#marcus rashford x black!reader

[blueaetherr]

24 hours

pairing: marcus rashford x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): none

summary: the one where we witness one of their last few moments together as just a couple

During late hours, a walk through the park always remained Y/N and Marcus' way to end their day. Kids slowly trailing away created a kind silence to wander through in a pair, the vibes absolutely immaculate with the local black hair shop playing the best R&B tunes around the corner. By 5pm the sky was dark yet humbly pleasant to witness and admire, meshing well with the street lights to signal the winter season. Holding a whole park– its swings, its slide, its roundabout– to themselves was simply all too much fun to turn away from.

As they strolled through the park, sharing some conversation and banter, Y/N found Marcus drifting a bit, both far and near. So much so that Y/N had to ask, squeezing his hand or nudging his shoulder, "Are you okay? What's up?" She couldn't detect anything wrong; he wasn't sick and they'd both woken up from a nap for him to be so tired. Everything seemed perfectly fine. To her, besides the possibility of anything being seriously wrong with her partner (which she saw as unlikely), it was a normal today, a normal walk.

But it wasn't a normal walk in the park for Marcus, it just couldn't. It didn't feel like their usual walk in the park. Difficult for him to concentrate, difficult for him to not drift away. There were so many things stuck on the brain, as always. But there remained one thing that had him specifically all in his thoughts and feelings—the fact that this walk, the one they took every other evening, would be their final walk together as a regular couple.

That within the next few hours, if all went well, Y/N would no longer be his girlfriend and he would no longer be her boyfriend. They would still be partners—a couple—sure, but the title itself would hold a meaning so much more deep and complex; Y/N would be his fiancée and Marcus would be her fiancé.

At the thought of all of that, Marcus had to take a deep breath and replied with a small nod, "Yeah, we're good here," because he didn't want her to worry, there was nothing wrong with him yet at the same time, there was. He didn't want his nerves to flare up and cause her to suspect something.

Really, he took the deep breath because it was a lot to take in. What he was planning on doing in the coming hours, what would follow after the titles of boyfriend and girlfriend would no longer be valid—it consumed his thoughts, constantly dragging him out of reality.

"Are you sure about this? You think you're ready for this?" They were variations of questions that Marcus had been approached with for the last few months, and others were right to do so. Marriage was something you needed to deeply consider; it could mend a broken heart for some yet it remained a heartbreaker for others. It could form all good or bad things depending on the relationship. It could be infinite and string beyond death, or it could end before it even began.

Was Marcus prepared for all of that? All of that responsibility, the union, the commitment that he couldn't back away from once he was in it. Would he be ready, to handle all the hardships that came with a healthy relationship?

At first glance, at first thought really, it was hard for him to take in all those questions and provide an answer with a clear mind. You needed to be calm, comfortable and confident enough and all at the same time to answer such heavy questions.

Yet somehow, Y/N found a way to ease his mind without even realising it.

'Cause when Marcus would hear her laughs floating in the night sky, his ears and heart grew happy. When she went down the slide so carelessly and lacking fear of judgement, his inner child suddenly wasn't so shy anymore and eventually, he would join her and her fun rather than witness it. When she would quietly say hey, I love you, he personally wanted to cave in for how she so easily got him in his feelings. Whenever he would watch her let their hands sway in the night, he realised how perfectly well bonded and interlinked they were.

In truth, she was holding him by his heart. Not forcefully but with care; he allowed himself to be vulnerable around her, something that was largely exclusive between them. In her presence, he could be himself and more. With a few simple words, she encouraged him to do things he never would have thought of doing before. For these reasons and more, it was not a drag for Marcus to find Y/N poetically wonderful and pretty in all aspects.

So with her, his mind was clear. If he started drifting, she could get his mind, calm, comfortable and confident all within a few seconds. This night, during their normal walk in the park, there was no doubt in mind that he wanted to marry her.

Sat at the top of the slide, Y/N turned her glance to Marcus. Her lips grew wide as her cheeks dipped inward. The moon in the sky did great justice against his brown eyes, seeing everything and beyond in his irises. "You doing okay? What's got you feeling this way?"

His mind was so clear. His thoughts and his worries, his expectations and his purpose—it was all so clear for Marcus, so sure about his decisions that he wanted to discard his plans for tomorrow and just say right then and there, "Y/N, will you marry me?" Nothing was stopping him. The opportunity was right in front of him, he just had to take it.

But he held back and told himself just give it 24 hours. The ring safe with his friend, the decorations his mom picked out, the beautiful location, the carefully thought out speech. Y/N deserved some appreciation and affection than just some words spoken from the top of a slide. So with tomorrow's plans in mind, he smiled and brought her closer. Who knew you could give life to the already living. "Everything's all good, Y/N. Everything's gonna be alright."

[cher-rei]

27 w trent :)

date night [ T.A.A ]

I like the way you stare into my eyes [soren– beabadoobee]

pairing: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: date night? but on a baking show? and he's flirting with you?

genre(s): flufffffff

[wc: 1.9k]

notes: my little take on lando's chicken shop date a few months ago xxx

baking up chemisty: date night. that was this evening's episode and you were all too excited because of the guest that the director was able to reach out to. you'd had your fair share of football players on the show and it was so much fun.

it was a fan favourite to have you bring out a different side to the usual personal football players put up on camera, so it was highly requested. just last week you baked a horrible excuse for a lava cake with marcus rashford which was all too fun.

not too long after the episode aired, twitter was blowing up over the interaction and thanking you for having him as a guest wherein fact it should be the other way around. viewers loved that you didn't shy away from any of your guests and praised you for the chemistry you tended to have with them instead of keeping it formal.

so when the guest of this week's episode was announced, you bet that the show had a trending hashtag again.

you stood in front of the camera, behind the counter of the kitchen-styled set that felt so close to home. you accounted for all the ingredients on the counter one last time before it was quiet on set, everyone's eyes on the director.

"action."

"good evening everyone." a smile set on your lips, "and welcome back to 'date night'!"

from the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of this evening's guest who had you feeling a little more nervous than usual. "tonight, we have a very special guest joining us, a football star known for his skills on the field and his charm off it."

a hearty chuckle came from him off-camera that sent your heart leaping but your eyes remained on the camera. "and before anyone asks–" you sighed in mock disappointment. "no, it isn't mason mount. trust me, I tried."

behind the camera once again, there were a few laughs that lightened the mood of the studio. that's what you loved most about it– the atmosphere and how there wasn't a set script. when you were hired, your director, lewis shaw, gave you one clear instruction– "go with the flow."

and that's exactly what you found yourself doing for every shoot. having genuine conversations with your guests and keeping the atmosphere lighthearted and entertaining. it helped a great deal in making it less suffocating, and more rewarding.

which is why you loved your job so much, being a presenter was one thing. but being given the freedom to do as pleased as long as you do it well was a privilege.

"please welcome trent alexander-arnold!"

the studio was filled with cheer as they greeted the right back as he made his way beside you, adorning a bashful smile and the two of you exchanged a friendly hug that you tried to keep as professional as possible.

after the formalities were set aside it was time to properly start with the segment, and to do so you quickly grabbed something from one of the cabinets and handed it to trent who was more than familiar with what was in the box.

he mocked a gasp and delicately held up the black apron. it wasn't just plain, however, on the right pocket side there was your name and his embroidered beneath it with a heart.

"I've never felt so special my entire life," he said teasingly. "I can't believe I have matching aprons with everyone who was on this show."

you couldn't help but roll your eyes at his comment. it was customary that everyone got an apron with a similar design, only with their name on it. you shook your head to the side and bit back your smile as you looked at him. "yours is different though."

trent cocked his head to the side amused. "oh really?"

you gestured to the apron, "there's a heart on yours, and–" you fished something else from the cabinet and held it up proudly, "we're matching. you're the only guest I have matching aprons with."

a chuckle left his lips once again and you felt something tug at your heart. he was standing beside you so casually, amused by an apron and your quips and you couldn't help but wonder what it looked like from the viewers' perspective.

soon after you were done putting your aprons on, you began with the interview part. eager questions and playful answers leaving your mouths as if it were just the two of you in the studio. " I have to ask. have you any experience in the kitchen? this is a safe space, don't worry."

he looked down at the rolling pin in his hands and gave a lopsided smile. " I'm afraid not. I'm more comfortable on the pitch than I am with a rolling pin."

it was your turn to laugh, your hands absentmindedly adding the dry ingredients into the bowl while trent passed them on. "I mean we're only baking chocolate chip cookies. I'm sure you'll be fine."

he leant in a bit closer, watching carefully as you measured the amount of baking powder to add in. "chocolate chip cookies are actually a favourite in my family. a close friend of mine once baked a batch for a family movie night and ever since then my mum and brothers see it as an essential when she comes over."

a flush of pink rose to your cheeks instantly but you tried to play it off and cleared your throat. "wow she must be really good then."

trent shrugged his shoulders with a flick of mischief in his eyes. "she's okay I guess."

you glared at him from the corner of your eye and handed the bowl to trent so that he could put it in the mixer with the slow adding of the wet ingredients. "well then, what's your idea of the perfect date?"

you listened as he hummed in thought, adding to the whir of the mixer until it was done.

"I think just spending your time with someone special you know? it doesn't have to be anything fancy. just good company and good conversation."

his answer prompted you to nod in agreement. "I'm heavy on the good company part."

the space between the two of you decreased immensely, as you were now standing flush against his side while gathering the batter and putting it onto the cooking tray.

"oh really?" he questioned suddenly which caught you off guard. "what do you look for in a partner?"

your head quipped to look at him with your eyebrows raised but he innocently continued with putting the batter down. a scoff left your lips. "I'm supposed to be interviewing you right now."

"interview?" he asked and spared you a quick glance. "I thought this was a date, love."

you froze in your spot, unable to fully comprehend what was happening because all you wanted to do was wipe that smile off his face. but you had to carry on. once again you found yourself clearing your throat, watching as trent took the initiative to put the tray in the oven.

"well then?" he asked.

"I'm not picky." you walked over to the sink and put some soap on your hands while he did the same. "just someone genuine and passionate. I need to feel loved, not just be in love. and how about you?"

a low hum echoed from beside you and he put on the tap and rinsed the soap from them. he locked eyes with you and grinned, "someone who can keep up with me, both on and off the pitch. and maybe someone who can bake a decent batch of cookies."

you playfully rolled your eyes. "well I think most people can manage that. so, what do you value most?"

unlike yours at the moment, trent's expression softened and before you knew it your hands were in his beneath the running tap, lukewarm water having no match for the feeling of his hands on yours.

"honesty and trust," he looked up at you with his nose scrunched. "and a sense of humour never hurts."

you looked up at him with your eyes slightly squinted, sharing a moment of silent communication, but I know something that will.

not too long after, the episode wrapped up and you bid your goodbye to the viewers until next week, while also thanking trent for joining you for the evening.

he was more than delighted to be as modest as he could and waved it off with a, "the pleasures all mine. we should really do this again sometime."

it took a lot for you not to roll your eyes at him but you remained professional until you heard the director yell, "and cut! that's a wrap, well done, everyone!"

at that. your shoulders relaxed with a heavy sigh. this was by far the most stressful episode that you'd ever filmed, which completely went against your original statement.

you watched as the rest of the camera crew flooded to the break room, leaving you and trent alone on set. when it was all clear you turned to look at him with your lips pursed.

"one job. you had one job," you said blatantly but he couldn't suppress his smile, his hand instinctively finding yours on the kitchen counter and putting it in his.

your eyes bored into his, the sound of a familiar laugh leaving his lips before ge placed a gentle kiss on your hand. "you wanted chemistry and I gave you chemistry. I think I did my job very well actually."

"oh really?" you quipped sarcastically but that wasn't enough to get at him, in fact it only amused him even more.

the space between you lessened in a matter of seconds, his hands were now draped around your waist and slowly reaching for the back of your apron that was still on. he nodded in agreement and continued to gently untie your apron.

"but what did you expect?" he asked again and placed it on the counter. "how was I supposed to act natural around you? you're literally my girlfriend, so this is natural for me."

you couldn't bite back your smile anymore, not with the excited gleam in his eyes. "but you could've toned it down a bit, trent."

his eyes widened slightly and a quick peck was placed on your cheek. "tone it down?" he shook his head at your response, saying that he was being way too obvious but he didn't care. you'd been together for nearly 3 years, so he'd be more than delighted to have people finally find out.

"and miss the opportunity to tease you like this? baby you were an absolute blushing mess and I enjoyed every single moment."

no way you were blushing that much. you refused to believe it, and said that it was just his way of trying to embarrass you right now. you pulled away from his grasp and began to pack up your things, your boyfriends loving gaze watching you as you complained about his behavior.

he wasn't really paying attention, but he loved seeing how riled up you were and considered this as payback for every single day that you've been together that you've had him blushing like an idiot. it was only fair that he got you back eventually.

"I really wished that we had mason mount on today," you muttered and his smile immediately dropped.

"woah there," he interjected in disapproval and you turned to look at him with your arms crossed. "but we had fun today!"

"yeah but I would've had fun with mason too."

"incorrect."

your eyebrows raised at trent's sudden quip, "you can't just say--"

"wrong," he interrupted again with a smile, watching you from the other side of the counter."

you shook your head to the side as he made his way to your side, the same cheeky smile plastered on his face. "you're such a child I swear."

he hummed contently and took your bag, using his free hand to hold yours as he usually did. you felt another jolt in your stomach, the swarm of butterflies only worsening when trent pressed a light kiss to your temple. "it takes one to know one, love."

[azulera]

Rashy noticing that's something has been wrong with you for the last few weeks and you just won't tell him and he's stressing trying to figure it out

azulera

Don’t Leave Me Alone

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Words: 3.5k

Notes: ngl recent events have made me not even want to post but i already had this done and as i said, i do value that ppl like my writing enough to send requests. so here is this! hope u like it anon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They'd picked the summer time to move in, late May to be exact, and Marcus was sure it was the smartest decision he’d ever been a part of. The prem season was ended, Y/N was out for the semester, they both had at least five weeks free to travel and relax, and there’d be no cold for the mover’s fingers to go blue in. The transporting itself had gone smoothly, each of her things finding its place in the huge expanse of his house, and the past month and a half of eating, sleeping and waking next to each other had been as nearest to perfect as Marcus thought life might get. So he couldn’t explain what, in the last seven days, could have possibly gone wrong.

“Is everythin alright, love?” He asked over the dinner table, which was sanded wood and brought over from Y/N’s apartment, much smaller than the one he’d used before.

She looked up from her plate and blinked. “Do you mean about dinner? I think I finally got the potatoes right this time, yeah.”

“No, not the food.” The side of his mouth lifted. “You’ve just seemed a bit down, this week, I don’t know. Just wanted to ask, see if there was anythin buggin you?”

“Oh,” She passed a hand over her hair. “Just tired, I guess. It was a rough semester.”

“Yeah, it was – you smashed it, though. But,” He paused until she looked at him, and was immediately taken by her brown eyes, which, unreadable as they were, he’d always found incredibly beautiful. “If anything’s wrong, you can tell me. I’d want to help.”

“Mhm.” She replied, and flitted her eyes away, pushing up from the table. “Let’s clean up?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t convinced, and stood up to take their few dishes to the kitchen. They rinsed and loaded in a silence not as comfortable as it ought to have been, and soon finished, Y/N pausing in front of the rumbling machine. From behind, Marcus pulled her into an embrace, fitting his hands around her waist and mumbling into her neck.

“Wanna come cuddle wi’me for a bit? We can watch the next Narcos.”

He felt her take a deep breath, and then lightly pat the hand that held her.

“I’ve got a little headache, actually. Think m’gonna lay down for the night.”

Marcus frowned. “You want me to watch the next episode? Without you?”

“Yeah, go ahead – I’ll get caught up when you’re on your trip next week. I’d just really like to lay down.”

Fatigue colored her voice, and Marcus felt a little more sure that she really was just under the weather, and not anything worse.

“D’you want me to bring you tea? Water? Medicine?”

She shook her head “no”, and turned around, another sigh hitting the fabric of his t-shirt.

“S’alright, then. Hope you get feeling better, babe.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then two to the dark spirals of her hair. “I’ll be up in a bit. I love you.”

A near silent “thank you” left her lips, and she squeezed his hand once. And then Marcus was left in the kitchen alone.

~~

After a mild pre-season session the next day, Marcus skipped showering to go straight to his car. When he’d seen her that morning, Y/N had still seemed poorly – she hadn’t left bed for tea and breakfast with him, and no silly texts or memes had come into his phone, the way they usually did during his long hours of training. Leaving now, he'd felt a strange, strong urge to get to her, like the sooner he did, the sooner things would go back to normal.

When he keyed into the house, however, her usual lounging spot – in the center of the living room sectional – was empty. As were the kitchen, bedroom, gym and laundry room that he walked to after. He found her instead on the back patio, cuddled into herself on the sunbed, with her curls spread wild and loose about her shoulders. A book was opened up and settled on her knees, and a pile of crumpled tissues sat just to her right.

“Hey, was lookin for you.”

The jitters that assailed him finally began to slow as he approached her, but didn’t fade completely.

“What’s all these for? You wasn’t crying, were you?”

“No, no, not really. It’s just this book. It’s pretty sad.” She tried to laugh at herself, but the sound came out wet and dull. “Or maybe I’m just dramatic.”

A range of emotions swept over him as he considered her pink, puffy eyes, the way she still wouldn’t hold his gaze for too long. His anxiety flared again, but he continued on with the plan he’d devised in the car, hopeful that it might still work.

“Well, I’m just about to run a bath, didn’t have time to shower after training. It could cheer you up, maybe. Did you wanna join me?”

It’s something special they do, just for them, a quiet and closeness involved that Marcus enjoyed far more than he’d ever said aloud. He hoped it would be enough to break through the wall he felt sprouting between them.

“But you’re all sweaty.” She said flatly.

He sucked his teeth, and sat alongside her on the thin mattress.

“That never stopped you before? When we were squeezed up in the one at your flat.”

“Right.” Her face fell, suddenly, as if she’d remembered something unpleasant. “But I’ve already showered, actually, a bit ago. Went out for a run.”

“That never stopped you before, either” Marcus wanted to say but didn’t, and focused instead on fixing his face to not reveal his disappointment.

“Okay.” He stalled a moment, weighing his next move. “Babe, are you sure everything is okay with you? M’a bit worried–”

“It’s fine, Marcus. It’s going to be fine, just …” She closed her eyes, and they glistened when they opened, focused seriously on his own. “I’m fine. Just stop pushing it, please.”

She gathered her book and trash and walked back into the house, which hurt him, but her last sentences hurt worse. If he wasn't meant to push, then what could he do? Sitting back and watching her pull further and further away from him was tortuous and seemed the opposite of what a good partner should do. Still, he nodded, even though she had already gone, and let his head fall into his hands.

A few hours later, in the bath, the jacuzzi jets going but alone, nothing was as it should have been. Already he missed the slide of her wet skin against his, how the brown of it went faintly pink the hotter she ran the water, which was scalding enough by Marcus’ standards. Now it felt lukewarm at best, the bubbles even less fluorescent, less bubbly than usual, without her there to scoop handfuls of them to paste on his face and chest, making herself giggle and cleaning their bodies in the process. He missed that, too, he realized, her body – it’s softness and strength, and how easily it yielded and came alive under his hands, but more concerning was her mind, which was somewhere outside its optimal state, and seemingly getting worse by the day.

He leaned his head back against the tub’s edge and sighed. It was a soft sound, quickly lost among the hum of the jets and the noise of his muscles singing and thanking him, but then he heard something else. Crying. Quiet, choked-off sobs from the other side of the en suite door, that he knew Y/N was trying to hide, but didn’t know why. The sound alone carved a hole deeper in his chest.

Before he realized it, he’d risen from the bath, shampoo still in his hair, and pushed open the door to their bedroom.

Squinting through the dark, Marcus could tell she was in the bed, asleep, or at least pretending to be. He debated whether or not to wake her – his every instinct begged him to, but the noise of tears had stopped, and he’d been specifically, harshly instructed not to “push”.

He waited several moments anyway, eyeing her sleeping form, burning up inside, but when she didn’t budge, he stepped back into the bathroom, mindful of the growing puddle he’d created on the carpet.

Under the shower head, he rinsed his hair and dried off, putting on his lotion and moisturizer in record time, all the while his mind racing, trying to settle the unease twisting up his chest and throat. When he got to the bedroom, he set his alarm and settled in under the covers behind her, as close as he dared.

Though her breaths came and went evenly, something in him, maybe something of his own creation, told him she was awake, that she could hear him. He felt free to unburden himself, and say what he wanted her to know.

“M’here for you, Y/N.” He used one arm to hold her against his chest, and the other to fix her hair scarf where it had ridden up in the back. “Hope you know that. Whatever it is, we can … fix it, talk about it, at least, together. Love you ... don’t wanna lose you.”

He knew the words were true, and could feel their sincerity aching somewhere deep in his bones. But he feared he was running out of ways to make sure Y/N believed it, too.

~~

By the following day, Marcus decided “not pushing” was no longer a viable option. Y/N was gone from bed even before him, and he turned to his night-table to find a message saying she’d gone out for an early run again and to get coffee. It wasn’t a strange occurrence on its own, but the way the last few days had gone, weeks really, this latest change to their patterns was enough to set him on a nervous edge. All through the day, his head was gone, drifting and distracted while training, and his thoughts sprinting to the worst - Y/N wanted to move out, she wanted to break up with him – in any moment he had idle.

But when his third check-in text sent from the rain-wet bed of the physio suite went unanswered, as did the two facetime call requests, it became slightly harder for him to breathe. The PT scrunched his face, but Marcus didn’t explain, wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak if he tried, and he’d been forced through two rounds of deep breathing before he’d let him off the table.

As soon as the gaffer released them, Marcus raced home through the rain that had begun to pour, calling one more time to no avail, but trying to stay rational. He imagined her sat in her spot on the big sofa in the sitting room when he arrived, apologetic and with some perfectly logical story of what had kept her from her phone all day, and what had depressed her mood the past few weeks.

He opened the front door, however, to silence, and her car keys still gone. His stomach dropped, and an icy, despairing prickle crawled over his skin. Was he overreacting? Or should he have pushed more?

Somehow he knew the rest of the house and even the back porch would be empty, just as silent, and found himself climbing the stairs anyway. His legs stopped by the room he used as his office, and he threw himself into the desk chair. He felt more calm, serious in there, for some reason, and composed himself enough to check her location, which was inconclusive, and click her contact another time. It went to voicemail once again, and he cursed, pulling at his hair.

After one heavy, frantic beat, he picked up the phone again to dial the only other number that would be useful at a time like this. The call picked up on the second ring.

“Mum?”

~~

Marcus’ car had been in the driveway when you pulled up, but when you stepped into his house – your house, now – there wasn’t any trace of him. Late afternoon training usually left him in the kitchen or theater room, scarfing down whatever meals his nutritionist prepared before conking out in his-your bed for a few hours until dinner.

You checked your phone, which had been dead up until the last five minutes when you’d connected it to the car charger, and realized it was closer to dinner time than you’d thought.

Dropping off your raincoat and bag, you went in search of him. The blaring missed calls and texts deserved a response, as hard as it would be to face him in person. You didn’t want him to worry any more than he already did, even though you felt there was little, if anything, he could do.

“Marcus?” You called up the stairs, but there was only your footsteps, the patter of rain, in answer.

You began climbing anyway, sure the sounds of the house would lead you to him, and eventually heard his voice, muffled through the closed door of his office. You stopped, and leaned against the wall to listen.

“She won’t talk to me, mum, she won’t, I’ve tried everythin. She’s not physically hurt, no, but something is wrong. I know that much. It’s like she don’t even want to be around me.”

There was a pause, and an ache began in your chest. The distress in your partner’s voice was palpable.

“But I’ve gave her space. And I’ve even asked her up front what’s wrong, and still nothin. I'm leavin for my trip in a few days, and I won’t be able to fix anythin from there. Reckon she might even be gone by then.”

Each second you listened, you fell further and further into the mire of guilt, and it seemed impossible to get out. Some external force, whose name or origin you didn’t know, forced your hand onto the knob and pushed into the room.

You met his eyes, cautious, but found nothing but relief, unshed tears in them.

“Y/N. Baby.” His voice cracked around the words, and he flew to your side of the room, crushing you to his body, burying his face in your damp hair.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay? Where were you?”

You tried, but couldn't speak around the lump in your throat. All you wanted was for him to hold you again, and to apologize for everything.

“Y/N. You’ve gotta talk to me, please. M’goin mad here, I’ve been goin mad–”

“I’m okay, Marcus. I’m not hurt.” You squeezed at his hands, trying to loosen their tight grip around your back and also trying to ground him. “Went for my run and coffee like I said, and then around to visit my mates at my old flat. My phone died, and I didn’t realize. I should’ve known you would worry.”

He looked back at you with wide eyes still, nodding slow like it was taking serious effort to comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“I’m okay, baby. I promise.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was gravelly, but much quieter, and none of the terror gone from it.

“Y/N, look, know you asked me not to push, but I can't just do nothin while–”

“Wait, Marcus – can we sit and do this? Please. And you’ve gotta get out of this jacket, babe, it’s soaked. You’ll catch a cold.”

The familiar sound of your fussing seemed to center him further, and he slid the jacket off, settling stiffly on the futon along the opposite wall. His legs were spread wide, and he raised his hands to his knees, fingers digging into them.

Hesitantly, you followed, standing between his legs, watching his eyes, which you’d missed, and his lips, which you’d possibly missed even more. You paused before lowering yourself onto his knee.

“Is this okay?”

“‘Course” He breathed out, pulling you the rest of the way down and rubbing his hands gently up and down your back. It was the first moment you’d felt at ease in the last two weeks, and you took the time to just hug him, wiping at a drop of water puddled along his hairline. Gradually, everything that had been pent-up seemed much easier to face.

“I’ve been real distant the past weeks, haven’t I.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s cause I’ve been confused.”

“Confused about what?”

The intensity of his eyes suddenly became too much, and you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. You made sure your voice still reached him clear.

“Confused about my feelings. About us, about us living together.”

His stomach had gone cold with dread again, but you took the silence as a license to continue. You knew he would stop you if and when he’d heard enough.

“It’s been great, it really has, Marcus. You’re my favorite person to be around – you know that.” His insides smiled at the mention, since the past week had convinced him of the opposite. Still, his expression remained the same.

“And you seemed so happy, having me here. But sometimes, lately, it got — I don’t know, overwhelming? Like, I had my friends in my last flat with me, and it feels like I spend so much time here alone. When you’re here, I don’t feel like that, but that don't feel fair to you either.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t understand.”

“I know, it’s confusing, but it’s like, I’m used to my roommates, us all together, a lot of noise – even when you’re alone you’re not really alone. So whenever you get here, I want to recreate that, spend every second with you, if I can. Didn’t want you to think I was clinging, though? ‘Cause I know how that feels, too.” You paused to take a breath, and Marcus rubbed your back, silent encouragement to continue.

“Thought you should be able to come home and spend your time on your own, too, if that’s what you wanted. So I was moping, but trying to give you that, for a while. Thought that if I could give you some space until your trip next week, I’d be okay. I could use that week to get myself together, stop being ungrateful. ‘Cause I am so lucky, aren’t I? To be able to live with this person I love so much. But I guess I only made it worse.”

“So it’s findin a balance, then, that was hard. Findin ... where you and I, personal time ends, and where “us” time begins.” Marcus summarized.

There was an unspoken “Why didn’t you just say so?” at the back of his statement that your partner was too kind and too patient to say. But you deserved it, so you said it yourself.

“Exactly. But I should have told you that it was eating me up. Not tried to isolate myself, or shut you out. And I’m sorry, about that. ”

Marcus let the apology ring out, and laced the fingers of one of your hands together, a quiet absolution. You felt lighter, now, after having spoken your piece, but knew that didn’t mean the conservation was over.

“Don’t think I need to say I forgive you, because,” He leaned his chin into his palm thoughtfully, before looking up at you. “Because I really get it, you know. I do. I understand that you need your own space, to feel like your own person still. And also that I’m gone, and it’s just you here, a lot, which is new for you. I get that it’s overwhelming, that findin the balance bit. But– I’ve never done this, moved in with someone before, either, have I? It’s excitin, but it’s a lot of other emotions, too. You can’t assume how m’feeling, or how I want to spend my time, just like I can’t read your mind about what's got you upset, innit?”

He paused.

“And it’s like, we’ve gotta figure it out together, don’t we?”

You nodded.

“So when -if, you’re feelin like that again, you’ll tell me? Even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings, or whatever. And if you need to go spend extra time with your mates to feel alright, we’ll sort it. And I’ll do the same. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"You promise?"

You promised, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and chin against his head. With the most difficult part of the conversation over, your senses opened up enough beyond Marcus to notice that the sound of rain outside had ceased. The wet, grassy smell of his training kit finally entered your nose, and your good humor began to stretch its legs.

“So I don’t need to go pack my things?” You mumbled into his shoulder.

“No.” Marcus snorted. “Not unless you changed your mind the last 15 seconds.”

“Nah, I reckon I’ll stay. I'd miss the jacuzzi tub too much.” You sighed. “Saying no to that bath with you was the hardest thing I ever done.”

Marcus chuckled, enough air in his chest to do so now, and kissed you lightly on the lips.

“Fancy one now?” He repeated, and your “please” was fast and enthusiastic. He scooped you in his arms, and you held tight to him, murmuring quiet “I love you”s and knowing as you walked through the house –your house– that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[praiafleur]

requesting rules

request box status ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ closed!!!

psa 🗣️: as a woc, i do not deep dive into the physical appearence of the reader or their race/ethnicity unless stated otherwise. i do, however, write with black fem reader in mind. still, anyone can enjoy. i only write fem!reader x oc. i DO NOT write smut.

who i write for

trent alexander-arnold, alejandro balde, alisson becker, lucas bergvall, jobe bellingham, levi colwill, ruben dias, paulo dybala, rodrygo goes, marc guiu, curtis jones, joão félix, víni júnior, noni madueke, kylian mbappé, jamal musiala, lucas paquetá, bukayo saka, leroy sané, dominik szoboszlai, aurélien tchouméni, virgil van dijk, nico williams, lamine yamal, kenan yıldız

who i’m willing to write for

hector fort, marcus rashford

do not request

please don't ask for super detailed or highly specific scenarios!! i still need my creative freedom to let your ideas come to life x

don’t request fics based on real-life scandals, controversies, or personal lives of players. under no circumstances will i tolerate gossip in my requests.

no requests involving violence, abuse, non-consensual scenarios, incest or anything that could be triggering or harmful, including weird kinks whatsoever.

lastly, please do give contructive critism where i need it! it is so appreciated.

[tommyspeakycap]

Footie Fics :)

prompts lists

meeting prompts

prompt list

cute intimate prompts

(requests are not exclusive to these lists, send in anything you like and I’ll give it a shot!)

also want to just put it out there that I’ll never accept a request involving players real life families / stuff like that. they’ll never be included in the fics and everything here is completely imaginative and fictional with no relation or link to the players personally. that said, request away! :)

how i headcanon member of the england nt when they’re travelling - a stupid thing i made once

insta files masterlist

Jack Grealish

linked fics / stories

Friends for now

Not mates

Stay

Blurbs/prompts/oneshots

this is happiness

illicit affairs

fell for you

Braids

Cheeky

Mama’s Boys

Villa boy

comfort

changed man

snow days and haribo rings

right here with me

accents

Kieran Tierney

Dating would include

nsfw alphabet

christmas market

this is what dreams are made of

Jordan Henderson

linked fics / series

Rose Garden

Painted Roses

blurbs/prompts/oneshots

fluff alphabet

John Stones

linked fics / series

always yours

part two

john x single mum reader

masterlist

blurbs/prompts/oneshots

perfect

black tie turbulence

my hero

say it back

nsfw alphabet

because i’m in love with you

holiday hatred (smut)

no matter what // (part 2)

traffic lights

work welcome

everybody knows

changing it up

longer than forever lasts

car problems

wife

christmas jumper

dad duty

flatmate

Ben Chilwell

fics/multi-parts

please don’t say you love me (1)

cause i might not say it back (2)

doesn’t mean my heart’s not skipping (3)

when you look at me like that (4)

single dad!ben x reader

helping hand

a team

heaven

blurbs/prompts/oneshots

home

reunions and surprises

welcome to the family

good luck charm

rings

want it again (part two)

i believe

Ben White

blurbs/prompts/oneshots

ease

dating would include

holiday heartbreak

Andy Robertson

fics/multi part pieces

ruined it // part two

resentment // part two

baby girl

a fathers woe

not just the physio

feeling some kind of way

nsfw alphabet

uprooted plans

with a bang

best kept secret

Marcus Rashford

blurbs/oneshots/prompts

meet the family

the one

count on me (series)

part one

part two

Jorginho

blurbs/oneshots/prompts

brothers

seil il mio amore piu grande

Mason Mount

blurbs/oneshots/prompts

3am confessions

biggest mistake

quite miss home

John McGinn

blurbs/oneshots/prompts

double win

you got me

celebration

Rúben Dias

next to you

beautiful

not ready

daddy's home

blue masterlist

insta files

one

two

blurbs

songwriter girlfriend blurb

ring blurb

looking out for you blurb

[blueaetherr]

blue

pairing: marcus rashford x black!fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): none

summary: the one where marcus can be so open and emotional with the reader, especially under the moonlight

now watching: moonlight (film) by barry jenkins

"Runnin' around, catching up all that light. In the moonlight, black boys look blue. You blue, that's what I'm gon' call you. 'Blue'."

In the late evening, when the sun was beginning to fall into the sky and moods were dazed and dull, Marcus and Y/N settled themselves well at the beach. This wasn't anything new—it was their thing, their routine even, to stray towards the sand and sea when after hours arrived, choosing to pass the time in peaceful enjoyment and thrill every single time without fail.

They would take calm walks across the beach where loud conversations were created and shared, their volume range always drifting off course. They would play in the shallow waters of the ocean where the two would act anyhow seeing as they were experiencing wonderful contentment that was uniquely theirs to share as a two in those moments. They would take their place in the sand too, curling up in one another and encouraging comfortable silence as the moon began to find its place high in the sky.

With the kind breeze brushing against his face, Marcus let in a mild inhale before letting go as he openly took in the scent of the beach—one that felt like a breath of fresh air. He secured his arms around Y/N sitting in front of him and leaned in to kiss her head, earning a breathy laugh from her, before he set his eyes on the ocean before him and admired the natural movements of its water.

Sitting down in the sand with his dear Y/N—toes deep and relaxed in the sand, experiencing isolation with his lover, and being able to observe the beach and its nature—Marcus felt like this moment right here was a luxury to experience, something he would remain grateful for. It was something the couple got only once a week (twice if they were lucky) and lasted no more than four hours yet it still remained his favourite part of his usual routine.

You see, as a football player and a public figure Marcus had a lot of responsibilities and roles to attend to: the direct ones like training and playing matches every week and representing his club and country; but also the indirect ones like being a role model for the youth (from a local level to a national one), and carrying himself in a way that he couldn't be perceived in a negative light.

That's how it was for Marcus. And while he would never give up any of them for the world, they all came with their share of restrictions. This, naturally, restrained his innate inflexions and speech, his behaviour in the pitch and in person, and his presentation. Those responsibilities and roles, unfortunately, weren't selective—he had to attend to them which made them expectations, no way around them.

But even as expectations they were only temporary, specifically reserved for the daytime. 'Cause after that match was over, after he was dismissed from training, after he was finished doing press, Marcus would always take that as his cue to run off with Y/N and head straight to the beach nearing the hours of the night. The beach—the place where they could wander the infinite sand trails, swim alongside other creatures in the sea and do any activity that came to mind.

In that right there, there was calmness.

Embracing the natural body of the beach, witnessing the waves wrestle and roll around and over one another, Marcus and Y/N being alone together with the beach, knowing that all their responsibilities were put on pause and no one was going to stop the two from enjoying themselves, knowing that Marcus could drop his model persona for this moment alone and speak how he wanted, express himself to his partner and dress (and undress) without the fear of judgement trying to correct him—in that, there was calmness and security and belonging.

And Y/N loved how the beach was such an outlet for Marcus, understanding it was a way for him to peacefully unravel so so they could spend a peaceful moment together. For the scenery they were in, Y/N liked to call Marcus Blue, my Blue; simply put, blue radiated off of Marcus perfectly under the moonlight and dark sky, his person always shining bluer than any other person or object present.

But for his emotional intelligence Y/N, too, called Marcus Blue. In the moonlight, during the cover of the night, when the light fell directly on him, it was a shelter where Marcus could illuminate in the dark and place some focus on his true inflexion, behaviour and persona. He could be vulnerable and expressive as he pleased—with the night sky, with the body of the beach—and he was given the liberty to be and shine, in tranquillity and security, in the arms of Y/N.

[azulera]

Hello TikTok

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Summary: Marcus joins TikTok, and you share your thoughts on his first post.

Notes: I wrote this a while ago and it was inspired by the first vid he posted on tiktok which I laughed at for days. He is such a dork (I'm in l*ve with him)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sudden notification to your phone was unexpected, not because of the app it came from, but because Marcus’ name was attached to it. Settling deeper into the corner of the couch, you opened the link to the TikTok video and let it play.

The background was dark, and the footage was slightly grainy, but clearly showed Marcus in a black hoodie, kicking about in a nondescript patch of grass. There was a row of streetlamps behind him, but no eye-catching edits, background music or even TikTok sounds underlying the recording, only the rubbery whack of the ball against his trainers as he bounced it off them and up in the air. After a few moments, the ball flew from his feet and clattered into the camera.

“Yes, everyone— Marcus Rashford, here.” He suddenly spoke, the phone now in his hand and the camera focused on his face. The cheery, formal tone of his voice mismatched with the dark setting.

“And I am on TikTok.”

The video slowed to a stop with his face still in the frame, and the abrupt ending forced a burst of laughter through your lips. Was that all?

You played the video once more, raising the volume and screen brightness to make sure you’d seen and heard everything. The kick-ups could have been anyone’s suggestion, you thought on the second viewing, but the less-than-perfect lighting and straightforward script had your boyfriend written all over it. Still, you had many, many questions.

“Marcus, when did you post this?”

“Post what?”

He walked in the living room from the kitchen with a protein bar in hand, before plopping down onto the couch. He stretched his long frame out over yours, fitting the curve of your hip into his hand.

“This,” You said, flipping your phone screen for him to see his own face reflected back at him. He smiled softly.

“Oh, the TikTok? Just a minute ago. Go on and like it, though, repost it.” He grabbed for your phone, but you pulled it away, watching the video over again. On the screen, and in real life, you could see how proud he was of his creation.

“And you came up with the idea, then? Knocking the phone over with the ball?”

“Well, yeah. Why?”

“I’m just curious. It’s …” You bit down on your lip. The audio of the video continued playing from your phone in a loop. “You didn’t want to run it by anyone first? Even just me, or like, one of your video editing people?”

His eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean? I did run it by my team and them first, before I posted it.”

“And what did they say?”

“They thought it was cool. And funny, like. Wait - why’re you laughin?”

Your body shook lightly where Marcus held it, and you covered your mouth to spare his feelings, and mute the sound. He lifted his head up from your chest, unsure that the two of you were laughing for the same reasons.

“It is cool, innit? Don’t you think it’s cool?”

Words were impossible for a few moments, with your shoulders still vibrating with giggles and breath all but gone.

“You couldn’t have added a song at least?” You asked when air returned to your lungs. “Or some kind of audio, it’s dead silent in the back. And why did you end it like that? You could’ve done an outro or something.”

“But it didn’t need all of that, did it? It were supposed to be a short little thing—“

“Also what is ‘Yes, everyone?’” You continued. Marcus huffed and tried to leave the couch, but you held him close, still laughing as you did. “What are you saying yes to? And the camera angle is giving me uncle, grandpa energy, I can’t even–”

“Okay, okay! Low it.” Marcus sucked his teeth and set his jaw, raising on his forearms above you. “S’not that funny. I mean, it is but, not how you mean. I still rate it. It’s cool.”

He spoke like he meant to convince himself. You stared up at him for a minute, taking in the small rut creasing his forehead, and the near pout on his lips. The video was hilarious, there was no point denying it, but it was so innocent, earnest and slightly dorky – all things you loved about him – and he really was so pleased with his work. Even if your abdomen cramped from laughing, you would never have him change.

“You know what, baby? You’re right. The video is cool.” You pushed your face into his shoulder to try and quell the amusement still threatening to bubble over. “You are so cool. And so funny. Super cool and funny. ”

“Plus, it’s harder than it looks, you know. Aiming the ball like that.” He let his head fall back down to your chest. “And I did it one try.”

“Shhh, I know it is, I know. You are so talented. Come here.” He turned his head away from the half-laugh, half-kisses you attempted to press against his neck, but it only made you try harder.

“It’ll be viral by tomorrow.” He finally grumbled, tossing your phone onto the coffee table and allowing himself to be kissed. Soon he spread his arms to resume the previous cuddle. “You’ll see.”

[azulera]

Manny

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Summary: You give Marcus a manicure (and he thanks you).

Notes: i need Rashy so badly like yall do not understand… his weird fingernails and all. this was supposed to be short and family friendly but the ending … u can tell what im going thru ——————————————————————————

She had found a rhythm, was nearly finished with the last two nails of his left hand when Marcus flinched, hissing as the blades cut a little too close. He turned his head from the random episode of Bake-off playing on the bedroom television, but her eyes stayed focused on the cuticle scissors in her hand, lip caught between her teeth.

“Sorry, baby, I'm almost done. You’re doing so good.”

“S’okay.” He mumbled, and lifted his right hand from her thigh to inspect the digits, his other still resting in the gap between her crossed legs. They’d been clipped, filed, and even lovingly coated with a moisturizer she ordered specialty from Japan, and he gave them a quiet, but pleased “Looks nice.” She looked up from her task a moment just to smile.

“You’re sure you don’t want clear gloss on top? It’ll make them shiny.”

“Don’t need them to be shiny. Just healthy, innit. So long as they’re not bleedin, fallin off, then I’m good.”

She frowned.

“That’s a poor way to think about your body, though. You wouldn’t say the same if it was your knees, or toes.”

He shrugged. “Me legs and feet are way more important. Don’t need hands so much to do what I need to.”

“Don’t you want Jesse and your mates to stop bantering you?”

“I don’t care what them lot have to say. Not holdin their hand or anythin, anyway.

“But didn’t your mum ever tell you, girls won’t let you touch them if your fingernails aren’t nice?”

“You let me touch you, don’t you?” He licked his lips, and finally moved his eyes to hers, away from the TV. “And you like it, so.”

She rolled her eyes, even as a ribbon of heat flashed in her belly. Having finished with his little finger, she put down the scissors, and reached around the floor for the lotion.

“But I always make sure you cut and clean them good first, don’t I. And with your nails all pretty like this …”

She trailed off, gently rubbing the cream into his skin, and he leaned forward, crowding into her space. He let out soft hums as she moved from finger to finger, and began to massage his opposite thumb into her inner thigh.

“So let me touch you now.” He suggested, his voice much lower than before, and she could feel his warm breath fan against her face. Her spine tingled, but she didn’t respond until she finished, putting the nail supplies to the side and snapping the lotion bottle closed.

“Just put all this fancy moisturizer on for you. And you’re tryna undo all my hard work?”

“Nah, the opposite, really,” The hand on her leg creeped higher and higher, and his mouth moved closer, his nose nuzzling along her neck. “Wanna say thank you. For always taking care of me so good.”

“You can thank me by giving your nails a break,” She breathed, curling an arm around his neck, trying not to squirm. “Quit biting them.”

“But you'll like this 'thank you' way better.” He promised, pressing a kiss just under her ear. “Both know you will.”

Her instinct was to protest, but instead she tugged him closer by the hand, kissing away his sly smile. “Bare smooth, aren’t you" she teased as he laid her back against the pillows, feeling at his fingers for flaws, and knowing she would find none.

[blueaetherr]

eutony

pairing: marcus rashford x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): none

summary: the one where marcus and his son love the reader's voice

Returning from training Marcus let out a yawn, dropping his bag by the door. The player found himself tired—rather exhausted—and kinda dazed for the most part. And he expected no less from how he felt after an intensive training session. Still, he wanted it all to pass over so then he could spend the night, or what was left of it, with his little family.

But hearing Y/N's voice come from somewhere in their home, Marcus, in a second or a few, found himself at bay.

There was something about Y/N's voice that made him adore it so much, Marcus really liked it. She wasn't a singer or anything vocally challenging. She didn't receive any vocal training in her lifetime or something that would enhance her voice (or so she claimed). It was simply all Y/N. It was a given, sure, in any relationship to like your partner's voice, an aspect that usually remained unconscious. But Marcus always let his likings be known to his wife, a compliment or two whenever the two crossed paths never hurt.

And walking up the stairs he could hear her voice growing louder and louder, smiling galore as it sung to his ears. Her voice was animated and soft yet vibrant, lacing through each word—each sentence, each page—with ease. It fit the kid's bedtime story so well that made Marcus question how Y/N had yet to narrate an audiobook of some sort. Really, Y/N's voice held everything and more. It would catch your attention and you would be so mesmerised and taken aback that you simply just couldn't pull away. Or, at least, you could, you just wouldn't want to.

You could see how their son, Kenny, too, was all for his mom's voice, almost as much as his dad. Leaning on his son's door, Marcus watched Y/N read Kenny a bedtime story. She always did, and Marcus didn't mind that it wasn't him. The young boy was always so in tune with his mom's words, his kid mind so amazed by how Y/N could make a story seem so much more fun than his English teacher. With so much love and happiness tied to his mother and reading, the player couldn't bring himself to feel left out or jealous in any way.

And Kenny took on his mom's love for reading. Always in the mood to read along, following with his little finger passing under every word, bedtime almost becoming his favourite part of the day because Y/N could read to him or they could read a story as a pair. The way he bonded with Marcus through football, he bonded with Y/N through reading.

"... and they lived happily ever after," Marcus said with Y/N as he entered the room, causing Kenny to jump from his bed and toward his dad. The player laughed as he picked him up and spun him around, giggles soft in the bedroom.

Meanwhile, Y/N closed the storybook and sighed. Her tired eyes perfectly showed the energy and strength of taking care of a little boy for the whole day, especially for a kid like Kenny who refused to remain still like his father. That's why she, too, enjoyed bedtime. Not only did she have a moment alone with her child, but for fifteen minutes or so, she could get Kenny to calm down without needing to negotiate. "You do know that the point of a bedtime story is to help him fall asleep, right?"

Marcus pushed small hairs out of Kenny's face as he held him up again. "I'm sorry?" He couldn't contain his laughs with his son, too, laughing into his shoulder.

"It's whatever," she rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small grin. "He wanted to see you before sleeping anyway."

"Did you hear me read today, daddy?" Kenny asked Marcus, wrapping his arms around his neck. "I read a whole page by myself!"

Marcus pressed a few kisses to his son's cheek. "I know, kid. I heard everything. You did so well, Kenny!" Reading was simply a past-time for Kenny so he didn't see much to it like that. But reading so much with Y/N came with improved literacy skills and heightened confidence which was noticed by his schoolteachers, and Marcus loved that for his kid.

"Let's read another one!" Kenny exclaimed before quickly turning to his mom. He tilted his head. "Can we please read another story, mummy?"

Y/N looked to Marcus, who was already looking at her for approval. "Pick one off the shelf then," she hummed and waved them off, chuckling at the two getting so excited.

And together on the tiny twin bed, the little family read the bedtime story, wholesome and cute. Where the son and the dad were mesmerised by the mom's voice and how she conveyed every little detail in the book. Where the dad was corrected by his son whenever he mispronounced a word (due to his accent). Where the mom encouraged her son to lift up his voice and sing (read); if her reading was just so great then it was because of practice.

Breaking his eyes away from the story, Marcus stared at his wife quite shamelessly. There was beauty in it, in Y/N. In how her voice always took him away, like always took him away. How she could always find the words that he lost, how it could make him fall out of a moment of focus. How her voice let the bond between her and her son grow into something outwardly whole, how her vows at their wedding had everyone in kind tears.

For someone who was around her every single day—when he woke up, throughout the day, moments before he fell asleep—Marcus knew that he couldn't get enough of Y/N, so much that the time until their final days just wouldn't be enough for him. If he could, Marcus would listen to Y/N for an eternity and more.

[blueaetherr]

ineluctable

pairing: marcus rashford x gn!reader [they/them]

warnings: none

summary: the one where he enjoys watching them garden

He wandered around his place trying to find Y/N. Peeking into different rooms, calling out their name in a space of empty. It wasn't an easy task. Marcus had left them alone some time ago, letting Y/N cherish some sense of individuality in a place where the two were always together. Because when they were together, it was Marcus and Y/N activities rather than either of their own. So alone—or simply apart—the couple would drift towards their personal interests and hobbies.

He should have known where they were from the time he went searching for them. It was a wonder as to where they were until it wasn't.

Leaning on the glass door, he watched Y/N out in the back garden, well, gardening. A hum in the air now and then as they busied themself, making the act of boredom (to Marcus) appear kinda fun. It was something that the two were able to bond over even if that bond could never live itself out; it would never exist. Y/N enjoyed the act of doing while Marcus preferred the act of watching. He couldn't do his garden justice like his partner did.

They shooed a bee away if it got too close for their likings, tending to every plant—every stem, every branch—with care and meaning like they were their kids. And maybe the plants were. Y/N personally brought up everything that lived in the garden. From when one was only a seed to now thriving nature.

Hearing steps from afar, Y/N pulled up their sun hat a bit. "You finally decided to come outside!" Gardening was a pass-time of their own, but an invitation for Marcus to join them was always available; he just turned them down for the most part. They gestured to the plants they were working on, smiling. "You wanna help your fav?"

Marcus leaned down to their height. He clasped his fingers together, sighing. "I would but--"

"I'm messy with you," they closed their eyes, humming as Marcus kissed them. "You'll only make things worse than better." Gardening wasn't a forté of Marcus. He dealt with soil and dirt like a child; he would create a mess that needed an explanation to justify.

"You sure about that?" Marcus folded his arms. "I think I'm a great help."

"You can be sometimes." Y/N gasped softly when they noticed a weak stem under his foot. "You would be a great help if you weren't stepping on my plants!" Upon shooing him away, they huffed when they saw the state of the flower stem. Now stiff and bent. "I've been growing it for a while, you know."

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to ruin your progress." And he meant it. Marcus couldn't fake an apology, to Y/N at least. He took his place on the grass beyond their gardening perimeter. "Let me just watch, at least?" He laughed to himself when they didn't respond. They weren't ignoring him (or maybe they were out of annoyance). But rather, they were so focused on fixing what Marcus ruined that they, unintentionally, blocked him out.

This was something Marcus came to recognise himself with. Spending time with Y/N, even if he contributed to nothing, was perfect for him. They didn't mind for the most part. It became habit for him. He would watch them in their space of gardening. Caring for their plants on the regular, removing an insect from a plant with care, contemplating on whether they should get more gardening tools. He found it amusing and cute. But he never said anything, allowing them to be in their space, a place where Y/N was comforted by the progress and beauty of a flourishing garden.

There was enjoyment in being around Y/N. From the beginning of their days, Marcus always held the want to be by their side. He would sit back, let Y/N work their wonders in his garden and participate in the act of observing and appreciating his partner at their personal best. It fascinated him how his garden went from an area of grass to something so much more. For that, and many other reasons, he had to keep them in mind all the time.

Even if he tried (which was never), they never left his mind. You must be so connected to someone—physically, emotionally, mentally—that you were inescapable from one another. And that was Marcus for Y/N. They were his thoughts, his prompt to do better, his reason to maybe slow down when he was overworking himself. They were around when they really weren't. The two were close in times when they were far apart. All of Marcus was Y/N, and all of Y/N was Marcus.

And even when they were his thoughts, they were far too hard to resist. The personality, the figure, the purpose of an individual. He was so attracted to all of that, to all of Y/N, and he refused to move away from it all. Why would he in the first place? Why refuse, even reject, everything that was all for you? They were the person he was falling all in every day.

Like he couldn't look away. I mean, he didn't want to look away. The appearance, the dress sense, the varied looks—it was all too appealing and simply handsome. They were everything one could be. And if not, everything someone else could never be. To reach their ankles in any way, shape or form, in Marcus' eyes was almost impossible for others. That was the result of being truly unique.

And all of this never dialed down during the act of gardening.

[blueaetherr]

my affection

pairing: marcus rashford x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): none

summary: the one where marcus loves his partner despite never declaring so

Situated comfortable in the living room of their home was Marcus and Y/N watching All The Bright Places. Focus on the movie, however, was limited and sometimes simply gone astray, the movie soon acting as cosy background music. Ignoring everything all around them—the poetically tragic movie, their phones discarded on the floor—they laughed with no control, fed each other for the fun of it, bumped and shoved with romantic intent and caved into one another for that warmth and affection.

Within and beyond the relationship were Y/N and Marcus; close and intimate, together alone, all too friendly and inward to one another. They, respectfully, were way past the age of the relationship. They appeared to act like an elderly couple despite their youth. A bit of maturity and understanding surrounding everything they were together, highlights of their love found in small yet special moments like saying happy birthday at midnight to the two sharing a slice of cake at dawn hours. There was range to all of it. 

All of that made up silence in love. A high sense of modesty amongst them, highlighting one's love for the other with simple gestures. Actions beyond their age while matching their personalities. There wasn't much to say; they were genuine and simple in everything they said and did. A model couple that everyone else wanted to mirror. By other perspectives, they were deemed as perfect by being everything that wasn't expected of them.

The aspect of their relationship that prevailed in the eyes of many was silence in love. It was a variety of things if asked by different people. Romanticising one's lack of spines to ask someone out, allowing fate and fortune to navigate their love lives, being the quiet one in the relationship. Really, being silent in love could mean anything, and Marcus was everything that came with the label.

Eyes on the TV, Y/N reached into the bowl of popcorn only to find that it was now just a bowl. She frowned before letting out a small huff. She went to stand up only to yelp when she felt herself being pulled down by Marcus.

His grip around her grew stronger (with neither aggression nor force) when she questioned his antics. "No, no, no. Where are you going?" he asked with a small tone. A sight of innocence that was deceiving and genuine all at once.

"I'm out of popcorn," she said and showed him the bowl. She rattled a bowl full of empty space. "I'm tryna get more."

When she tried to get up again, he tugged her down again. She glanced at him with a blank stare. "No, stay. Just-- just stay, please," Marcus said with his voice slowly fading away. There was evident fatigue lingering around and his constant blinks didn't help his case when he tried to prove otherwise.

"I guess I'm not hungry anymore," she mumbled to herself. A few minutes later, she took another look at Marcus to notice him sleeping. He shifted in his sleep as he held a secure grasp around her waist. She shook her head laughing as she ran her fingers through his hair, glancing back at the TV to leave him in solace.

Some confused silence in love with absence of love; a lack of that love and affection from the other. Maybe a form of avoidance to curve any unresolved relationship issues. Unreciprocated love, if you will. That Marcus wasn't into his girlfriend and Y/N tolerated her boyfriend not returning the same energy—unbalanced weight to love. Though this wasn't the case with Marcus and Y/N. Actually, it was quite the opposite when glanced at from a different perspective.

Anything with the mention of love was still love regardless. Eros, philia, storage, agape—whatever it may be. All different with the common factor of fondness for someone else. It was difficult to understand when not experienced though it wasn't hard to grasp from afar.

Silently in love, the perfect way to describe Marcus. It wasn't dull or stagnant; instead, it came to be exciting and in motion all at the same time. He gave the relationship a sense of solace and soft vibes as the mellow atmosphere translated the mood, personifying the true sense of R&B tunes. Spoken love was rare and significant for the two, creating a safe environment for discussion. 

Where there was silence in affection, there was deep trust and loyalty. Neither Marcus nor Y/N worried if the other strayed towards another person; his behaviour wasn't underwhelming nor was her own overwhelming or desperate. They were far too deep into their relationship—into one another—to not understand how much they felt about the other, to not know that they were adored and cherished in every way possible.

Sure, between him and Y/N, Marcus was the reserved one and that was simply a part of his persona. But he was quiet yet loud in every aspect of the relationship. Almost every close and intimate action started because of Marcus. He tilted his head in awe of Y/N because of her elegance, features and primal nature; he appreciated her body figure with a simple grasp or squeeze; reserved yet never held back when it came to pointing out everything he doted about her; he clung onto her body when he wasn't ready to pull away.

There was no need for Marcus to lift up his voice to let Y/N know how he felt. He was just more outspoken through body talk, expression and experience than through words. And that was where his need for constant affection, touch and feeling of being wanted—or being clingy—came to be.