#i will make my bed everything will be Cool

[luvst4rc0r3]

"Why did you do that" PT.2

Jinx x f!reader

Warnings:None?

WC:1848

PT.1

Jinx didn’t even think.

She just moved.

The Firelight hideout smelled like oil and smoke, old books and freshly cleaned wounds. It was a place Jinx had never thought she’d set foot in without a gun in hand.

But none of that mattered when she saw you.

You were sitting on a bed, wrapped in blankets too big for your frame, looking exhausted.

Isha was beside you, dressed in bandages, a fresh scar running down the side of her face—but her eyes lit up the second she saw Jinx.

Jinx didn’t breathe.

She couldn’t.

She wanted to move, wanted to run straight to you, to Isha—to make sure this wasn’t some cruel joke—but all she could see was the way your arms looked wrong.

Or rather, how one of them didn’t look like yours anymore.

You raised your right hand—no, not your hand, the metal that had replaced it. Isha, beside you, mimicked the movement with her left arm, sleeve empty below the elbow.

Jinx felt like she was going to be sick.

But you smiled.

“Jinx.” Your voice cracked, but it was real, and gods, it was the best sound in the world.

She couldn’t stop herself anymore.

Jinx ran.

She crashed into you like a grenade, arms tight, tighter, afraid that if she let go, you’d disappear again. She felt the way your hand gripped onto her shirt, felt the way Isha pressed herself into both of you, her face buried in Jinx’s shoulder.

Jinx sobbed.

Ugly, shaking, wrecked sobs.

“You fucking died,” she gasped, pressing her forehead against yours, “I thought you were dead—fuck, I—”

“I know,” you whispered, voice trembling as you held her closer. “I know.”

Isha didn’t sign anything, just curled herself further into Jinx’s side. But she didn’t need to.

Jinx felt it.

Felt both of you, warm, breathing, alive.

Her fingers curled into your clothes, into Isha’s hair, into anything she could reach, because she couldn’t let go. Not again.

Ekko, somewhere behind her, stepped away, giving you all space. Jinx didn’t look at him. She didn’t look at anything but you and Isha.

She hadn’t needed saving before.

But gods, was she glad Ekko had stopped her.

She buried herself into you, into Isha, into the warmth of the people she thought she’d lost.

And for the first time since that night, Jinx finally felt something again.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Jinx didn’t let go of you for the rest of the night.

She sat on the cot beside you, arms locked around your waist, like she was afraid you’d disappear if she blinked too long. Isha was curled up at your other side, dozing off but still holding onto both of you.

You didn’t blame her.

None of you had been apart like that before.

Jinx traced her fingers over your new prosthetic, her touch featherlight. It wasn’t like her bombs or her guns—it wasn’t built to destroy. It was careful.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head. “Not really. Just feels… weird. Like something’s there when it’s not.”

She hummed, rubbing circles into your palm. “Still kicks ass, though. Look at you, all metal and scary.”

You snorted. “You like it?”

“I liked your old hand better,” she admitted, softer this time, “but this one’s cool too.”

She lifted it, pressing a kiss to your fingers—just like she always used to.

You exhaled shakily.

“Jinx,” you whispered, leaning into her. “I’m sorry.”

Jinx tensed, pulling back to look at you.

“For what?”

“For—” You swallowed. “For almost dying. For scaring you. For everything.”

Her face twisted, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“That’s my line, dumbass.”

You huffed a laugh, and she took your hand—both of them, flesh and metal—and held them tight.

“You didn’t do shit wrong,” she murmured. “You fought. You lived. That’s all I need.”

Your throat ached. “I thought we lost you.”

Jinx’s eyes darkened.

“I thought I lost you first.”

Neither of you said anything else after that, just clung to each other in the dim light of the hideout, breathing in the reality of being here, of being alive, of still having each other.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The Firelight hideout wasn’t the most comfortable place, but lying in bed with Jinx made it feel like home.

You were tucked against her, head resting on her shoulder, while her fingers traced absentminded patterns on your arm—the flesh one. She hadn’t stopped touching you since the night she found out you were alive.

Isha was curled up on the other side of the bed, deep asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

The world outside was on the brink of chaos. War loomed over all of you, but in this moment, it was just you, Jinx, and the quiet hum of each other’s heartbeats.

Jinx shifted slightly, and you felt her reach into her pocket. Before you could ask what she was doing, she held something up in front of you.

A ring.

It was messy—scrap metal twisted together, gears and wires interwoven, the metal slightly uneven—but it was her. Every part of it screamed Jinx.

“Marry me,” she mumbled, barely above a whisper.

You blinked.

Your brain short-circuited.

“What?”

She looked nervous, biting the inside of her cheek, but her grip on you didn’t loosen.

“I mean—y’know—if you want to,” she muttered, avoiding your eyes. “After all this shit’s over. If we make it. If—”

You cupped her face, cutting her off.

“Jinx.”

she kept on rambling.

“Jinx.” You said a bit louder this time.

and she kept on yapping.

“JINX”

Now that caught her attention.

She swallowed.

You could see it in her eyes—the fear, the hope, the love that had always burned so brightly in her, flickering unsteady in the dark.

You kissed her.

Soft. Slow. Lingering.

When you pulled back, you smiled.

“Of course I will, dummy.”

Jinx blinked.

Then she grinned, wide and breathless, like she couldn’t believe it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She exhaled shakily, pressing her forehead against yours. “Fuck.”

You laughed.

And when she pulled you even closer, burying herself in you, you let her—because tomorrow was uncertain, but this?

This was real.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It took exactly five hours for you to piss Jinx off again.

You had just finished getting new adjustments to your prosthetic when you stormed up to Ekko, voice firm. “I want in.”

Ekko, who was fully aware of your stubbornness, barely batted an eye. “I figured.”

Jinx, however, did not take it so well.

“The fuck you do,” she snapped, stepping between you and Ekko. “You’re not fighting.”

“Yes, I am,” you shot back, folding your arms. “I can still fight, Jinx.”

“You lost a fucking hand, baby.”

“And I got a new one.”

“That’s not the point!”

The two of you stood inches apart, both breathing hard, staring each other down.

Jinx’s hands were shaking.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to soften. “Jinx…”

She shook her head violently.

“No. No way. I just fucking got you back, I’m not—” Her voice cracked, eyes glassy. “I’m not losing you again.”

Your chest clenched.

You stepped forward, pressing your forehead against hers. Jinx inhaled sharply, hands gripping your shirt.

“I’m not leaving you,” you murmured. “I swear.”

Jinx gritted her teeth.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Smoke choked the air, metal screeched against metal, and the scent of burning rubble filled your lungs as you ran through the wreckage. Your body ached, wounds screaming with every step, but none of it mattered.

You had to find her.

Then you saw her.

You saw her dangling over the edge, Vi gripping her wrist with everything she had. But Jinx—Jinx wasn’t fighting to stay.

She was letting go.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“JINX!”

Your voice cut through the battlefield like a gunshot.

Jinx’s head snapped toward you, wild eyes locking onto yours.

For a split second, something flickered in her face—relief, disbelief, love—but then her fingers twitched, loosening.

You ran.

You didn’t think—didn’t hesitate—you just ran, leaping over metal until you were right there, right at the edge.

And then, before either of them could stop you, you grabbed Warwick and shoved yourself forward.

Jinx’s scream ripped through the air.

“NO!”

But before you fell, before the void swallowed you whole, you locked eyes with her one last time.

And you smiled.

“I love you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “And I will always love you. Take care of Isha.”

Then you let go.

Jinx’s breath hitched. “No, no, no—

Jinx didn’t think.

She didn’t breathe.

She didn’t hesitate.

she hit the gem out of the glove and jumped

She really jumped.

Vi screamed for her, reaching, but she was too slow—too late.

Jinx dove after you, the wind roaring in her ears, drowning out everything except the one thing that mattered.

You.

Her arms wrapped around you mid-fall, yanking you against her chest as the world blurred around you.

You barely had time to react before she twisted the monkey bomb only to let out glitter before diving into an air vent.

Metal screeched.

Jinx grunted as the impact nearly knocked her out, but she didn’t let go of you—not for a single second.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then—

You sat up quickly, ignoring the stabbing pain in your ribs. “Are you insane?!”

Jinx blinked, dazed. “Uh. Kinda?”

You grabbed her face, forcing her to look at you. “You jumped.”

Jinx frowned. “And? What, you thought I was just gonna let you die?”

Your heart clenched.

“Jinx…” Your voice cracked. “You could have—”

“Lost you?” she whispered, voice raw. “Not happening, baby. Not ever.”

Your grip trembled. “I told you to take care of Isha—”

“And I will. With you.”

Your breath hitched.

Jinx swallowed hard, pressing her forehead against yours. “I’d rather burn the whole damn world down than live without you.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but there was no time for them.

You inhaled shakily, pulling away. “We need to go. They will still try and find you—”

Jinx nodded, already grabbing your hand, pulling you toward a rusted-out air vent hidden behind a collapsed wall. “Way ahead of you.”

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Navigating the old tunnels was brutal. Your bodies were battered, your limbs screamed with every movement, but neither of you stopped—not until you reached the one place Jinx knew Isha would be.

She was waiting.

The second you slipped into the hideout, Isha spun, her wide eyes filling with tears the moment she saw you both.

Jinx barely had time to say anything before Isha threw herself at you, shaking, gripping onto you like you might disappear.

You held her tightly, running your fingers through her hair, whispering, “We’re here, we’re okay, I promise.”

Jinx pressed against both of you, hands wrapped around Isha’s back, her face buried in your shoulder.

For the first time since the war started, you felt safe.

No more fighting.

No more running.

Just the three of you.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

YALL HAPPY ENDING!!!

I want sleep

[chelseaknoo]

Valentine’s Day with Eminem

Eminem x Reader

Caution: semi-sexual content and Marshall’s baby fever <3

Note:sorry it’s a day late! And any era of Eminem you want!

For the past two years, you and Marshall had been together, and despite his usual tough-guy exterior, you knew how much he loved you. He showed it in his own way—whether it was pulling you closer in his sleep, always making sure you were safe, or spoiling you just because he felt like it.

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, you wanted to do something special for him. Marshall wasn’t the type to get overly sentimental about holidays, but you knew he’d appreciate the thought, even if he acted like it wasn’t a big deal.

After weeks of planning, you finally settled on the perfect gifts—a luxury watch, custom jewelry designed specifically for him, and, of course, a fresh pair of sneakers. You knew he had more shoes than he could ever wear, but the man had a weakness for them, and you loved seeing his face light up when he got a new pair.

The packages sat neatly wrapped in your closet, hidden from sight. You were excited to give them to him, but Valentine’s Day wasn’t here just yet.

One evening, as you sat on the couch scrolling through your phone, Marshall strolled into the living room, his brow slightly furrowed as he looked at you suspiciously.

“You been actin’ sneaky as fuck lately,” he muttered, flopping down next to you. “What the hell you up to?”

You smirked, locking your phone. “What makes you think I’m up to something?”

He narrowed his eyes. “’Cause I know you. Every time you try to hide shit from me, you start actin’ all innocent like that. What is it? You plannin’ some kinda bullshit prank?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, Marshall. Not everything I do is about messing with you.”

“Mm-hmm,” he grumbled, still unconvinced. “I swear, if you put hot sauce in my coffee again, I’m dumpin’ your ass.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was one time, and you deserved it.”

“The fuck I do?” he shot back. “I ain’t do nothin’ to you!”

“You called me a brat all day just because I didn’t wanna watch Scarface for the hundredth time.”

Marshall scoffed. “First off, Scarface is a goddamn classic. Second, you are a brat, and third—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing again. “Wait, why are we talkin’ about that? Don’t change the subject. What are you hiding?”

You smirked, leaning in closer to him. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t like that.”

“You’ll live,” you teased, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before standing up.

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you back onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Nah, see, now I really wanna know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck.

You laughed, pushing at his chest. “You’re not gonna distract me.”

“The fuck I ain’t,” he muttered, nipping at your skin lightly.

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered. He really did have a way of making you melt, but you weren’t about to give in that easily.

“Marshall,” you warned playfully.

He sighed dramatically, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Fine. Keep your little secrets. But if I find out you got me some corny-ass matching couple shit, I’m tellin’ you right now, I ain’t wearin’ it.”

You bit your lip to hold back a smile. “Not even if it’s really cool?”

“Not even if Jesus himself came down and told me to put that shit on.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

He groaned, tightening his arms around you. “Fuckin’ hate waiting.”

“Too bad,” you teased, kissing his cheek again before slipping out of his grasp.

Valentine’s Day was coming soon, but for now, you’d let him suffer in suspense.

-

You stirred awake to the faint smell of coffee and something sweet—pancakes, maybe? Your brows furrowed as you turned onto your side, reaching out, only to realize the other side of the bed was empty. That was unusual. Normally, Marshall stayed in bed as long as he could, clinging to you like a damn koala.

You rubbed your eyes and sat up slowly, your hair a mess and your body still heavy with sleep. Just as you were about to call out for him, the bedroom door pushed open, and there he was—your grumpy, foul-mouthed boyfriend, holding a tray of food in one hand and a massive bouquet of deep red roses in the other.

"Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, baby," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he made his way over.

You blinked, still half-asleep. "Marshall…?"

"What?" He quirked a brow, setting the tray down on your lap before plopping onto the bed next to you. "Look at that, I ain't completely useless. I ain't burn the fuckin’ kitchen down or nothin’."

A slow, sleepy smile spread across your lips as you looked down at the tray. There was a plate stacked with pancakes—heart-shaped, even—alongside crispy bacon, eggs, and a cup of coffee, just how you liked it.

"You… made this?" you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Well, no shit. You see anybody else in this house?" he scoffed. "I ain't about to let some random motherfucker come in here and cook for my girl."

You chuckled, picking up a piece of bacon. "I mean, I wouldn’t put it past you to have Paul do it."

Marshall snorted. "The fuck would I look like, callin’ Paul at six in the morning talkin’ ‘bout, ‘Yo, come make my girl some breakfast’?"

You laughed, shaking your head before glancing at the roses. "And these?"

"These are also for my girl," he said, handing you the bouquet. "Real as hell, just like you."

Your heart swelled, and you traced your fingers over the soft petals, inhaling the fresh scent. He wasn’t the biggest romantic, but when he did things like this, it meant even more.

"You really went all out," you murmured, looking up at him.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… you deserve it."

Your chest tightened at his words, and you set the roses down beside you before leaning over to kiss him. He cupped the back of your head, deepening it, his other hand slipping under the covers to squeeze your thigh.

"Mmm," you hummed against his lips before pulling back slightly. "This is really sweet, Marshall."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, trying to pull you back in. "Eat your damn food before it gets cold."

You smirked. "You just don’t wanna admit you’re a softie."

"The fuck I do," he grumbled.

"Making me breakfast, getting me flowers…" You tilted your head. "You gonna write me a poem next?"

He deadpanned. "You want me to?"

You burst out laughing. "No, no, I’d rather keep my ears intact."

He narrowed his eyes. "You a real fuckin’ comedian, huh?"

You winked, picking up your fork. "Only for you, babe."

He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he leaned back against the headboard, watching you eat.

-

After finishing your breakfast, you leaned back against the headboard, completely satisfied. “Damn, Marshall,” you said, dabbing your lips with a napkin. “That was actually really good.”

He smirked. “The fuck you mean ‘actually’? Like you expected me to fuck it up?”

You giggled, stretching before glancing over at him. “You said you wanted to take me out, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, running a hand through his short blonde hair. “Figured we could do somethin’ nice since it’s Valentine’s Day ‘n’ all.”

You grinned. “Aww, look at you being all romantic.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Laughing, you hopped out of bed and stretched again. “Alright, well, I need to get ready.”

Marshall gave you a look. “How long we talkin’? ‘Cause if it’s some two-hour bullshit—”

Before he could finish, you cut him off by playfully shoving him toward the bedroom door. “Go do something productive while I get dressed.”

“I was doin’ somethin’ productive—sittin’ here lookin’ at my beautiful ass girl,” he shot back, smirking.

You shook your head, laughing as you finally managed to push him out and shut the door. Now it was time to get ready.

Thirty Minutes Later

“Babe!”

You heard Marshall’s irritated voice from the other side of the door.

“Yo, what the fuck is takin’ so long? We goin’ out today or next Valentine’s Day?”

You smiled to yourself, carefully applying the last touch of gloss to your lips. “Be patient!”

“Patient? I been sittin’ here for thirty fuckin’ minutes! You better be comin’ out lookin’ like a goddamn supermodel or some shit.”

You smirked at your reflection. Oh, he was definitely going to eat his words.

Finally satisfied, you strutted over to the door and swung it open, stepping out dramatically.

Marshall, who had been leaning against the wall, looking down at his phone, glanced up—and instantly froze.

His blue eyes widened as they slowly traveled from your head to your toes, taking in every damn detail. You were wearing a form-fitting, deep red mini dress that hugged every curve just right. The fabric clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating your waist and hips. The plunging neckline showed off your cleavage, and the thin straps left your shoulders completely bare. The dress stopped mid-thigh, revealing your smooth legs, paired with sleek black stilettos that made them look even longer.

Your makeup was flawless—dark, sultry eyeshadow, long lashes, and your lips painted a soft glossy red to match the dress. Your hair cascaded in perfect waves, framing your face effortlessly.

You smirked. “Well? Supermodel enough for you?”

Marshall blinked, his mouth opening slightly before shutting again. He looked you up and down one more time, then dragged a hand down his face.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You giggled, stepping closer. “Is that a good ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ’ or a bad one?”

He scoffed. “Oh, it’s good, alright. Good enough that now I don’t even wanna go nowhere.” His hands found your hips, pulling you in. “Matter fact, how ‘bout we stay our asses right here?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest. “Nope, you said we’re going out. Let’s go.”

He groaned, but reluctantly let go, stepping back. “You doin’ this shit on purpose,” he muttered, shaking his head as he grabbed his keys.

You smirked, picking up your clutch. “Maybe.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath as you both walked to the car.

Once outside, Marshall opened the passenger door for you, but just as you were about to get in, he grabbed your wrist.

“Hold the fuck up.”

You turned to him, confused. “What?”

His gaze darkened. “This dress—where the fuck is the rest of it?”

You burst out laughing. “Marshall—”

“Nah, I’m serious. This shit barely covers anything,” he grumbled, eyeing the way the fabric stretched over your curves.

“You’re being dramatic,” you teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Dramatic?” he scoffed. “Nah, ‘cause I already know muthafuckers gonna be lookin’ at you, and then I’ma have to beat somebody’s ass.”

You giggled, sliding into the seat. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous,” he muttered, slamming the door before walking around to the driver’s side.

When he got in, he cut you a side glance, still frowning.

You smirked. “If it makes you feel better, I only care about your eyes on me.”

Marshall grunted as he started the car. “Damn right you do.”

You shook your head, still smiling. The night hadn’t even started yet, and it was already entertaining.

-

After getting into the car, Marshall still hadn't gotten over the dress you were wearing. He kept throwing glances your way, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he drove.

“I swear to God, if one muthafucker even thinks about staring at you too long, I’m knockin’ his ass out.”

You laughed, adjusting your seatbelt. “Marshall, relax. I dress like this for you.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, well, I don’t like sharin’.”

You smirked, reaching over to rest your hand on his thigh. “Then maybe you should take me shopping and pick out what you like.”

Marshall gave you a look, raising an eyebrow. “Shopping?”

You nodded innocently. “Mhm. You said it’s our day, right?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Aight, fine. But if you think I ain’t keepin’ an eye on what the fuck you’re buyin’—”

You grinned, cutting him off. “Let’s go before you change your mind.”

At the Mall

Marshall should’ve known this was a bad idea.

Not because he didn’t want to spoil you—he did. Hell, he’d give you the whole damn world if he could. But damn, the way you were tossing clothes into the shopping bags like money wasn’t a real thing? Yeah, that was starting to fuck with his head.

“Yo,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he eyed the price tag on one of the bags. “You tryna make me go broke?”

You giggled, slipping your arm around his. “Marshall, you have millions.”

“And at this rate, I’ma have zero.” He sighed dramatically, watching as you picked up another outfit. “What even is this? That shit ain't even enough fabric to be called clothes.”

You held up the tiny lace lingerie set with a smirk. “Oh, this? It’s for later.”

Marshall’s jaw clenched, and he snatched it out of your hands, tossing it over his arm before grabbing your wrist and pulling you close. “You are wearin’ this for me, right?”

You batted your lashes. “Who else?”

His blue eyes darkened slightly before he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You know what? Fuck it. Get whatever the fuck you want. Just remember, you wear this little shit outside? We fightin’.”

You laughed, kissing his cheek. “Noted.”

By the time you were done, Marshall was carrying way too many bags, grumbling under his breath the whole time.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he muttered as you both walked toward the exit. “Why you need this much shit?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” you reminded him, smiling. “You said you wanted to spoil me.”

“Yeah, but damn.” He shifted the bags in his arms. “Next time, I’m takin’ you to Target.”

Lunch Date

After dropping the bags off in the car, you and Marshall headed to a nice little restaurant nearby.

As soon as you both sat down, Marshall leaned back in his seat, stretching. “Aight, now this part I don’t mind. Food? I can get behind that shit.”

You smiled, flipping through the menu. “Oh, so you don’t mind spending money on food but clothes are a problem?”

“Damn right,” he muttered. “Food don’t make me question my fuckin’ bank account.”

You giggled, shaking your head before deciding on what you wanted. When the waitress came over, Marshall ordered for both of you, making sure you got exactly what you liked.

Once the food arrived, you could tell Marshall was in his happy place. His entire mood shifted the second he took that first bite.

“God damn,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “This shit good as fuck.”

You laughed, watching him practically melt into his seat. “You act like you’ve never had a meal before.”

He shrugged, taking another bite. “Shit, I ain’t sayin’ that. Just sayin’, whoever made this needs a raise.”

Smirking, you picked up your fork and held a piece of food out to him. “Here, try this.”

Marshall raised an eyebrow. “You tryna feed me now?”

“Come on, don’t be shy,” you teased, wiggling the fork in front of him.

He rolled his eyes but leaned in, taking the bite. He chewed for a moment before nodding. “Aight, I see you. That shit good too.”

Smiling, you wiped a little sauce from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You got something—”

Before you could pull your hand away, Marshall smirked and suddenly took your thumb into his mouth, sucking it clean.

Your eyes widened slightly, heat rushing to your face. “Marshall!”

He chuckled, letting go. “What? You wiped it off. I just finished the job.”

Shaking your head, you picked up a fry and held it up. “Here, your turn.”

Marshall smirked, but instead of taking it with his hands, he leaned forward and took it straight from your fingers with his mouth.

“You are so dramatic,” you muttered, laughing.

He chewed and winked. “You love that shit.”

After finishing your meals, you both sat back, completely full and content. Marshall took a sip of his drink before glancing at you.

“Aight, what’s next?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He narrowed his eyes. “See, now I’m worried.”

You giggled, leaning over the table to kiss him. “Relax, babe. The day’s not over yet.”

Marshall sighed, running a hand down his face before mumbling, “I got a bad fuckin’ feelin’ ‘bout this.”

You just smiled. Oh, if only he knew.

-

The night had finally arrived, and Marshall had been quiet for most of the drive, the soft hum of the car's engine filling the spaces between you two. The city lights flickered outside as you both made your way toward your dinner destination, but you had something to share before it all went down.

"Hey," you said, breaking the silence and shifting slightly in your seat to grab the bag you had stashed beside you.

Marshall glanced over at you, brow furrowed. "What?"

You smirked, reaching into the bag and pulling out the small box with the watch you’d bought for him. "I got you something. For Valentine's Day."

He raised an eyebrow, looking over at you in surprise. "You didn’t need to get me shit," he grumbled, but his tone softened as his curiosity grew. "You know I ain't about all that gift shit."

You shrugged, holding the box out to him. "Yeah, well, I wanted to. So just take it."

Marshall hesitated for a moment before taking the box from your hand, his eyes lingering on you as he carefully opened it. Inside, a sleek, expensive watch glimmered under the interior lights of the car.

"Yo... what the fuck?" he muttered, his eyes going wide as he lifted the watch. "This... this shit’s expensive as hell, babe."

You just smiled. "You deserve it. You’ve been working your ass off."

Marshall laughed, shaking his head. "Damn. I don't even know what to say." He let out a low whistle, admiring the watch before slipping it on his wrist. "You're gonna make me feel guilty for not getting you something that costs this much."

You waved him off. "You already spoil me, Marshall. It’s not about the price."

Before he could respond, you reached into the bag again, pulling out more boxes. "And there's more."

He turned his head toward you, an eyebrow cocked in suspicion. "You serious? You get me more shit?"

You chuckled softly, handing it over. "You’ll see."

He opened it slowly, his expression changing from confusion to shock as he revealed the custom chain—his initials carved into the thick gold links, designed with care and made specifically for him. Then the expensive sneakers, which also blew his mind.

"Goddamn..." he whispered, clearly impressed. "This is... this is fuckin' next level."

You grinned. "I figured you’d like it."

"Like it? Babe, I fuckin’ love it." His voice softened, and his gaze turned to you, his usual tough demeanor melting away. "You didn’t have to do all this, though."

You shrugged, feeling a little bashful at the sincerity in his eyes. "I wanted to."

Marshall smiled, shaking his head. "You're something else, you know that? Thank you." He took a deep breath, looking down at the watch and chain once more. "I feel like a damn millionaire now."

You laughed. "You *are* a damn millionaire."

"Yeah, but this... this is a different kind of flex," he said, the grin on his face growing wider. "I’m not tryna show off, but damn, I look good."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but smile. "You always look good."

He shot you a playful wink before pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant. "Alright, now it’s my turn to take care of you."

You glanced around at the fancy cars parked in front of the restaurant, feeling the anticipation building up. "Where are we going?"

Marshall parked the car, turning off the engine. "It’s a surprise."

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could say anything else, he was already getting out of the car and opening your door. "Come on, let’s go."

You took his hand as he led you toward the entrance of the restaurant, the warmth of the night air brushing against your skin. The moment you stepped inside, you were hit with the unmistakable scent of luxury—wood paneling, rich leather seats, and the soft clinking of silverware.

The hostess greeted you both, giving you a nod as she checked the reservation list. "Mr. Mathers, your table is ready."

Marshall smirked, glancing over at you. "I told you I got this."

As you followed her to your table, you couldn’t help but notice the view—this restaurant had a balcony seating area that overlooked the entire city. The lights below looked like a sea of stars, and the atmosphere was quiet, intimate.

The hostess pulled out the chair for you, and you sat down, still in awe of the beautiful setting. Marshall slid into the seat next to you, his eyes scanning the area as he looked satisfied with himself.

"Damn," you whispered, taking in the view. "You really went all out, huh?"

"Only for you," he said, his voice low and genuine. "I told you, I’m makin’ tonight special. You deserve it."

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. "I don’t need fancy stuff, Marshall. I just need you."

He squeezed your hand, his thumb running over your skin as he looked at you with a soft smile. "Yeah, well, I want to give you more than that. I want you to know you’re the best thing I got."

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. "You’re not so bad yourself, Slim."

He chuckled at the nickname, leaning back in his chair. "Guess I got a soft spot for you, huh?"

"Guess so," you teased, leaning forward as you eyed the menu. "So what are we ordering?"

Marshall scanned the options, but you could tell he was still lost in thought. He stared at you for a moment, his gaze lingering before he looked away. "I’ll let you pick. You know what you like."

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Are you serious? You’re not even gonna help?"

He leaned in, his voice lowering to something more playful. "Hell no. It’s your night. I’m just here to enjoy the view."

-

You couldn't resist. There was something so satisfying about pushing Marshall’s buttons, especially when he was already feeling the weight of the night’s lavish surprises. The waiter stood at your table, waiting patiently for your order. Marshall was leaning back in his chair, trying to look casual, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. You decided it was time to have some fun.

"Alright," you said, flipping through the menu one last time. "I’ll have the lobster bisque as a starter. And, uh, the Wagyu beef, medium-rare, with a side of truffle fries."

Marshall's eyes widened as he leaned forward, clearly about to say something.

"Also, throw in the foie gras. Gotta go all out, right?" You grinned, knowing full well he’d start to get worked up.

Marshall’s mouth hung open for a second before he snapped it shut, glancing at you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "I’m tryna treat you right, and you’re gonna hit me with that shit?"

The waiter, trying his best to be polite, wrote down your order and nodded before walking off to place it in the kitchen. Marshall turned his attention back to you, looking like he was about to burst.

"You really gonna make me pay for all this?" he asked, an amused yet annoyed look crossing his face. "I mean, I get it, it’s Valentine’s Day, but fuck. What’s next, a bottle of 200-dollar champagne?"

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair, enjoying the show. "Maybe," you teased, trying to hold in your laughter. "Why not? You only live once, right?"

Marshall shook his head in mock disbelief, his hands running over his face as if he couldn’t believe the audacity. "You are somethin’ else, you know that?" His tone was half exasperated, half impressed. "I swear, you’re gonna bankrupt me before this night’s over."

"Yeah, well, I like to live dangerously," you said, still grinning. "You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me, Marshall. Don’t act all surprised."

Marshall let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' crazy," he muttered under his breath, though his lips were still curling up at the edges. "You really are a pain in my ass."

"Yeah, but you love it," you teased, giving him a wink.

"Love it? Hell, I’m just tryna keep my bank account from catchin' fire." He paused, glancing at you sideways with a smirk. "But... I guess you do look good enough to justify it. Maybe."

You laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe?"

"Alright, alright," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "You look damn good. I’ll give you that. But don’t push it, alright?"

The waiter returned soon after with a basket of freshly baked bread and a bottle of sparkling water, which you immediately ignored, still grinning. "The bread looks good, but I’m holding out for the good stuff," you said, leaning forward, clearly relishing the moment.

Marshall grabbed a piece of bread, tearing into it with a sigh, clearly trying to calm himself down. "I swear, if you order another thousand-dollar meal, I’m gonna fucking lose it."

"You’ll be fine," you said nonchalantly, enjoying every second of his misery. "It’s not like you’re gonna go broke over this."

"Don’t jinx me, babe," he shot back, shoving a piece of bread in his mouth. "You’re making me second guess every damn decision I’ve made tonight."

You leaned back in your chair, taking a sip of the water. "Relax, Marshall. You’re not gonna die from a fancy dinner."

"Well, if I do, I’m blaming you," he said, taking another bite of bread. "I told you I didn’t want any of this shit. But here I am, gettin’ sucked into your ridiculousness."

You smiled smugly. "You love it. Don’t lie."

He threw his hands up in exasperation, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright, fine. I love it. But damn, you’re gonna make me broke doing it."

"Hey, at least I’m worth it," you said, giving him a wink.

"Yeah, yeah," Marshall muttered, shaking his head as he reached for the wine list on the table. "You better be worth it, or else I’m putting my foot down."

You leaned over the table toward him, your smile widening. "You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me," he shot back with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. "You know I’ll do it."

As the conversation continued, the food started to arrive, each dish more expensive and extravagant than the last. The lobster bisque came out first, and it was rich, creamy, and perfect. Marshall hesitated for a second before taking a bite.

"Okay," he said begrudgingly. "This actually tastes pretty damn good."

"I know," you said, taking a spoonful yourself. "Told you."

The next dish, the Wagyu beef, arrived, perfectly seared and looking like it belonged in a five-star restaurant. You cut into it with ease, savoring the flavor. Marshall just shook his head, staring at the plate in disbelief.

"You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me," he muttered. "How the hell is this worth that much money?"

"Because it’s amazing," you replied with a grin. "It’s like the best steak you’ve ever had, but a hundred times better."

Marshall finally dug into his steak, pausing for a moment before looking up at you. "Alright, I’ll admit it. This is... fuckin’ delicious."

"Told you," you said smugly.

As the night went on, you both fed each other little bites of the various dishes, laughing and teasing each other along the way. You'd fork a piece of your steak and hold it out for him to eat, and he'd do the same with the truffle fries. You could see him start to relax, though he still had that playful edge to him.

After a while, Marshall leaned back in his chair, his arm casually resting on the back of yours. "You’re a handful, but damn if you don’t make this fun."

You rested your head against his shoulder, content. "And you love every second of it."

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky," he grumbled, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere at the restaurant was starting to feel a little different. The balcony where you were sitting had a great view of the city, but with that view came a lot of attention. You were halfway through your meal when you noticed the first pair of eyes lingering on your boyfriend. Marshall didn’t seem to notice at first, but as you looked around, it became obvious that people were staring, some of them even sneaking pictures and videos on their phones.

You sighed and glanced over at Marshall, who was still focused on his food, though you could tell something was starting to bug him. He could sense it too. His brow furrowed, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, his gaze darting to a couple sitting at a nearby table, their phone held up just a little too obviously in his direction. "Do these assholes have no shame?"

You tried to shrug it off, giving him a small smile to reassure him. "It’s fine, Marshall. Let them take their stupid pictures. We’re here to enjoy the night, right?"

But that didn't seem to calm him down. His jaw tightened as he leaned back in his chair, clearly irritated. "Yeah, I get it. But it’s like, can’t a guy just have a fucking dinner without being treated like a damn zoo animal?"

You could tell he was starting to get worked up, so you reached over and put a hand on his, squeezing it gently. "I know, but this is what comes with the territory, babe. You’re Eminem. People want a piece of you."

He shot you a look, his eyes narrowing with frustration. "I don’t give a shit about all that. I just wanna eat my fucking food in peace."

"Yeah, I get it," you said, trying to calm him down, "but they’re gonna do it anyway. Might as well not let it ruin the night."

Marshall leaned forward, shaking his head. "It’s just annoying, man. Every time we go out, it’s like I’m fuckin’ on display." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’d think they’d give me a break, especially on a night like tonight."

"I’m fine with it," you said, leaning in close. "I’m used to it by now. It’s not a big deal. Let them stare. They’re not important."

Marshall shot a glance at you, his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly still frustrated. "I just don’t like it. Makes me feel like I’m some fucking animal in a cage." He turned back toward the table, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I want to be here with you, not with a bunch of fucking strangers watching me eat like I’m some kind of freak."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his over-the-top reaction, but you understood. Being in the public eye like he was, it was no surprise that sometimes he’d get sick of it. Still, you didn’t want it to ruin the vibe of the night.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you said, smiling as you reached for your glass of wine. "But how about this? Let’s just enjoy the meal. If they wanna stare, fine. But you and me, we’re gonna have a good time tonight. Just us."

Marshall looked at you for a moment, his eyes softening slightly. "Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right. I’m just so fucking tired of it sometimes." He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his face with both hands.

"I know, babe," you said, squeezing his hand again. "But let’s not let them ruin our night, okay? We deserve this."

He gave you a small, reluctant smile, his mood lightening just a bit. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Fuck 'em."

You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Exactly. Fuck 'em. They’re not important."

Just as you said that, a couple at the next table discreetly took another picture, trying to be sneaky about it. You caught them and shot them a pointed look, but the couple quickly turned their attention back to their own conversation. Marshall noticed it too, and his lips twitched in amusement.

"See? Told you," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Fucking ridiculous."

"Don’t let them get to you," you said, smiling. "They’re just fans. They’ll get over it."

"Yeah, well, I hope they do before I fucking snap," he grumbled. But even though he was still irritated, you could tell his mood was lifting a little.

The waiter came back around to check on you, and Marshall put on a strained smile, though you could tell he was still agitated. "Yeah, we’re good," he said, though his voice lacked the usual enthusiasm. "Just, uh, you know, dealing with some bullshit over here."

The waiter smiled politely, unaware of the tension. "Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can get you?"

Marshall shook his head, his grip on his wine glass tightening. "Nah, we’re good for now. Thanks."

Once the waiter left, you turned to Marshall, trying to make him laugh. "You know, if you just smiled at them, they might stop."

Marshall shot you a side-eye, his lips curling in a sarcastic smirk. "You want me to smile at them? Like a fucking puppy?"

You burst out laughing. "Well, it might help."

"Yeah, well, fuck that," he grumbled. "I’m not here to entertain anyone. I’m here with you." He finally relaxed in his seat, his mood starting to shift as he took a deep breath. "Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to be a dick. Just... sometimes I wish I could have a night out without all this shit."

"I get it, really," you said softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. "But we’re here now. Just focus on me. I don’t care what they’re doing."

Marshall’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his earlier frustration fading. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Eminem leaned back in his chair, eyes sparkling mischievously as he glanced at you. You’d been enjoying the rest of your meal, laughing and joking around, but his demeanor had changed. You could tell something was coming.

"Alright, baby," he said with a sly grin, leaning toward you. "I’ve got one more surprise for you."

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the excitement bubble up. "Another one? What is it?"

He just shook his head, a little smirk playing on his lips. "Nope. You gotta trust me. Close your eyes."

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, not quite believing him. "You’re not gonna make me do something weird, are you?"

He chuckled. "Nah, I wouldn’t do that. Just... close your eyes. Trust me."

Rolling your eyes but smiling, you obeyed, closing them and folding your arms on the table. Your heart started beating faster as the anticipation grew. "Alright, I’m trusting you," you said, your voice a little shaky with excitement.

"Good. Keep them closed."

You could hear the slight shuffle of movement, the sound of footsteps, and then a long silence. It was killing you not knowing what was happening. You felt a nervous laugh bubble up inside you. "Marshall, what the hell are you doing?"

But there was no response. Only the sound of people quietly whispering in the background. You felt a sudden shift in the air, a tension that you couldn’t quite place.

"Okay," Marshall's voice broke through, soft yet full of confidence. "Open them."

You hesitated for a second, unsure of what to expect. Slowly, you opened your eyes—and your breath hitched in your throat.

There he was, kneeling right in front of you. Marshall. Your Marshall. On one knee. And in his hand was the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. Your heart immediately pounded in your chest, and your eyes stung with tears.

"Shit," you whispered, feeling the tears start to well up.

He laughed softly, the sound a mix of amusement and something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place yet.

"You know," he started, his voice growing serious, though there was still that familiar playful tone, "you’re the most annoying fucking bitch I’ve ever met."

You laughed through your tears, wiping your eyes quickly. "What?!"

"You are," he said with a smirk. "You drive me fucking crazy."

Your lips parted in shock, and you almost laughed, trying to push back the tears. "I—"

"But..." He paused for dramatic effect, his gaze never leaving yours. "You’re also the most smoking hot woman I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. You’re beautiful as hell, and yeah, you’re an annoying bitch, but I don’t wanna spend another fucking day without you."

Your chest tightened as you fought back more tears. Marshall wasn’t exactly the type to spill his emotions, but when he did, it was always raw.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he continued. "You drain my fucking bank account, but I don’t care. I’d spend every fucking dime just to see that smile on your face." He paused, his hand shaking slightly as he held up the ring. "You’ve made my life better, and I’m ready to make you a fucking promise. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’m asking you to be mine... forever."

Your eyes were brimming with tears now, and you struggled to find your voice. "Marshall, I—"

The crowd around you was now murmuring, a few people filming the whole moment with their phones, but you didn’t even care. It felt like it was just you and him, in that moment, the world fading into the background.

"You’ve been my fucking rock through all the bullshit, and I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you," he continued, his voice growing a little more intense. "I’m a fucking mess, but you’ve helped me put myself back together, piece by piece. So, yeah, I’m a stupid asshole sometimes. But I’ll be the best fucking man I can be... for you."

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you wiped it away quickly, trying to steady your breath. "You’re not a mess," you whispered. "You’re everything."

Marshall gave you that trademark smirk of his. "So, will you marry me, you crazy ass woman?"

You paused, your heart racing, your mind spinning. Everything around you was fading—just you and him. You looked down at the beautiful ring in his hand, and then back up at him.

"Yes," you said, barely able to get the words out. "Yes, yes, yes!"

The room erupted into cheers as Marshall slid the ring onto your finger. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say, so you just threw your arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss. It was rough, filled with passion and love, and you could feel the relief and joy flooding through him.

"I fucking love you," he muttered against your lips. "Don’t ever forget that."

You smiled through your tears, your heart full. "I won’t. I love you too."

-

Once you and Marshall got back to your place, the whole day felt like it was still buzzing through the air. The car ride home had been quiet, but it was a comfortable quiet, one that said more than words could. Marshall's hand had been on your thigh the entire drive, and every now and then, he’d glance at you with that knowing look that made your heart skip a beat.

You knew he was excited, not just about the day, but about the life he was promising you. And hell, you were excited too. Everything had been building up to this moment—this moment where he was finally yours, and you were his.

When you walked through the door, you didn’t even bother with small talk. You wanted to keep the night going in the best way possible. "I need to change," you said, already pulling your coat off and walking toward the bedroom. "Don’t follow me," you added with a teasing glance, knowing he’d be on your heels in an instant.

But this time, he listened.

You closed the bedroom door behind you and slid the lingerie you’d picked out at the mall earlier that day from the shopping bag. It was a black lace set, the kind that was sexy as hell but still had that mysterious, classy edge. You smirked to yourself as you undressed and slipped into it, checking yourself in the mirror. It was tight in all the right places, hugging your curves and accentuating your figure. You weren’t even going to lie, you felt fucking amazing.

You could hear Marshall out in the living room, probably pacing back and forth, anxious to see you. The anticipation was almost suffocating, but in a good way.

When you finally opened the bedroom door, his eyes immediately locked on you. He was sitting on the couch, leaning back with his elbows propped up on the arms, but when he saw you in that lingerie, he froze. His mouth parted in shock for a second, and his eyes traveled over every inch of you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

"Goddamn, baby," he muttered under his breath. His voice was low, hoarse, like he was struggling to form the words. "You are a fucking masterpiece."

You walked toward him slowly, swaying your hips, loving the way his gaze followed every movement. "You like it?" you asked, your voice dripping with confidence, a little playful but still needy.

"Like it?" Marshall snorted, his lips curling into a smirk as he leaned forward. "Babe, I don’t just like it, I fucking love it. I can’t wait to fucking tear it off of you."

You laughed, stepping closer to him until you were standing between his legs. "You don’t have to wait much longer, Marshall."

His eyes burned into yours, and you could feel the heat rising between the two of you. He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, his breath heavy against your neck. "I swear to God, you’re gonna be the death of me," he grumbled, his hands moving up to grip your back, pulling you even closer until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

"Yeah?" you teased, your voice soft as you let your fingers graze through his hair. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Shit," he cursed, his hands slipping down to grab your ass, pulling you flush against him. You could feel how hard he was already, and you bit your lip, your heart racing. "You’re fucking mine," he growled. "God, I can’t wait to make you mine forever. I’m gonna marry you, you know that?"

You gasped a little, feeling the weight of his words settle deep inside you. You’d known it was coming, but hearing him say it, so raw and real, hit you harder than you expected.

"You keep saying that," you said, trying to hide the emotion that was creeping up on you. "You keep telling me how much you want to marry me."

"Because I fucking do," Marshall said, his voice filled with sincerity as he looked you dead in the eyes. "You’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I want to wake up next to you every fucking day for the rest of my life."

You felt your heart swell, your breath catching in your throat. It was rare for Marshall to get this vulnerable, but when he did, it made everything feel so much more real.

"You mean everything to me, baby," he continued, his voice soft but intense, "and I’m not going anywhere. I want to marry you and fucking spoil you. I wanna do all the shit I never thought I’d do, just to see you smile. You deserve all of it."

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath. "I love you," you whispered, your hands trembling slightly as you slid them down to his chest.

"I fucking love you too," he murmured back, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. "And when I’m done with you tonight, you’re gonna know exactly how much."

-

Extra:

Marshall’s hands roamed over your body, every touch sending sparks through you as you kissed each other harder. His lips trailed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. When he pulled away, he looked at you, eyes dark with desire.

“You know,” he murmured, voice thick, “we should have kids. Yeah, seriously. You’d look fucking amazing pregnant.” He smirked, his hands moving down to your waist. “I can already picture it. Your tits getting all full of milk, your body getting even more plump. Shit, you’d be even sexier as a mother.”

You couldn’t even respond, your mind too clouded by desire. His words only made your pulse race faster, and you could barely focus on anything other than how badly you wanted him. Your body was already overwhelmed, and you couldn’t do anything but let him continue, caught in the heat of the moment.

[anas-aspiration]

HEY can u do abby taking care of reader when theyre really sick?! thankss smmm

Abby x sick!reader

You stare at the clock—3:45 PM. Time drags, making your afternoon unbearable. Your body aches, weighed down by fever and exhaustion. The floor around your bed is littered with crumpled tissues and discarded Vitamin D packets, proof of the cold that caught up to you faster than expected. You knew something was going around, but you didn’t think it would take you out like this.

Outside your window, the world moves on without you. Pedestrians shuffle along the sidewalks, cars pass in a steady pattern, all oblivious to your misery. You sink deeper into your blankets, but even that turns against you—the sun pouring through the glass makes it feel like you’re burning alive. You groan, shifting uncomfortably just as you hear soft footsteps approaching from the kitchen.

Abby.

She enters with ease, balancing a mug of steaming tea and a fresh snack on your bedside table. Without hesitation, she leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, only to pull back.

“Christ, baby, you’re burning up.” Her brows knit together out of concern.

You exhale a heavy sigh. “S’cause of the blankets,” you mumble. “And the sun.”

Without another word, you shove the covers off desperate for relief. The cool air kisses your fevered skin, and you savor it—for about two seconds. Then, as if on cue, a violent sneeze overtakes you, forcing you forward.

“Oh my god, I’m literally miserable,” you whine, voice thick with congestion.

Abby doesn’t laugh, doesn’t tease. She just shakes her head and hands you a tissue, her fingers brushing yours with a comforting warmth. “I know, I know. You’ll be alright, just keep resting,” she soothes. “I’m right here, okay? Whatever you need.”

You nod, too exhausted to respond properly, and blow your nose with enough force to shake the bed. Abby chuckles softly and then starts digging through your sheets, fishing around until she retrieves the TV remote. You watch as she flips through the channels, her presence a quiet reassurance.

Truthfully, there isn’t much she can do except be here, offering warmth, care, and distraction. And though she hates seeing you sick, there’s a part of her that secretly loves moments like these—moments where she can care for you in a way no one else can. It’s a quiet kind of pride, knowing she’s the only one who truly understands how to comfort you, the only one who would sit here for hours, making sure you have everything you need.

She doesn’t ask what you want to watch right away. Instead, she glances over, watching you with soft eyes as you slump deeper into your pillows. And as miserable as you feel, there’s an undeniable sense of peace in knowing that, no matter how awful this cold gets, Abby isn’t going anywhere.

A/n!! I’m actually sick righr now hahahah.. anyways hope everyone’s had a great valentines day! I also have updated my masterlist and added a section to show what i am working on right now

[allisluv]

saved by the bell.

summary: finnick helps reader during a sensory overload (based off a request i can't find in my inbox </3)

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: post-rebellion, implied neurodivergent!reader, sensory overload + overstimulation, mention of finnick's mutt attack and as a result finnicks scars, reader has hair long enough to tie back, reader accidentally snaps at finnick but it isnt intentional and she does apologise and finnick forgives, fluff, mention of noise-cancelling headphones, comfort, teasing, fluff, not edited (what a surprise)

a/n: been a while since i posted on here, life was hectic i'm sorry! this is based off my own experience during a sensory overload, but not all are the same!

To mark the one year anniversary of the war ending and to commemerate the lives lost during the rebellion, you and Finnick send out invites asking all of the surviving victors to visit District Four for a small get-together. Its nothing fancy, just finger food and conversation. A celebration of life, Finnick calls it.

Everyone RSVP’s to let the two of you know that they will be attending, and it doesnt take long for Finnick to start planning activites and dragging you along for weekly trips to the farmer’s market to buy supplies for the party.

On the morning of the party, you realise that it’s going to be rough from the get go. Finnick is up with the sun, as he so usually is, and you wake not long after him. The bed is empty without your husband by your side, and it makes your heart ache with loneliness.

You turn onto your side and wince when a stream of sunlight drifts in through a gap in the curtain. Your head feels like it’s going to explode at the brightness, and you’re quick to bury your face into Finnicks pillow. You breathe in his scent in an effort to ground yourself, but all it does it send your senses into overdrive.

A sad, pitiful whine gets caught in the back of your throat as you roll onto your back, glaring at the specks of paint on the ceiling. “Why today?” You grumble, burying your face in your hands as you will yourself to hold it together, if not for yourself, for Finnick and the others.

It takes a while, but eventually, you gather the courage to stand. The floorboards feel cool beneath your feet, and it is such a stark contrast from the sweat pouring out of your pores that all it does it make you want to rip your skin clean off your body.

Sucking in a deep breath, you shuffle towards your closet and begin rooting through it in search of something light to wear. Finnick and you had went shopping for new outfits specifically for today, but the prospect of wearing that particular fabric right now makes you want to claw your eyes out of their sockets, so you settle on a sundress that you have previously deemed as safe to wear when you’re in the midst of a sensory overload.

Once you’re dressed, you tie your hair back out of your face so it doesn’t stick to the back of your neck. Your skin is clammy and damp, and realistically, you really should have taken a shower, but even thinking about it makes your frame hum with irritation.

You flap your hands in an effort to rid yourself of the nervous energy that has taken refuge in your body. When it does little to soothe your weary mind, you plant your hands on your hips and let out a frustrated huff.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by your husband’s voice calling you from the kitchen. “I’m coming!” You call, smoothing out the creases in your sundress before steeling yourself for today, and slipping out of your bedroom. You’re still in your bare feet when you stomp down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Finnick is balancing on a kitchen chair by the entranceway, a roll of triangular-shaped bunting in one hand and a box of thumb tacks in the other. He arches an eyebrow at your foul mood, and your stomping. “Everything okay, angel?”

You brush him off with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’m fine. What did you need?”

Finnick doesn’t miss the edge to your voice, but he decides not to push it. “Could you hold these thumb tacks and hand them to me when I need them? Or were you busy?” He asks, giving you an out if you need it.

“No, I can help,” You insist, already moving to stand beside him. “Just be careful on that chair. Its decades old.” You warn as you take the thumb tacks. Finnick starts stringing the bunting up along the wall of the archway, and you let out a sigh. “Why do we need bunting, anyway? Dont you think it’s somewhat over the top?”

“Look, I didn’t survive those mutts not to celebrate today.” He teases. “After all those god-damn physio sessions, I deserve bunting if I want bunting.” He pauses. “And Jo’s gonna ask the question you just asked, so you better have my back when she does.”

You roll your eyes fondly and relent. “Alright, alright. If you want bunting, we can have bunting.” You hand him a thumb tack and roll your shoulders back uncomfortably. Chicken curry is stewing in the slow-cooker, and it’s making the kitchen stuffy with heat.

Finnick’s always been observant, and he catches the small movement of your shoulders almost instantly. “Are you sure you’re okay, angel?”

“Mhm.” You shrug non-comitedly and pass him one more thumb tack.

He doesn’t seem convinced, and the second the bunting is secured, he hops off the chair and has a hand on your shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Come on, angel. Talk to me.”

As if on cue, the doorbell goes and you let out a relieved sigh— you would have likely cracked and admitted the truth if he kept pushing.

Saved by the bell.

“I’ll get it,” You say, pecking his cheek and moving quickly to answer the front door with Finnick hot on your heels.

The door swings open and Johanna struts inside, shooting a smug look over her shoulder at Annie and Katniss. “See? Told you it would be open.” She brushes past both of you into the kitchen. “Oo. Something smells nice.”

Katniss rolls her eyes, and Peeta nudges her in the ribcage, prompting her to say hello. Haymitch, Annie and Enobraia all exchange greetings with the two of you as you usher them inside.

“You know, you should really keep that door locked,” Beetee says as he envelopes you in his arms. “Did you know there are approximately three thousand burgarlies a day? Thats two every minute. And I bet you more than half of them are due to people leaving their doors unlocked.” He explains nonchalantly as he follows the others into the kitchen.

You rub the back of your neck anxiously, feeling your skin crawl at all of the physical contact you had just endured in the last thirty seconds.

Finnicks eyes land on you and he inches closer to you, but doesn’t touch. “What’s going on with you, angel?” He asks gently. You open your mouth to brush him off but he cuts you off. “And don’t feed me another lie about you being fine. I’m able to read you like an open book. Just tell me whats going on in that pretty little head of yours, okay?”

You grit your teeth in an effort to stay calm. You’re not angry at him, you’re just overwhelmed. Its all too much; the noise from the kitchen, the lights, the heat, Johanna calling out into the hallway about the bunting, the smells of the different food. Which is why you don’t mean to snap, but you do. “Just get off my back, alright? I said I was fine.” You snap, brushing past him into the eye of the storm— the kitchen.

Finnick blinks, momentarily stunned by your outburst, until it dawns on him and he follows after you. He pulls you to one side from where you’re pretending to listen to Enobaria. “Excuse me. We need to talk.”

“What—”

“Now.” Finnick says firmly, but not unkindly, as he steers you by the elbow back into your shared bedroom. He closes the door once you’re both inside, and leads you to sit down on the edge of the bed. He crouches down in front of you, resting his hands on his knees, and asks, “Are you having a sensory overload?” You avert your gaze and that’s all the answer he needs. “Do you need space or do you want me to hold you?”

Your bottom lip trembles and you clamp your teeth into it to stop it from wobbling. “Can you hold me?”

Thats all the confirmation your husband needs. He sits cross legged on the floor and tugs you into his lap. “Loosely or tightly?” He murmurs into your hairline.

“Tightly.” You answer. “Please.”

Finnick tightens his hold on you and presses a kiss to your forehead as your breathing starts to even out and you begin to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble.

“For what?” Finnick asks, kissing your temple once more.

“For snapping at you. It wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t,” Finnick agrees. “But you were overwhelmed, and you were stressed. I forgive you. No hard feelings, alright?”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Do you want to come back outside? We can get you your noise cancelling headphones, that way it might be easier to deal with the noise. How does that sound, hm?”

You hesitate. “Johanna’ll make fun of me.”

“Johanna makes fun of everyone,” Finnick points out.

“Fair point, well made.”

“But if she says anything, I’ll fight her.” He cradles your face in his scarred hands and giving your nose a playful tap.

“Will you win, though?” You tease.

“You know it, angel.”

[luvgam3]

Happy Valentine’s Day!!! I hope you’re stuffing your face with chocolate and feeling some type of way while reading this. ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

୨୧Nanami, Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Shoko

cw: mdni (+18) under cut, afab!reader, plus size reader, fluff @ the beginning(s), oral f-receiving, pet names, slight food play, hand j★bs, being tied up with ribbons, body worship, make up s★x (gaslighting?), sensual massages, wax play, true from Sukuna, uncharacteristically sweet Sukuna (because this is my sleepover and I get to pick the movie)

❤︎KentoNanami❤︎

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Nanami loves his beautiful partner every day of the year— Valentines Day just means he gets to lavish you even more. You’re perched on a mountain of pillows, sipping your coffee as he glides through the doorway, resting a tray of your favorite foods on the bedside table.

He’s so handsome in the early morning light, flour covering his pajama bottoms as he sits on the edge of the bed. He holds a fork full of pancakes to your mouth, relishing the way your plush lips shine with syrup. It’s a morning of tender love and care as he feeds you everything he’s prepared. Fresh strawberries, tart blueberries, sweet pastries— everything you could ever ask for. He takes pleasure in wiping the crumbs from the corners of your lips, popping his thumb into his mouth and humming with satisfaction as the sweet taste of syrup and pastries and you touch his tongue.

“Full?” He murmurs, his voice gravely as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand trailing up and down your plush thigh at a lazy gently pace.

He makes you spend the whole morning in bed… of course you can’t complain about that— not when he’s made sure you’re surrounded by fluffy pillows and warm blankets, not when he’d given you a tender massage, and especially not now as he lays on his tummy between your thigh. He presses the flat of his tongue against your dripping hole, the weight of your thighs draped over his shoulder is heaven to him as you recline back, your hand combing through his hair as you enjoy everything he gives you. He moans as he wraps his lips around your clit, suckling as his thumbs trace shapes into the fat of your thighs, trailing up your stomach and back down again.

His warm tongue glides through your drenched folds before he burries it deep inside you, moaning and slurping in such a lewd display as your flavor dances across his tongue like the sweetest thing. Saliva dribbles down his sharp chin as he curls his tongue, pulling it back and punching it back in as your slick gushes around the invading muscle. He doesn’t care about the mess— how could he when your sweet little moans fill his ears like early morning bird songs? When choked little gasps leave your lips and your thighs tremble around his ears he pulls back, his eyes glazed over as he looks up at you through thick blonde lashes. “Come on, Darling.” He purrs, his large palms gently petting your thighs, “cum for me— you can do it, Angel.” He says it in that smooth voice of his, tender and loving as he goes back to eating you out. His nose presses against your clit as his lips latch onto you, practically making out with your pussy as you grind against his face.

And when you cum he gulps down whatever you give him, greedy and starving as he takes in your beautifully flushed face and heaving chest. Nanami rests his cheek against your spread thigh, warm and soft as he just gazes at you, admiring the curve of your face and the way your soft lips part. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, in the back of his mind he thinks about how he’ll be able to do this for you again next Valentine’s Day and the one after that. A lifetime of gentle mornings and simple pleasurable acts of love— it brings a smile to his lips.

❤︎Satoru Gojo❤︎

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Gojo was more than pleased to get a little heart shaped box of chocolates from you. You played it cool all day long, peppering his face is sickeningly sweet kisses, clinging to his side everywhere you went. You were showering him in affection and love and he did the exact same for you.

It’s such an unbearable sight to every single person you pass. His long arm curled protectively around your waist as he rests his chin against your shoulder, his cheek pressed against yours as you giggle at one of his lame jokes. You spend your morning buying fresh pastries, feeding him shiny glazed goods and kissing frosting off of his lips with a cheeky flush covering your cheeks.

It’s a day of gentle love and caring that’s all so sickeningly sweet. He loves your soft caresses, your doting kisses and your gentle hands. Of course that doesn’t change as the sun sets and he’s sprawled out under you, his hands above his head as your wet hot tongue glides across his abs, licking chocolate sauce from them. You crawl up his torso, smooth and skilled and you grasp his jaw between perfectly manicured fingers with a vice like grip. His lips part, his tongue hanging out as you spit the remanence into his waiting mouth.

The things you say are filthy, your warm sugar scented breath sends chills down his spine as you lean in close to his ear. “You’re so sticky baby.” You tsk, your small hand wrapped around the base of his cock, smearing the little bits of whipped cream you couldn’t lap up completely as your fingers glide slowly up to his angry leaking tip. Your fingers glide over his slit, pearly beads of pre coat your fingers as you hold them up to his glossy spit slicked lips. “Clean up your mess.” It’s such a lewd sight— his large hand eagerly wrapping around your wrist, pulling it closer to his face as his tongue twirls around and between your digits. His azure eyes fluttering closed behind snowy lashes, deep whiny moans bubbling up his throat as your other hand cradles his cheek. He needs it, needs your touch as he deepthroat your pretty little fingers. He needs to hear your voice, your commands, your praise, your depraved fantasies he will make a reality.

He returns the favor, big hands palming at your breast as he sucks rosy marks onto your sweet skin. Your taste like honey and cream and everything he’s ever craved as he works his tongue over you, his cock slotted between your slick folds. Needy whimpers leave each of you, his hips hump desperately against you as he suckles on your breast, both hands kneading at your soft tummy, your skin sweat slicked and sticky with sugar and cum— and it’s the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever tasted.

❤︎Ryōmen Sukuna❤︎

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Sukuna is monstrous— that’s common knowledge. His gigantic frame towers over everyone he meets, his piercing gaze, his brutal words and his violent actions strike fear into the hearts of hundreds— thousands— everyone except you. His presence flower. You’re so sweet to him, small and delicate in his strong arms as you smooth your fingers across his face, your thumb gently dancing over his closed eyelids before you pepper them in gentle kisses, earning a low gravely chuckle from his muscular chest.

A day of love is something he would simply overlook if it weren’t for you. Now he can’t stand the thought of you leaving the house on this day. He’d much rather keep you in his lap, draped in fine silks and smelling of the most expensive perfumes money could buy— and that’s exactly what he did. Two gigantic hands, rough to the touch, slowly rub up and down your naked thighs. He wonders how anyone could be so soft to the touch, how anyone could take pleasure in the way his calloused fingers feel. But he also doesn’t realize just how gentle he is with you. Like a giant holding a feather in his hands.

If it were any other day you’d be the one on top, your tiny body writhing on top of him as you please him. But today he has your delicate little wrists bound in red ribbons, your legs held wide by the soft silky fabric as his finger tips lazily trail up your calfs. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to take you, to abuse your unmarked flesh until you’re crying fat tears he’d happily lick from your cheeks. But instead he’s worshipping you. He loves having you sit on his face, he loves to have you ride his abs and his thighs as he praises you. He’ll say such sweet things to you, things he’d never utter aloud around anyone else.

Sukuna presses his lips against your cheek, the valley between your breasts, your knees and each and every finger before he pressed a feather light kiss to your clit. He growls deep in his throat as you squirm, your body sensitive and needy despite him only covering you in kisses.

What he thinks is him being kind and gentle is just a new form of torture for you. His touches are so light they make your head fuzzy, your ears ringing as you whine, unable to touch him or yourself. He smiles, his teeth bared in a toothy grin as he takes you in. His cocks throb against your stomach, slick and dribbling onto your shiny sweaty skin. The warmth has you clenching around nothing, brows furrowed and teeth clenched as you beg him to touch you harder.

“Such a needy thing.” He tutters, his fingers pinching your chin and tilting your head back. His lips trail up your throat, his breath warm against your skin as his mouth connects with yours— demanding and powerful despite how gently he touches you. “You will lay here and take what I give you.” He murmurs, his voice rumbling. “You will let me worship this little body of yours, and you will thank me for it.” You have no choice but to obey a pout on your lips as he continues his gentle torment. He may love you but he won’t hesitate to punish you, and if stepping back and watching you fight against your restraints is what he has to do he’ll do it.

❤︎Toji Fushiguro❤︎

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Toji forgets most things— Valentine’s Day included. You worked all day, your body aching as you walk through the door to see him on the couch. His black hair tousled, his grey sweats hanging low on his hips as his eyes are glued to the tv.

Sure you pouted about it all day, telling anyone who would listen about how much of a deadbeat your boyfriend is. No sweet good morning kiss, no little box of chocolates, no flowers. Did you need all of those things? No! Would him acknowledging it still be nice? Yeah! He watches you from the corner of his eyes, how you kick off your heels and flop down onto the cushion next to him with a huff. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks. You roll your eyes, unbuttoning your shirt as you rattle off all of your complaints.

“Awe baby don’t be like that.” He purrs, grasping your hips and pulling you into his lap. His body is warm and inviting and despite your simmering anger you allow him to hold you. And holding you leads him with his fingers under your shirt, helping you slip it off your shoulder. And that leads to his greedy hands sliding into your pants.

He keeps mumbling such sweet things into your ear, such sweet sweet degrading things… he has your panties pushed to the side as he presses the head of his cock against your clit, his thumb holding him in place as you lay back against the couch, a pillow wedged under you as you wiggle your hips impatiently.

It’s almost like you want him to ram his cock into you, make your pretty little head forget all about the things he didn’t do. And the second he bottoms out inside of you with one hard thrust— you do. His tip kisses that spongy spot deep inside of you and it makes it so much harder to remember how much of a dick he was. His fingers press hard into your thighs as he pushes them against your chest, leaning his body weight into each and every snap of his hips. Everything he does is bruising, the pain and pleasure melt into one as your head swims and your pussy gushes around him. The slick smack of skin against skin echos around the walls of your living room, along with your cries of pleasure he pushes out of you. A creamy ring forms at the base, a sticky mess between your bodies as he fucks the frustration out of you like the loving devoted boyfriend he says he is.

❤︎Ieiri Shoko❤︎

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

Shoko takes Valentine’s Day with you very seriously. Your schedule is laid out for you. Breakfast at an adorable and cozy cafe, a shopping spree where she gets to sit back and watch you try on dresses and twirl in mirrors. Her heart melts when you drag her into a dressing room with you, you push a baby blue dress in her hands, begging her to put it on. And of course she buys it and wears it to the fancy dinner she planned for you. She’s in a permanent state of awe as she watches you over the rim of her glass. Her heart is full and she couldn’t be more in love with you.

She holds your hand as you feed her little bites of chocolate cake, smirking around the fork. You’re so beautiful, wiping crumbs from her lips as she admires you in the dress she picked out. Pink velvet clings to your curves, the dim light of the restaurant makes your eyes twinkle and her heart clenches in her chest.

When you’re home again she’s unzipping your dress for you, pressing a smoke scented kiss to your cheek as she tells you her plans— a relaxing wind down to a relaxing day.

Candles bathe your bedroom in a warm yellow light as her hands work the knots out of your shoulders. Your skin is so smooth beneath her fingers as she straddles your back, listening to your breathy little gasps as she massages you with practices ease. She can barely handle how sweet you look beneath her. Your head rests on your arms, your hair draped over a shoulder as you melt into the mattress. Shoko drizzles warm oil onto your back, watching it pool and listening to you moan before her thumbs massage it into your skin. “Too hot?” She asks, her sultry voice even as she eyes the flickering red candle on the nightstand. You shake your head, mumbling about how it could be a little warmer. You don’t even think about what she could possibly do next, not when her body is pressed against you, her weight against your thighs a comforting feeling as her skilled fingers press against you, working away the stress of been spoiled rotten all day long.

She shifts, watching your face for any sign of discomfort as she carefully takes the candle, the crimson wax sloshing in the pit. Her palm presses up your spine before she tips the candle over, watching as the red wax pours down, watching as it hardens ever so slightly once it meets the small of your back.

Her lips pull into a smile as she hears you gasp, your brows furrows as your eyes stay closed. Shoko’s free hand clings to the back of your neck, a gentle reminder that she’s still there and willing to stop the second you tell her to. “Is this warm enough?” Her question has your hips twitching, your body aching for more— greedy for even more of her attention. She’s more than happy to give you what you crave. She doesn’t stop till you’re trembling, your chest heaving and your body dripping in red white and pink wax.

Her fingers sink into you, her dripping cunt grinding eagerly against your leg as she peppers your face in kisses. “My pretty girl.” She gasps, each rock of her hips aided by the oil coating your body and the mess that drips from between her thighs. Her nails scrape the dried wax from your chest, her lips replacing the warm feeling as you clench around her digits, grinding against her palm as you both chase your high. She decides then and there, as you cum around her, that red is your color. She keeps pumping her fingers in and out as she notes everything red that would look good on you. Lipstick, dresses, panties, and without a doubt— wax. Even as you beg her to keep going, overstimulation turning you into a babbling mess, she notices how your cheeks are flushed that beautiful color. Hot to the touch and stained with tears as your hands grasp her hips, forcing her to grind harder against you as red hot lust consumes you both.

❤︎link for the dividers❤︎

[the-fiction-witch]

House Of The Dragon Headcanons #2

What They Got You For Valentine's? (Modern AU)

Jacaerys - While Sleeping he set up a Trail of red rose petals from the bed to the bathtub where he a prepared steamy bubble bath with all your fave scents and products, with dinner plans at your fave restaurant later tonight. 'Enjoy yourself Angel'

Aegon - Aegon forgot until last night, he quickly got the cutest card he could find at the all-night grocery and some chocolates, BUT! he takes the kids out and deals with them all day to allow you time to yourself, and promises' he'll clean the house when he gets home. 'Have fun! Relax! See you later!... Love you!'

Lucerys - Plays like he forgot it was Valentine's, so suggests just a quick drive to the fast food place of your choosing, however... once you get in his car 'SUPRISE!' a whole basket of speciality items picked out just for you, including the softest most adorable jelly cat he can find.

Gwayne - He's already booked the most upscale restaurant in the area, and prepared for a car to come pick you both up. Sends you to get your nails and make-up professionally done and your gift is some very expensive high-end lingerie that will 100% be plaid with the whole time you're at dinner. 'We both get to enjoy it, you enjoy feeling beautiful, and I get to look at you'

Oscar - He prepares a beautiful home-cooked multi-course meal of all your fave things, with wine, candles, rose petals and even a little menu. 'Fantastic choice most beautiful lady,' Then cuddle up to whatever you wanna watch and a full body massage.

Aemond - Fully takes you out to the high-end stores you usualy never shop in, and buys you anything you want, making sure to spend hours in the changing rooms watching you try everything on before he buys it. 'Nothing is too much for my princess'

Cregan - Less outwardly romantic, but anything you need at the time he'll sort out as a gift. 'You said you needed your car looked at, so I drove it to the mechanic this morning. All sorted', or he'd have booked a cool experience somewhere doing an activity you both enjoy together.

Daemon - Ohh he 100% didn't know it was Valentine's, hell he didn't even notice it was February! He has no plans, and hands you his phone and his credit card to get whatever gift you want, his only suggestion is the one gift he knows he wants to give you, 'I mean... I am your present'

[yawchi]

A SHEEP IN WOLF’S LOATHING — Y.K.

CHAPTER ONE: IN THE BEGINNING

YUKIMIYA KENYU X GN!READER

CHAPTER SUMMARY: A slip of the tongue, a mistake of morale. That is all it takes for Yukimiya to lose his sense of God given control.

CHAPTER INCLUDES: pro player yukki. sacrilege (faintly). religious themes. mental health crisis.

CHAPTER LENGTH: 4.5k words

CHAPTER NOTES: i’m really nervous about this. i dunno. i hope y’all like it. not fully proofread, as always.

Camera flashes have become an easing sort of thing; like a flickering spark off of a shoddy hotwiring job—an outcome that is to be expected but still should not be praised. 

That’s the difference here though, isn’t it? The praise is affirmed and the flare is not always foreseen. Without the praise, it wouldn’t be as welcomed, would it? Wouldn’t be as accepted. As cultivated. 

As hearkened to.

Yukimiya blinks against the flashing lights, shifts in his seat to lean forward and prop his elbows on the semi-flimsy table in front of him with practiced poise. The curve of his lips is natural, perfected. Trained. To his right his coach is speaking, he can already smell the alcohol on his breath that he swigged in the locker room post-victory and pre-interview. Typical, he denotes. Can’t even wait until he’s out of the arena, away from the prying eyes of the press. Away from the guise of decency.

He fights the urge to scrunch his nose at it.

“Alright, folks, we have time for just two more questions,” a staff member, someone from the venue employee list, announces after his coach wraps up his speech on ‘teamwork winning this for them once again.’ Ironic, he thinks, given the playstyle they actually showcase on the field.

Another press member is randomly picked out among the lineup. A short man with a pudgy stomach. He’s wearing an outdated hat that, if he had to place money on it, Yukimiya would bet is covering up a thinning comb over. He seems nice enough, for this line of work at least. He doesn't try to shove anyone around him. He hasn’t tried to shout over the remainder of the crowd thus far. Yukimiya would be happy to indulge him in a question if he chose to direct it to him, even if his suit is obviously hand me downs that his poor old mother most likely hemmed up to fit. 

He has no problem with humble beginnings, after all. Even if the sight has refined distaste pooling on the bed of his tongue.

The man stands up once he registers he’s the one being pointed to. Seemingly shaky on his feet, he sways a bit. Winces when his jolting accidentally makes his chair scrape back behind him and screech along the floor. Poor guy. A pitiful old thing, really. 

“Ah y-yes, Yukimiya-kun, my question is for you, if you don’t mind. It’s about your-your tactics for–”

The universe can be cruel, sometimes. Apt to stamp out the flickers of innocent flames while it lets unbridled blazes consume everything in their wake. The reporter drops his cards—the ones he was most ardently reading from in an attempt to level himself, to give himself enough bravery to speak in the first place. He must be new to this, or at this ranking of competition at the very least. A shame.

“That’s quite alright,” Yukimiya smiles; a genuine, kind sort of thing that curls over his teeth as the man scrambles to bend over and pick up the scattered index cards. “Take your time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the employee from before checking their watch. There’s no time for this, he’s sure is what they’re thinking, We’re pushing it already. 

He doesn’t care about that. He would like to indulge this gentleman with the slightly wrinkled pinstripe suit. Give him a bit of leeway, as he sees fit. A morsel of grace.

“Ah, forgive me,” he chuckles, wavering and hoarse but with no humor. A bead of sweat is dripping down his temple and Yukimiya feels a cool drop of water trail down his neck from his previous shower at the same time. “My question—Your tactics for play, they are not as, erm, polished as some of your competitors. I do not mean that as them being inadequate or–or anything of that nature! Of course not! It is just.. Is this by choice, or are you, ah, unable to implement these new innovative strategies into your personal gameplay?”

There’s winds of whispering blowing through the rows in front of him. A mirage of murmurs stirring up static in response to the query. People who are, no doubt, questioning this man’s sanity and downright audacity to inquire one of Japan’s top players on his playing style. To, in a roundabout way, belittle it despite its successes. They must think him to be mad.

Yukimiya thinks him to be intrepid.

He humors him, because he was not expecting such a question to come from a man with trembling knees and lopsided sleeves. A well seasoned reporter, maybe. A hardened man numb to the job with designer suits that broaden his bony shoulders. That make him look more threatening than he is, more compelling. But not him. 

The lights are so bright, it is growing hot under his team sponsored crew neck. He can take part in expressing sympathy for the pudgy man’s sweating now; even if most of his was attributed to nerves. His smile stays the same. He pays no mind to the video cameras zooming in on him like tempered clockwork. 

He wonders if the man’s cue cards are dirty after having fallen on the floor.

“Good question. I respect your resolve, truly. And I thank you, but,” he starts, reaching a hand up to pinch the frame of his glasses. Readjust them a bit up the bridge of his nose. “I have a better one for you.”

The murmurs cease, microphones are being held out closer to Yukimiya as if he doesn’t have one placed on the table right in front of him that is doing all of their jobs for them. He ponders over how their arms don’t get tired, how their eyes don’t burn from lack of blinking. Does he enrapture them so much, that they would demean themselves this just to wait with bated breath for what he has to say?

His smile quirks a little higher.

“Is a lamb still a lamb, even when thrown into a den of lions?”

“Ah-!” the man perks up, eyes widening ever so slightly as he nods his head; fervent. “Yes, I-I suppose it is.”

“Exactly.” Yukimiya tips his head a single degree, lets the damp wave of his–begrudgingly unkempt–bangs fall a bit into his eyes as he holds the man’s gaze. Because that is polite, you know. To look at the person to whom you are addressing. “It does not matter how long the lamb is there, or how long the lions try to toy with it. It will never try to roar, and the lions will never try to baa. And yet, that does not make either of them any less of themselves. If anything, it only solidifies their nature more.”

The man shifts on his feet, fiddles with the cards in his hands. They are probably well bent up by now. Have probably lost their crisp novelty. Or maybe they never had the chance to be unscathed at all. Perhaps there was a problem with their manufacturing. Perhaps they were cursed from the packaging. 

“You see, it is not that I am ignorant to those around me and how they choose to play this game. Nor is it that I do not have the ability to attempt and achieve success through their methods, either. It is simply that I am more concerned about who I am, as a whole, and how that reflects in my play style throughout my career. How it attributes to the name I am making for myself.”

He pauses, now. Leans forward a little more on his elbows. The gentleman’s throat bobs and he can’t be certain why. But it is not so critical to him. Not now.

“Why would I learn to roar, when I already know how to baa?”

There’s a beat of silence, where everyone takes in his response. And then the not-so-whispers erupt again, notepads scritching with rushed writing down of his quote and slaps to the arms of measly camera men with hisses of ‘Did you get that?’ They stay hooked on his words, turn their attention away for just a second to make sure they really captured it all, but Yukimiya is still staring at the gentleman before him.

He makes no move to reach for the slim notepad that is sticking out of the pocket on his suit coat. He has no one to turn to and ask if they got a recording of what was just spoken. And yet, he does not seem inclined to worry about that at all. Yukimiya takes note of the sparkle in his eyes and mulls over whether it is from the fluorescent lights or the wonder he tends to incite. He is partial to settling on the latter.

“Right,” the reporter man speaks, finally, a warm grin cutting across his round face like a knife through risen dough. “Very good point, Yukimiya-kun. Thank you. You really are miraculous.”

And, oh; he is, isn’t he? His grin quirks up in a less genuine direction–not that anyone else could decipher such a miniscule cue–at that comment as he watches the gentleman finally sit back down. He readjusts his glasses again, fights the urge to chuckle to himself. 

He really is a miracle; God’s gift to the soccer world and plucked from a string of His own heart. Because how else, if not by that sentiment, could he hold as much power as this? 

An angel sent from the heavens, donned in cleats and silk.

The venue staff member is stepping up again, calling out the final person in the crowd to ask a question. Yukimiya sits back in his seat to let his spine rest, tries not to grimace as his coach clasps a hand over his shoulder and gives it a rewarding squeeze. How can one be proud of calluses earned by others' hard work?

Someone stands up from the crowd, the final reporter granted the honor of sealing off this post game interview session. A young woman, dressed much more fashionable than her former peer among the sea of journalists. Her pencil skirt is tight around the curve of her hips and her button down blouse is tucked smoothly into the waist of it. It flatters her well, too, form-fitted (but not too much to be considered blatantly scandalous) and with the top two buttons undone to showcase the dip of her cleavage. Now that; that Yukimiya knows is done with the intent to distract. 

His smile fades into a glazed over simper as he reaches her face. Takes in her dark lined eyes and rose tinted cheeks, presses his gaze to the plush of her glossed over lips. She tucks a lock of inky hair behind her ear before she raises her notepad up in front of her. Yukimiya finds it humorous, familiar.

She looks just as nice under blaring fluorescents as she does tangled up in imported bed sheets.

That’s the thing about professional athleticism—there is always someone wanting you. In games, in plays, in dark corridors of arenas where they should be getting the inside scoop and instead are getting their insides… Well, you get the picture. You are among the most desired, whether by your sport or sex appeal, the specifics don’t really matter. And that is not something to which Yukimiya has been deemed an exception.

If anything, he ranks above most of his colleagues when it comes to desirability. His face has been plastered on the covers of magazines since he was in highschool. The camera saw him in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein’s before any potential young lover’s jittery eyes did. When you are that adored, that sought after, you tend to come to conclusions early on.

Deals are easy to be made when one is blinded by desire. And lust is the easiest weapon used in persuasion. Funny, how the body is such a sufficient vessel when it comes to bargaining.

This woman, in particular, is one with whom Yukimiya is well acquainted with, in that sense. She is pretty—by every conventional standard—well respected in her field of sports journalism and has a solid head on her shoulders. A woman like that tends to be desired, too, but not by men whom she’d see fit. Which is where Yukimiya comes in. 

A man like him (stone carved face and body to match) who has something she wants? Can promise her details and exclusive information on his teammates as well as his rivals? Give her tips and tricks on how she can pry even more out of them herself? In exchange for, what? A quickie in an arena bathroom before he gets back on the bus to the airport? He can do that; satisfy his needs and fulfill her exigencies all at once. 

Plus, he is so very good at squeezing data out of people when they think they’re the ones drawing it out of him. Like he said, desire blinds; and the void is nothing but the shadow he has grown most accustomed to.

The acquaintance he allows to haunt his home. 

“I would like to start by saying, as always, such an impressive game you played out there tonight, Yukimiya-san,” the woman, Tamiko, compliments him. And that is a common occurrence when she is present at these conferences as well. But he isn’t complaining; a stroke to his ego has never made him turn up his nose.

“Thank you,” he nods, fidgeting with the stand of the microphone in front of him out of passing boredom, “As always, of course.”

“Of course,” Tamiko mirrors back, and the pro doesn’t miss the gleam in her eye as she does. 

She clutches her notepad closer to her chest, accentuating the window the open buttons have created. Yukimiya isn’t a stupid man, he knows a ploy when he sees one. He also sees the way the men surrounding her notice such a view, too. His lips quirk wider at their gazes, and a haughty feeling bubbles in his chest because he knows any longing looks directed at her will be done in vain.

She’s here for him and him alone, beyond everything. The only man who stands a chance is the one sitting in his seat.

How blessed, for him.

“Ma’am.” It’s that damned staff member again. He is starting to grate Yukimiya’s nerves, run his mercy thin. Why must he keep sticking his nose into matters that are not that serious? “Your question, please.”

“Oh, yes, pardon me,” she smiles again, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes the same way it does when aimed at him as it does to Kenyu. That also strokes his ego, just the tiniest bit. “My question, Yukimiya-san.”

He nods again, levels his gaze back on her. “Yes?” 

“I think that I must indulge your fans and speak on their behalf, just this once.” 

Her mascara tinted lashes bat against the swell of her cheekbones. It’s tantalizing; obvious, what she is doing. Or maybe Yukimiya has just been able to dissect her that well due to their.. proximity. Regardless, he must applaud her. To maintain such a well respected reputation while using her tactics must be difficult. Hard work for such an impudent woman as her.

And it is never ‘just this once.’

“Please do,” he adheres, and this time he does chuckle. A breathy, rumbly sort of thing that he knows will end up as a clipped video and sent among many shrieking fangirls—and boys, for that matter, he doesn’t discriminate—before his head even hits the satin of his pillowcase tonight. Fanservice is what Isagi used to call it as a way to tease him when the both of them first broke big. Pleasing the masses is how he describes it, and it’s only his rightful duty, you see. 

You can’t just leave the masses hungry. That simply wouldn’t do. 

“So, do tell me,” Tamiko hums, punctuates her request with a little cinch to her pout that would be enough to make any typical man swoon. (That was part of the reason she intrigued Yukimiya in the first place, if he is completely honest). 

“Is it merely your God given abilities or does that… well attuned body account for the marvel that is Yukimiya Kenyu?”

Crowds are always receptive to questions such as this—and now is no exception. Chuckles and claps and quiet whoops sweep over the press members that are sardined in the conference room, obviously tickled by the inquiry and hankering to know whatever answer might slip through his lips. A chuckle rattles out of the back of Yukimiya’s throat again and he shakes his head, leans in closer to the mic as he twists it on its stand, fidgets in a way that is unusual for him. 

“God can only take you so far,” and it comes out before he can stop himself, before he can mull over the weight of his words—the implications, “Let’s just say I gave Him a little bit of a helping hand.”

“Alright, that’s the last question!” the stadium worker booms out above the immediate uproar of the crowd, cutting off any and all follow ups that may have been deemed necessary. Fascinated, amused at the player’s answer to such a nuanced question. Tamiko purses her pretty cherry lips at not being able to get the final word in.

And Yukimiya swallows down the bitter after taste of his sentiment.

It had all happened so fast; he’s just used to light banter, that’s all. His quip and brush back simply rolled off his light laced tongue. So easily, too easily. His helping hands twitch in his lap as his coach pats his back solidly as a nudge to stand. To take his leave.

Yukimiya listens, but it’s different, now. Now, he does not spare a glance to Tamiko in quiet understanding to meet by the east emergency exit for a rushed makeout sesh. Now, he does not smile and wave full of poise and praise to the cameras and reporters to keep his pretty face painted politely in the tabloids come morning. Now, he does not thank the crowd of reporters for staying so late just for the chance to speak with him.

Now, he feels an uneasy pebble of conviction forming in his gut.

How could he say such a thing? How could he be so careless? He berates himself as his sneakers traipse their way back to the locker room. Something isn’t right with him, he’s off–somehow. There’s a hitch in his step, a snag in his gait. He nearly trips over his own two graceful feet as he rounds the corner towards the locker room. His coach flings out an arm to catch him, even in his own drunken, lopsided stupor.

“Woah there, tiger,” a chuckle, a tease. Yukimiya finds nothing humorous in this moment. “You get into my secret stash?”

“What? Of course not, don’t be so fucking–”

“Hey.” Clipped, short. Stern as he is yanked by the hand of assistance clamped over his elbow to a halt, Kenyu nearly flinches. “I was jus’ yanking your chain. Ease up, kid. Take a breather.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, because that is polite. Because he is polite. Polite and poised and perfect and that’s–that’s the truth so it’s fine. It’s fine. “I’m sorry. I’m just more tired than I realized.”

His coach eyes him for another moment in the dim corridor. One of the lights is flickering just outside of the locker room. It’s straining, pulsing. Yukimiya’s head hurts. A pound, a pulse–thu-thuck, thu-thuck, thu-thuck. He squints an eye, blinks a couple times.

But a deep breath does not give way to the constriction of his lungs.

“Alright,” the old man says, finally, and lets go of the prodigy’s elbow to clap his hand over his shoulder. He gives a squeeze, then another. It's supposed to be reassuring, forgiving, he knows. But Yukimiya fights every smidgen within him to not recoil in distaste. “Let’s get you out of here. You played a hell of a game today, son.”

I’m not your son.

“Thank you, sir,” he forces out, now. Pinched and with a smile just to match that does not quite crimp the tails of his eyes; the apples of his cheeks. The scrunch isn’t there, his canine is out of sight. 

He’s feigning in a way that’s damn near disgraceful. And that pebble is churning; building. 

“Good game, Yukki,” fucking Kaiser, gift from God, Michael chimes as he enters the locker room. A ploy, a taunt. But half genuine, in the way that crawls beneath one’s skin. In a way that’s unnerving–ever so slightly. 

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, touchy,” he sing songs, steps closer as he finger coils with the towel around his neck that’s catching the water droplets from his shower sopped hair. “Did the pretty reporter girl finally admit I’m the better fuck?”

Yukimiya scoffs because, seriously, why the fuck can Kaiser never seem to mind his fucking own? He grabs his bag out of his locker and slams it shut, pulling it over the shoulder his coach just tainted. Then, with all the grace left in him, turns to the man who’s only gift from God is the fact that there is a bench separating the pair of them right now.

“Have a nice night,” he grins, vile and evil and wrong as it snakes across his face in a way that is pleasing to the eye. Then, he turns on his heel and dips out of the locker room.

His smile drops as soon as he’s in the limelight of the hall. 

Inverse erosion is occurring inside the body of Yukimiya Kenyu. Conviction growing like a specimen on a soiled petri dish, little ugly bit by little ugly bit. It’s spreading, to the dip of his waist, up the curve of his jugular. Like tendrils sprouting, twisting, choking out the light inside him. He ignores the stadium workers who congratulate him on his achievement of the night. Something he would normally never do, even after a loss. Even in the pits of despair. Even on his darkest day. 

He ignores them as well as his driver who is standing at the exit waiting for him. He opens the door just in time for Yukimiya to push through; broad shoulders and steam littered ears. He’s stupid, ignorant.

Blasphemous. 

“Could you hurry up?” He snaps as he gets to the car door a step too quick. He doesn’t mean to–lash out, that is. He can’t help it. He feels like he’s losing it. His mind, his vision, himself. There’s tunnels cutting through the edges of his sight. He can’t blink past them.

“Sorry, sir,” Fuyuki, a great big man in a great, sleek suit, nods as he rushes cordially to open up the door for the pro. Yukimiya winces internally at his politeness, but makes no effort to stave the wounds. “And congratulations, on the win.”

That gets ignored, because Yukimiya is too busy trying not to throw up to even think of conversing right now. He slides into the spacious back compartment of the car. There’s no cameras out back, thank the Lord, or his mimi-tantrum would be on the front page of all the wrong kinds of magazines in the morning. He tries to suck in a breath, and another, as he takes off his glasses and blinks.

Once, twice, thrice–all for naught. The tunnels are closing in, he’s getting fed up. Something is looming, he can feel it. In his bones. Over him, pressing and pressing. 

Let’s just say I gave Him a little bit of a helping hand.

How could he be so careless? So loose lipped? He would never–has never spouted off something so–so.. 

“Home, sir?” Fuyuki asks as he slides in the driver seat.

“The fuck do you think?”

A glare through the rear view, another bite back. The hole Yukimiya is digging for himself is growing by the second, bigger and bigger and he’s losing traction. Fast. He’s losing his grip, he’s losing sight of.. What, exactly?

I gave Him a little bit of a helping hand.

How incredulous of a statement for a mere mortal like him to make. How ungrateful, unforgiving. Merciless is a God whom he deserves. A wrath–that’s it. The tunnel forming around him, the darkness in his pupils. In his gut.

His hands tighten around the strap of his bag in a weak attempt to root himself. No, ground himself. That’s right. That’s what he means. Ground. He needs to ground himself. Ground, in the ground. If he is smote he will be in the ground and the fault is his. The fault is–

…bit of a helping hand.

“Fuck!” Yukimiya yells and throws his bag full force across the back compartment of his car. Clothes, shoes, his wallet and keys all fly out. Fuyuki swerves, the slightest bit, at the commotion, and what ensues. Because he does not stop there.

His brand new phone, his water bottle that he keeps stocked, anything he can get his perfectly manicured fingers on is ripped and roared and tossed about inside the confines of the car. It's a wonder he doesn’t break a window, or injure something, someone–himself. 

Himself, to blame? No.. no that cannot be because for him to say such a wretched thing there must be a reason. Some outside force has pushed him, prodded to make him bespoke of God in such a way. Skewed his moral high ground and lured him away from the light. From divinity. From the pure and good of his soul.

That’s right, he thinks, someone has soiled him. Someone close to him. Who is around him constantly. Slithering around in his inner circle.

And that just won’t do.

Frantically, he scrambles for his discarded phone. Picks up and flings soiled shorts and jersey and shoes and finds it miraculously unscathed at the bottom of the floorboard, tucked into a crevice. He brushes his curls out of his face, no longer laid pristinely down to head, combed through and neat. It’s frizzing up, just like the shreds of his sanity.

Someone has tainted him, and he is finding fault wherever he can. Where he believes it to be. The root of the problem. The head of the snake.

His fingers fumble across his phone screen as he slips his glasses back on, squints through the dark at the luminated device. He clicks on his contact list and scrolls. Down, down, down to the culprit scrawled out in the “m”s. He clicks the name and opens up his message thread.

“Akari’s fired. Effective immediately. Find me a new assistant. I do not take too kindly to serpents in my garden.”

He sends the message to his manager without a second thought. And, like a miracle shining down, the weight is lifting. Breaths come easier and shoulders release tension. The root of the problem, surely he’s found it. He must have. Why else would he already be experiencing such alleviation? Such a lull in the tide of turmoil?

“Fuyuki, I think there’s cause for celebration,” he smiles, more genuine now than he has been able to stomach all night, as he meets tapioca eyes in the rearview, “How about a drink?”

He’s pouring two glasses of scotch from the mini fridge before an answer is given. After all, alcohol is best suited to cleanse wounds.

likes & reblogs appreciated !

[ninja-gooooo]

I’d like to know your thoughts on the boys (or just Lloyd) having a FAT crush on the reader ☺️ tysm!

This is the flavour of fluff that I crave.

Ended up writing a crap ton more for lloyd😭 but thats okay we love him.

Very very loosely proofread.

Ninjago crush headcanons (the ninja):

LLOYD🍏💚:

Theres two ways Lloyd could go about having a crush.

Pre Harumi he's pretty oblivious to it, if you dont confess first, he needs Kai to figure it out for him.

Post Harumi he's having a panic attack.

On one hand, he likes you- and he knows you. You wouldnt be anything like Harumi.

On the other hand, that's what he thought about her, too.

Either way, once he comes to terms with his feelings, hes like a puppy.

Hes following you around 24/7.

He thinks hes slick.

He is not.

Kind of guy brush his hand against yours while walking thinking hes being smooth with it, but hes so red in the face you think hes sick and take him home.

But you wanted to take care of him, he considers that a win.

Generally, he prefers to be near you. Not necessarily clinging, but always sort of hovering.

Ninja or not, he wants to keep you safe.

Goes out of his way to impress you.

Not well, but he tries.

Showing off during training, not very subtley bragging, ect.

With anyone else it would come off as self absorbed, but hes so flustered while he does it that it becomes endearing.

If he does manage to get some kind of physical affection from you, hes a mess.

Hold his hand while you walk down the street, you'll be able to feel his hand heat up.

He stammers. He'll be explaining something so well until you walk into a room. Then hes tripping over every other word.

All in all, it's pretty obvious when he has a crush, at least after he figures it out himself. And once kai catches on, you wont have to wait long before hes a mess trying to ask you out.

It's very private. He'll pull you aside, make sure theres no one around. Hes very nervous, he barely manages to get his words out. You'll probably have to say it for him, but it's very sweet. He just thinks you're the coolest person.

KAI🍎❤

Hes the opposite of lloyd. No stammering or panicking.

Hes all over you.

He'll always have an arm around you, or a hand on your shoulder. He loves touching you.

Hes warm. Really, really warm.

On cold nights he'll jokingly offer to share a bed with you and 'keep you warm.'

Whenever you two are alone, hes a bit more awkward. Lots of clearing his throat, shifting his weight around. He doesnt want to make you uncomfortable- and that leads to overthinking.

It's kind of funny- he'll go from clinging to your side to anxiously standing on the other side of the room.

Please reassure him, he needs it.

If you do let him know you dont mind his clinging, hes right back to being all over you- but when you're alone, hes a bit softer about it.

An arm around your shoulders turns into warm hugs. A hand on your back turns into holding hands. Alone, he treats you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

It actually takes him a little bit to build up the nerve to confess. He likes you. Not a one off flirtation, he really, really likes you.

Prepare to be romanced. Before he confesses, hes sweeping you off your feet. Dinner, picnic, movie, whatever your ideal date is, hes got it covered. He gets dressed up and everything.

But once the 'outing' ends, hes very sweet. Any cockiness in his voice dissapears as he tells you how he feels. You're amazing, and he doesn't want to mess it up.

Jay🐦💙

MY MAIN MAN‼

we've seen him in the show. Hes trying his best.

He REALLY wants to impress you. You're so cool, so obviously you'd go for a cool guy- right?

Hes being a showboat, flexing his muscles, showing off inventions, and stammering over himself as he tries to impress you.

You know when birds puff out their feathers? Think that, but the bird promptly falls on its face.

He just really wants you to like him.

But when he stops trying to impress you? Hes the sweetest person in the world.

Constant check ups. If you've been unusually quiet, he'll ask if you're okay. You look tired? Hes got snacks and drinks on the ready.

But if you have a really crappy day, you'll find him in your room, offering conversation, distraction, whatever you need.

He might as well already be your boyfriend.

He adores you. Every inch. If he catches you talking had about yourself he'll be on a rant about how amazing you are for the next twenty minutes.

He doesnt even actually have to confess- you can figure it out from that alone.

But if he DID confess, he tries really hard to do it right. He wants to take you out, sweep you off your feet- but you end up just staying home and playing video games.

He just sort of blurts it out. Very loudly, and very quickly. You almost miss what he says. But If you do catch it- and agree to go out with him- you're not leaving his arms any time soon. The next hour is him gushing about you as he peppers your face with kisses.

Cole♟🖤

He has a what?

A crush?

Huh?

He has no clue what's going on with him.

Hes not stupid- he knows about romance, but he has a hard time realizing it's something that's going on with him.

It's never been his thing- so when he realizes how he feels, hes pretty quick to tell you.

But before he figures it out, hes always helping you carry things.

Like, a weird amount

Carrying boxes? Hes got it. Groceries? Five bags in each hand. A book? Well, he doesn't mind taking it off your hands.

Physical touch? Words of affirmation? No, his love language is carrying things.

This includes you. If you hurt yourself training, or step off a curb, he doesnt think twice about carrying you.

Until he figures out he likes you. Then he thinks about it alot.

He gets into whatever music you're into. Anything. You can play the trashiest pop song in the world, and he would love it, just because you liked it.

When he does confess, hes very to the point about it. He just sort of says it. Not the most romantic thing in the world, but it manages to be sweet, coming from him.

Although if you tell him you like him back, he let's out the biggest sigh of relief. He was STRESSING, but he wouldnt let you know that.

Zane❕❄

Clocked it immediately.

Hes seen enough of other people's relationships to know what hes feeling. His hesitance comes more from trying to figure out why he feels the way he does.

He's a nindroid- should he be able to feel this way? He can feel everything else, why wouldnt he? But should he? Would being with him even be a fulfilling relationship for you?

He spends the next week doing research. How to be a good partner, how to go about confessing, how to express his affection, he becomes a walking boyfriend wikihow.

Hes confident. Hes done his research, he knows what hes doing. So, he takes you to a romantic setting- some kind of secluded park or somewhere else with nice scenery. He thinks hes ready to tell you- then he looks at you. Hes always thought you were nice to look at- but now? He thought you were stunning.

He essentially short circuits.

You have to ask him if hes okay a few times before he gathers himself, and manages to very formally get the words out.

Nya🌊💙

TEAAASINGGG.

It's her love language.

You will not have a moment of peace around this woman.

But her teasing is really her way of letting you know that she notices the small things about you. The way you wear your hair, the way you sit, the way your posture changes when you're tired- she notices.

Once in a blue moon, you'll be tired enough for her to lay off- the teasing replaced with her looking after you, making sure people leave you alone. She can be very sweet when she wants to be.

The longer she likes you, the more prone to the sweet side she is. A part of her wants to out right tell you, but the other part wants to keep things the way they are- she doesn't want to risk losing the sweeter moments you had.

She's faced a good bit of loss in her life, she doesn't want to add you to the list.

Eventually, once again thanks to Kai, she spits it out. She tries to do the romantic date thing- but it turns into a choir of teasing and giggles. She confesses through her laughter. Its adorable. She freezes when she realizes what she did- but then she repeats it, letting you know she meant it.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

weather the storm

this is part of the Valentine's Day Exchange @outsiders-gift-exchanges. My valentine is @dreaming-mousey, I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Summary: Two-Bit is home alone when a battered Johnny Cade shows up at the door. Two-Bit makes sure he knows the kid knows just how loved he is.

Summer in Tulsa was almost unbearable. The heat stuck to everything like molasses. No cool wind to be found.

Two-Bit was home, sprawled out on the couch. The fan whirred above him. It clicked with every turn. He inhaled breaths of thick air.

Two-Bit dropped a hand over his eyes. His head hurt something awful, probably because he hadn’t had enough alcohol and was starting to get a hangover. He mentally cursed himself for not swinging by Darry’s to grab a beer. And with his sister becoming a teenager, his mom refused to have any alcohol in the house. Two-Bit agreed with that, he didn’t want her turning out anything like him. He didn't want her to feel the itch he felt when he saw a bottle.

Two-Bit was just about to cut his losses and try to sleep it off, when the door opened. Two-Bit almost didn’t notice the sound of the door opening, under the fan's clicking, it was almost inaudible. The floorboard creaked just loud enough to alert him.

Two-Bit sighed and pushed himself up to see over the back of the couch. He thought it was gonna be his ma or sister, but it wasn't. Johnny Cade was standing in the entryway.

The kid looked deathly pale, whole body shaking. When he caught Two-Bit’s eye, Johnny grasped behind him for the door handle as though wanting to leave.

Two-Bit stood up and put a gentle hand out towards his friend. Johnny was a jack rabbit about to spring away. He tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible, “Johnny, it’s alright. You okay?”

Johnny turned back to Two-Bit like he was facing the executioner. As Two-Bit padded closer to him, he saw the kid sporting bruises and cuts all over his face. He was holding his wrist to his chest protectively. He looked close to tears. There was blood dripping from his nose.

Two-Bit sighed softly, “Come on, Johnnykid.” Johnny was clearly frightened but he’d sought shelter with Two-Bit and that meant everything. He trusted Two to keep him safe. “It’s okay.” It felt like he was talking to a frightened animal. Two-Bit offered Johnny a hand.

Johnny looked at it for a long moment. “Is your mama home?” The question was asked not with hope, but with fear. Two-Bit’s heart clenched. It was so unfair that Two-Bit had a loving family when Johnny had no one. No, Two thought, he has me.

“Nah,” Two-Bit shook his head. “She’s at work, my sister’s at a friend’s house. It’s just you and me here.”

Johnny swallowed thickly and put his hand in Two-Bit’s. With that permission given, Two-Bit gently guided Johnny up the stairs to his bedroom. Usually when Johnny stayed over, he slept on the couch, but tonight Two-Bit knew Johnny’d feel safer close to him.

He liked places to hide.

Two-Bit closed the door behind them and pulled the curtains closed. They were cocooned in the small bedroom. Johnny's shoulders slumped.

The kid sat down on the floor by the bed, curling his knees to his chest. Two-Bit plopped down beside him and reached underneath the bed for his makeshift first aid kit. It was there only for Johnny.

As gently as he could, Two-Bit pulled Johnny’s wrist away from his chest and started to look it over. Johnny was silent as Two-Bit accessed him. Two-Bit wasn’t as good at this as Darry, but he was a passable medic when Johnny needed him.

Johnny sniffed quietly, “I don’t think it’s broken. I think I just fell on it wrong.” Johnny’s voice was so soft as though he was scared of breaking the silence.

Two-Bit nodded. “Just ice I think. You can have Darry check on it tomorrow to make sure.” 

These nights had been happening more and more. Johnny would come into the house late at night with his face busted and bruises all over him. If Two-Bit’s ma was home, she’d give him something to eat, make him take a shower, and make sure he had plenty of blankets before going to sleep. 

Two-Bit was no good at that kind of thing, the best he could do was clean up the blood and give Johnny a quiet place to lay low until he felt safe enough to leave. Maybe that's why Johnny would come to him, because he wouldn't ask questions.

The blood on Johnny's was tacky as it started to dry. Two-Bit smeared it away with a wet cloth, not as gentle as he should have been. But Johnny didn't say anything.

It seemed like Johnny was trying to get even smaller. He ducked his head down and pulled his knees flush to his chest. “Just the same as always,” Johnny murmured. “I didn’t even do anything this time.”

Two-Bit wanted to tell him that Johnny never did anything wrong. The things his parents beat him for were as simple as breathing. Two-Bit wasn’t the responsible one in the group, he wasn’t the best caretaker, but he loved Johnny like a brother. If Johnny asked, Two-Bit would take him under his wing. He’d feed him and make sure he had a bed every night. But Johnny would never ask and Two-Bit would never offer.

“I know,” Two-Bit had a real hard time being gentle, but he always tried with Johnny. God knows that kid didn’t have enough of that in his life. Two-Bit hissed under his breath when he moved Johnny's hair out of his face and found a long gash on the crown of his head.

Two-Bit sighed sadly. “They got you real good this time, kid.” 

Johnny swallowed thickly, “Yeah. My ma…she took something. I don’t know what it was.”

“Powder or pill?”

“Powder,” Johnny confirmed. Two-Bit buzzed his lips. He didn’t envy the kid one bit. His dad was a piece of shit before he left but at least he didn’t do anything like that. Johnny’s folks were rough on him normally, he couldn’t even imagine what they’d be like on something. 

Two-Bit remembered the first time he met little Johnny Cade. The boy had been sitting on Mrs. Curtis’s lap, crying as she tended to a cigarette burn on the back of his hand. Ponyboy had already been attached to the older boy and was sitting beside him holding his other hand. 

Looking at Johnny now, he still saw that little boy deep inside. But he was hidden by a teenager who had seen too much of the world and its cruelty. There was a burn scar on the back of his hand from that day. Sometimes Johnny would run a finger over it without realizing it.

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” Two-Bit murmured. He set aside the dirty rags. Johnny deserved so much better than that. Hell, most of them in the gang deserved better. Two-Bit used to be so jealous of the Curtis brothers, not anymore. He was not the only one with an alive parent who loved them.

Johnny shrugged with one shoulder. “Doesn’t fix it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Two-Bit agreed. He wished it did. “How does that feel?”

Johnny scrunched his face up and nodded, “Not too bad. It’s been worse.” And then, Johnny did something that surprised Two-Bit to no end. He leaned his head on Two-Bit’s shoulder, a tear slipping from his eye. 

Two-Bit sighed. Goddammit. Johnny wanted so much to be seen as an adult. He tried to pretend the violence didn’t affect him but he was still just a kid. Ponyboy may have been the youngest, but it was Johnny who they all looked out for, Johnny who they fed and clothed. Johnny was theirs and no one was allowed to hurt him.

“You’re safe here,” Two-Bit said in a poor resemblance to Soda's comfort. He winced internally, but it didn't seem to bother Johnny. “If anyone tries to hurt you here, I’ll kill them myself.”

Johnny laughed a little, sniffing back tears. “I know. You’re pretty tuff.”

“So are you.” Two-Bit smirked. He puffed up just a little, knowing Johnny thought that. “You want to take a shower?”

Johnny shook his head, “I’m so tired, Keith.”

His true name sounded strange on Johnny’s tongue. It softened something inside of Two-Bit. God Johnny must have been real fucked up. “I know, Johnny. You can sleep in my bed, I’ll steal my ma’s.”

“Stay?” Johnny asked. “I know it’s stupid, but…I just keep thinkin’ that one of them is gonna barge in here. I’ll stay on the floor.”

Two-Bit rolled his eyes. As if he was gonna make the kid sleep on the floor. “Come on, I don’t smell that bad, you can share with me.” 

After checking another half dozen times to make sure it was alright, Johnny crawled into the bed.

Two took the side closest to the door so Johnny was safely tucked between him and the wall. The curves of their spines were touching lightly. Two-Bit could feel Johnny’s soft breathing.

Tomorrow would be another day, one where Johnny's face was bruised. Just a normal day. But for the night, he was safe beside one of his best friends.

[dullyn]

Arthurian Retelling Book Review II

Spear by Nicola Griffith

Here's a spoiler free review with my rating for anyone who wants to read it without having everything revealed. There will be a full review with spoilers further down on this post.

It was an enjoyable book that followed a very traditional bildungsroman style of plot. The author took interesting creative liberties like the gods being the Irish ones and Peretur (Percival) being some sort of demigod-like being (I'm not counting that as a spoiler as you learn this on page 4). There was also a cool take on the Holy Grail quest with it being more of a thing of the traditional cosmologies and Tuath Dé instead of a Christian one.

There's also other stuff that got changed with a new twist like Llanza (Lancelot) being from Spain instead of Brittany and also disabled, and the love affair between him Gwenhwyfar (Guinevere) being common knowledge and almost encouraged. (No clue why Llanza is from Spain though, I looked into it and the author basically said they were trying to make everything Celtic but like,, Bretons are Celtic? Like Breton, the language of Brittany, is one of the closest relatives of Welsh?)

Back to Peretur though, she serves as a cool figure as she is a very masc-looking girl whose sense of adventure and curiosity leads her away from her sheltered life and to Caer Leon (Camelot) where she eventually becomes a sort of knight. There is a romantic relationship between her and Nimuë but it seemed sudden and random for most of the book until about 3/4 through when it was like "awww they love each other." However, romance is not the focus of this book so it makes sense that the relationship is not wholly fleshed out as it is not overly relevant to the actual plot, which is Peretur's ascension to becoming a knight.

Peretur and Arturus (Arthur) clash because Arturus in this is very paranoid due to magical influence. This added an interesting element to the whole thing as he is a king who will eventually lose everything and he just cannot see it.

My biggest peeve is I did not like the way Cei was portrayed. He eventually got better and seemed to be more of a loud dumb jock figure (the author even notes he is similar to a rugby player they know). His ugliness at the beginning was necessary for the story's plot as it served a motivation for Peretur to do various acts of valor and gain her knighthood.

4/5 ⭐

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FULL REVIEW WITH SPOILERS BELOW

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Okay I was so flabbergasted for like half the book on why the gods were Irish. Like the Tuath Dé just vibing in Wales was so confusing, then on page 111 it finally explains it. Honestly it turned out super cool with the fact that Manandán was there because he was power hungry and wanted to keep the bowl and its magic for himself.

With Manandán and his assault of Elen came Peretur's birth. Which, did not like that part as like, gross, even though I know it is a common literary thing especially in Arthuriana. However, I do love Peretur’s inherent magical otherworldliness. Her demigod status and whatnot and the way that she feels the earth around her and talks to the animals is so so so well done. I also like the way she struggles with her identity and has to confront the fact she’s not entirely

I want Peretur's gender presentation. End tweet.

This was definitely a better romance with Nimuë than the last book i read with Nimuë as the love interest. Though it still felt like Peretur and Nimuë just fell into bed together without having a real connection, hook up culture in 500AD I guess. The whole "unclean" thing was also very striking and it dealt Peretur such a psychological blow, but when she like thought it out it seemed to change her character for the better but I don't know. I didn't really like them together as a couple until right before they leave on the Grail Quest. Though they eventually do develop a relationship that made me go: Yeah, Go For It.

Love that Llanza is called Arturus’ “special friend” and that his word is held above almost all others in the king's eyes. I also like the way they say that Llanza is still an incredible knight with his twisted leg, even if he must mainly do it on horseback. I like that, I like it when knights can have disabilities and still be revered and not just be like shoved to the side. (also horseboy Lancelot, the rarest of sightings considering he typically is an accidental killer of horses).

"We both love her, as we love each other. We will not set her aside" (p 141). LLANZA MY GOD.

I don’t like the way the author characterized Cei. Why did he have to be weird towards women? Why did he have to grab Angharad and try to forcibly kiss her? I know it’s so that Peretur can show her knightly virtue and then be forced to go on quests to try and redeem herself and make herself a stronger fighter, but still. He gets better as the story goes on but I really did not like that part at all. On another note, he does call Peretur “Pretty Per” and “petal cheeks” which is so random and silly.

Gwenhwyfar. (That’s it that’s the paragraph). Aughhh she hurts me inside, she’s so beautiful and sad and the way she’s portrayed makes me want to eat drywall while listening to Lord Huron. Like that’s my Shayla. Llanza mourning the fact that she is so proud but still finds her praying on her knees in the new chapel that's been built to try and have God bestow a baby upon her??? Nicola Griffith I'm in your walls.

Then there is the whole thing with Myrddyn. That wizard being Peretur's uncle was a choice, though well executed because it leads Arturus to trust Peretur enough to go get the bowl at the end. I also like that he's portrayed as having been a manipulative man who was also pretty sinister. Like creepy mentor Merlin is the exact way I envision him in my head when I write him. That along with his manipulations of Arturus and like the hold he had over him. Arturus never had a chance of being mentally stable between Myrddyn and Caledfwylch's magical influence. The sword making him go crazy is just such an iconic plotline.

"Her mother made no reply, as she would never make reply again" (p 147). This part had me going insane, the death of Elen and Peretur's care for her corpse was so AUGH. The wistful nature of it all really hit hard.

Peretur snapping at Llanza for insulting her childhood home (the cave) and defending her mother is so aughhhh oh my god. Literally this entire scene with Elen's death and Peretur taking care of her mother once again is just so so, raw. Like the emotion through her actions and the way it kind of acts as penance for leaving her mother behind in the first place. The way she apologizes for not being able to bury her with the cup (her lifelong prized treasure)? Immaculate.

Galath (Galahad) is not a big fixture in this obviously but when Peretur and Llanza are reminiscing about their homes after burying Elen and Llanza thinks, "His own son would despise him for his imperfections" (p 152). Yeah. That's Galahad through and through, that's personally how I view him too where he's judgy in the wholly righteous mannequin way that only a strict Catholic upbringing and faith can do.

The end is so bittersweet with Peretur and Nimue talking about how Caer Leon and everyone in it will fade away into stories and legends because Arturus has no heir and so his legacy dies with him.

But like, would someone else not just take the throne? Not the point though, overall I liked the book. It definitely felt a bit flat with the traditional bildungsroman, I think that if I knew nothing about Arthuriana I would not have been nearly as enthused. However, until the death of Elen and everything after that had me going insane it was so well done. Peretur, Nimue, and Llanza going to find the bowl and burying Elen really made the book gain like a whole new level of depth to it that I really liked.

I'm giving this book a 4/5 ⭐

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[writinganon1]

@cokoweee

You are off the list 😌

I fear I hyped it up too much coz it’s literally just my old lady hobbies. I just stared at ur drawings for way too long and made ‘em needlepoint/ embroidery

THERES DETAILS AND SHADING I SWEAR!!!Tumblr just stole the quality>:( it looks cool in person you’ll just have to use your imagination

Yes I was gonna fill Cali in but I stabbed my finger threading the green and took it as a sign

Uh I forgot you’re some weird freaked up raccoon thing so I made your little sona guy normal raccoon colors. He has jorts because my little brother insisted that he couldn’t run around with a shirt and leave his balls hanging out. His words not mine 🫠

Sorry

Anyways if I had given this to you in person I would have also given you cookies from the bakery, but I can’t do that so the recipe is in the tags :)

(Look up how to make brown butter if you haven’t made it before)

Ok bye I’m sprinting away coz I’m mad embarrassed

🧍‍♀️🚙💨💨

[xbraveheartx]

Suddenly smacked in the face by the implication of Romeo's message where he says "I remember you, so there's no reason for us to fight. I suppose."

I always thought the wording was weird, but didn't think too much on it... Until recently after we discussed some datamined stuff in the Carmeo/Promeo server. There's a scrapped line (where P was supposed to speak) that says "I may not remember, but I'm still your son" during the NP fight, and while the scrapped lines are their own can of worms, let's focus on the memory parts.

I had always thought that once a puppet woke up, they would just get their memories back. But the fact seems to be this: There are select memories that come back to give bits and pieces of their past that "wake" them up-- cause them to change, as we see with P and the necklace; As we see from the spliced memories at the Black Seaside. However, it might not be all one's memories that come back. Whether those spaces stay blank or come back over time, who knows.

What I'm trying to get at here is...

Romeo's memories might only consist of Carlo at the time of waking. Carlo was what woke Romeo-- "I remember you"-- He had the necklace, he knew from who it was; He recognized the face P was modeled after. "So there's no reason for us to fight, I suppose"-- there's a lack of confidence in the wording here. Friends aren't supposed to fight, right? That's what his memory tells him, at least.

And the only memories P tends to get in regards to his past? Those in relation to Romeo, his aspirations, and of his own death. Seemingly, these are the things most important to him.

They were the most important people to each other; They remembered each other, just one too late than the other.

[snickeringdragon]

this is the coolest thing ive ever made

[pcktknife]

i am always filled with so much dread

[kinos-fortress-2]

miss pauling WOULD NOT SMELL FINE.