (socializing) (scrutinized) (expected to put on a smile and are graded by managers watching over your shoulder to make sure youre following script) and on top of that taylor swift is playing on the radio (torture normally reserved for the use in criminals rivaling that of henry kissinger) i think hed last 6 minutes before killing everyone in the store then himself

so fucking true he has to stay in the back for everyone’s safety, you gotta leave this dude alone